I lean against the bannister on the second floor over looking the rest of the bar. Slowly swirling my vodka in my cantine I watch eveyone below get drunk and gamble their savings. A man in a long black leather duster enters and struts his way to the bar. It's apparent the lump under his coat is a peace maker resting on his hip.
I take another swing as another man gets up and confronts the new comer. This should be fun...
The music stopped as the two men pulled their coats aside. All eyes were on them. I had a good foot of height on the newcomer and a good four inches on his dance partner. With out anyone seeing I unholstered my 1890 Remington .45 caliber and checked that the cylinder had six rounds. Glancing around I noticed a few others doing the same. I was surprised to see most of them still had single action revolvers.
Down on the floor the tension was getting thicker. A few words were being exchanged in low tones. Then a nod from the newcomer as the sheriff walked in. Both men looked toward the door then grudgingly turned away.