The stranger – Part 1

The stranger stepped into the dimly lit tavern. Dirt and mud clung to his breeches, cowboy hat and long coat. He wasn’t a large man, yet a sense of strength and power surrounded him. Just inside the doorway, he stood letting his eyes adjust to the sudden darkness. Everyone in the bar turned their heads as one to gaze upon the new stranger.

He slowly walked toward the bar, and placing a few coins on its rough surface ordered a whiskey. His voice was a hoarse whisper, only the barkeep and a couple others sitting at the bar were able to hear him. Taking the small glass of liquor, the stranger downed the drink, exclaiming a soft sigh of pleasure.

“A whiskey man ay?” a man slurred next to the stranger.

“On occasions,” the stranger said.

“I’m a bourbon man myself,” he said taking a gulp of his drink, “The names Clive Hodgkins,” he said holding his hand out.

“Pleasure,” the stranger said ignoring the drunks outstretched hand.

“You have a name boy? Or should I make one up for you?” the drunk laughed into his glass.

“Trevor,” the stranger said simply and motioned to the barkeep for another round.

“Nice to meet you there Trevor boy,” Clive said with a big sheepish grin. “Where you from?”

“North.”

“Come now, what’s with the secrecy? You can tell ‘ol Clive, I won’t tell no one.”

“Just traveling through.”

“Where you a headed then? Or is that a secret too?” Clive laughed.

“No where in particular,” Trevor said in his raspy voice.

“Must be a sad existence there boy, having no where to go. You need a place to stay? There’s a hotel down the street a ways, its nothing fancy but she’ll do for a nights sleep.”

“Thanks, I’ll look into it,” Trevor said ordering another drink. He turned his back to the bar and began surveying the room. His eyes came to light on a man in the far corner of the bar, sitting with two others and talking in hushed voices.

“I wouldn’t mess with that bunch boy, they are nothing but trouble,” Clive hiccupped and slapped Trevor on the arm.

“Who are they?” he asked turning his back on the room.

“The big one is called Tom Wallace; the other two are Lester Hughes and Christopher Banks. Stay clear of them Trevor, they kill any man who crosses them. Sherriff won’t do nothing about it, he’s Tom’s brother, names George,” Clive said in a slurred whisper.

“How many have they killed?” Trevor asked.

“Oh the good Lord only knows. Last year 10 drifters disappeared after they crossed that gang. Could be coincidence but I don’t think so. Cold blooded killers they are.”

“You know Clive, I think you’ve had enough,” the barkeep said coming by to take away his glass. He handed him a mug of coffee.

“Right you are Billy,” Clive said taking the mug.

“Do they have a name?” Trevor asked.

“A name? You mean like the Dalton gang? Nah, I don’t think they are smart enough to come up with a name. Besides, it will only draw attention themselves, and they do not like attention.”

“Why are you so concerned with them?” Billy the barkeep asked seriously.

“They look awfully familiar. But so far I can’t remember why,” Trevor said simply.

“Its best you leave them alone. Otherwise, you’ll go missing like all the others,” Billy said before walking away to another costumer. Trevor sat for a moment or two, before getting to his feet and heading to the table in the corner. There were gasps from the bar.