CCDD 022713—Westfield Marshal

Cool Card Design of the Day
2/27/2013 - I've been living in this run-down dirt-trap they call Westfield County almost a year now. The closest I've got to a friend is the judge whose a bit too eager to string up the lowlifes I bring in. Hell, if I arrested everyone who broke the law around here, three of these towns would be nothing but tree ornaments.

Not that I was Mister Popular back home. Can't say I've ever been much of a people person. Hell, I wouldn't a been transferred here if I didn't piss off the wrong folk. Don't take that as a complaint, now: I wouldn't unkill the Watkins brothers for a golden hat; I wouldn't unexpose that cheatin' Mayor Grist for a flying horse; And I sure as hell wouldn't go back and let that money-blind tycoon's precious coalmares stampede poor Miss Jane.

The reason I'm telling you all this—it ain't to hear myself talk—is so you know what kind of man I am when your choice comes. What choice? Phhh! Leave it to youth to mistake jail time for a vacation. You think those bars are an excuse to just sit back and take it easy. You always got a choice, boy. Like when you shot that gambler over at Lacy's. You say it was in self-defense. You say you had no choice. Did you even see what kind of wand he had?

'Course not. You never saw his wand, did you? Boy, that feller may have been a cheat, and he may have been a no-good, womanizing braggart, but he didn't have no wand.

Yeah, let that sink in for a bit.

Okay, okay, quit your hollering. Everyone's pleased as punch you're sorry for what you did. What you think you did. See, if you had killed that man, you'd be swinging on Reinfeld's rope by sundown. But you got lucky.

That gambler you done weren't no man. And if you hadn't of shot him, it would've been a lucky fool that got out of Lacy's alive. The good news, son, is you ain't gonna hang today. The bad news is, you done got yourself a worse enemy. Made of fire and brimstone, but with the face of a man, you'll never see these devil-kin coming. And they will come. Ain't no mischief they love better than revenge. They'll hunt you to the ends of the earth and when they find you, whoooo! Well, it won't be quick. I ain't seen nothing so gruesome as clean-up duty after a lash party.

You won't see 'em, no, but you might smell 'em. Yeah, you know how I mean: that stinging in your nostrils. You can almost smell that sulfur now, can't you? Which brings me to your choice: Boy, you can run, you can hide, or you can join me… and fight. You might want to make up your mind quick, because you ain't smellin' a memory.