Dean nods enthusiastically. “I’m just waiting for someone to take a chance on me.”
We all take a seat in the oversized leather chairs of the lounge.
Dean’s head turns like it’s on a swivel. “What is this place?”
“This is the Rusty Nail Saloon. Grayson’s choice. It’s based on the American Wild West. No magic or out of world items. I’m guessing the fact that you have on starter rags is the only reason you’re allowed to walk around wearing that, but we’ll get you sorted out soon enough.”
“Oh, man!” He points to a bullseye hanging on the wall. “They have darts. Want to play? I’ve always wanted to try.”
I shrug. “Why not? Grayson, you in?”
We each take a handful of darts as we enter the throwing area. Aside from two mustachioed men playing one another on the far end, the other three dart boards are empty, so we each take our own lane.
I toss my darts one at a time, but my aim is off. Even though I aimed for the bullseye, two of my darts hit the outer ring, and one misses the target entirely.
“Nice throw, champ,” Grayson taunts me. His throws weren’t great, but he did manage to get inside the middle circle.
Dean stands next to his dartboard grinning. One dart is in the outer bullseye and the other two are just barely outside of it.
“You did that on your first try?” That’s some beginner’s luck.
He plucks the first dart from the board. “I’ve always had pretty good hand-eye coordination.”
He walks back to the throwing line and tosses another dart. It lands just outside the bullseye. The second one hits the outer bullseye, and the third hits dead center.
Grayson leans in and whispers in my ear, “Kid’s a natural.”
He really is. The fact that he did so well on back-to-back throws means it’s definitely not beginner’s luck. His Dexterity must be pretty high for that kind of accuracy.
“Not bad, but what do you say we play a man’s game?” One of the mustachioed men steps up behind Dean. He’s dressed in all black, and his shirt has an ornamental rose embroidered over his right breast pocket. Tassels dangle from his sleeves. “Let’s put your hand-eye coordination to the test.” He pulls out a chip worth fifty gold and flips it like a coin.
I move over next to Dean. “Thanks, but we’re just here for fun.”
“Oh, come one. This is a gambling man’s town. The Wild West. If the kid is as good as he claims, here’s fifty gold for the taking. I’m always looking for some quality competition.”
Dean frowns. “Sorry, but I don’t have fifty gold even if I wanted to.”
“What’s the game?” Grayson steps up beside us, his face set like stone.
The man smiles and his mustache curls up at the edge. “Pinfinger.” He pulls a knife from his belt and slams it point down into the table.
Pinfinger. I’ve never heard of it.
Grayson laughs. “I’ve played my fair share of pinfinger over the years. It’s pretty popular among the sailors.”
“How does it work?” asks Dean.
The mustachioed man answers. “It’s pretty simple. You place your hand on the table.” He presses his palm down and spreads his fingers wide. “Then you stab between each finger from one side to the other. Cut yourself and you lose.”
He takes the knife and slowly moves it between each finger, stabbing at the empty space. The tip of the blade taps against the table in rhythmic succession. The pace quickens as he goes from one end of his hand and back, faster and faster until he stabs the blade into the wood between his index finger and thumb.
“What do you say? Up for a challenge?” The man smirks, and his mustache goes lopsided.
Dean stares at the table with a look of confusion. “How do you win?”
“We see who can go the longest before they finally cut themselves. Beat me and this chip is yours.” He flashes the chip held between his thumb and index.
“And if I lose?”
He winks. “Then I take your money.”
“Sorry, but I don’t have—”
“The kid’s in.” Grayson takes a fifty-gold chip and places it on the table.
I don’t know what Grayson is up to, so I pull him aside. “What are you doing?”
“The kid is a natural. Let him play.”
“But, Grayson, that’s more money than he will make in a year at the mines.”
“Exactly.” Grayson crosses his arms. “I’m giving him an opportunity to show his skill. If we don’t take a chance on our own, who will?”
He has a point. Still, throwing around fifty gold on a single game is ludicrous.
“Fine.” I lift my hands in surrender. “It’s your money.”
Grayson nods to Dean. “Show ‘em what you’ve got.”
Dean and the mustachioed man take a seat across from one another at the table.
The mustachioed man pulls the knife free and hands it to Dean. “You can go first. If I beat you, you’ll have a chance to outdo me. We keep going until one of us wins.” He snaps his finger. “James, you’ll keep time.”
The other man, James, steps up to the table holding a golden pocket-watch. He wears a red cowboy shirt and a black bandana around his neck. A thick blond mustache drapes over his lip like a walrus.
Come to think of it, I don’t think I’ve seen so many mustaches in one place as I have in this world. They really do try to make it feel as immersive as possible, unlike in certain worlds where a space knight and a mage can stand side by side.
James lifts the pocket-watch. “I’ll start the timer on your first move.”
“Show ‘em what you’ve got, kid.” Grayson offers his encouragement and then steps aside.
Dean glances at me, and I nod. It’s time to see what he’s made of.
He takes the blade and taps it between his thumb and index finger, starting the timer. He moves it between one finger to the next like he’s done it a thousand times. His eyes are locked on his outstretched hand as he moves robotically.
“Time!” James calls out when a trickle of blood runs down Dean’s ring finger. “Twenty-five seconds.”
Mustachio extends his hand and flashes a dangerous smile. With the first tap of the blade, James starts the timer.
From the first movement, it’s clear that Mustachio is an expert at the game. His motions are precise and fluid, jumping between each finger with ease. He looks Dean in the eyes as he goes, the pattern committed to memory.
“Time! Thirty-seven seconds,” James announces.
A tiny prick of blood, almost unnoticeable, sprouts on Mustachio’s pinky finger.
He frowns. “Ahh, dammit. Let’s see what you’ve got. Thirty-seven seconds or your friend’s gold is mine.”
Dean nods but doesn’t say anything. His face is set with determination. I’m sure he’s feeling the pressure to win back Grayson’s bet. I remember the first time I spent a large sum of money after opening the Developer’s Chest. I almost vomited from the anxiety.
“Don’t worry about it. Just do your best.” I try to offer encouragement.
He doesn’t acknowledge that I spoke as he takes the knife and begins the next round of pinfinger.
With laser focus, Dean moves the blade from finger to finger. His brow is furrowed as he follows each movement. It’s almost as if he’s in a trancelike state when he passes twenty-five seconds. At forty seconds, a bead of sweat trickles down his temple.
After a minute, a crowd has gathered, but Dean is so zoned in that he barely seems to notice.
The blade taps in a perfect rhythm as it goes from side to side.
By one minute and fifteen seconds, I’m questioning how he’s still going. A minute-thirty and Mustachio looks on in fascination.
When Dean finally nicks his index finger and it glows a bright red, the room erupts in applause.
Mustachio stands up from the table. “I’ll be damned. Here, take the chip.” He flips the chip like a coin, and it bounces on the table in front of Dean. �
�If you’re looking for a gang to join, we’ve got room for a sharpshooter in The Wild Bunch.”
“Gang?” There’s uncertainty in Dean’s voice.
“This is the Wild West, make of it what you will. You can help uphold the law, or you can be an outlaw. The choice is yours.”
“And which one are you?” asks Dean.
“A little this, a little that.” He winks. “If you ever want some real adventure, come find me.”
Somehow, I feel like getting involved with a gang is not in Dean’s best interest.
The crowd quickly disperses, leaving me and Grayson alone at the table with Dean.
I take a seat next to him. “Wow, Dean. I must say I’m impressed. Where’d you learn to do that?”
“I don’t know.” His eyes dart to the ground for a moment before he returns my gaze. “I’ve always been good at games that require steady hands. I got in the zone, and it was like I was a robot.”
Grayson slides the chip to Dean. “You put on quite the show. Enjoy the spoils.”
Dean picks up the coin and admires it before handing it to Grayson. “You bet on me. It’s yours.”
“Nonsense.” Grayson shakes his head. “You earned it. Now, what do you say we go get you into some real western wear?”
Outside of the Rusty Nail Saloon, a wide dirt road runs through the middle of town. A tumbleweed rolls past, leaving a trail of dust in its wake. Across the street, there’s a general store, a bank, and a barber. A little further down, I spot a chapel with a tall steeple and a blacksmith. To the other side, there are a few offices, a jail, and a corral for horses and other livestock. A few houses dot the edge of town, but most of the people I’ve seen stay in the inn above the saloon.
We head to the general store. Unlike most worlds that would have shops for clothing, weapons, food, and whatever else, it can all be found in one place here.
A porch sits several feet off the ground, making it easier to load and unload supplies into wagons. As we step inside, a bell announces our arrival.
I purchased the clothing I’m wearing through my home portal, so this is the first time I’ve been in the general store. The entire space is crammed with shelves, counters, and displays showcasing all manner of items.
A giant barrel full of nails sits next to a display of blueprints for barns, houses, and other frontier buildings. Near the back, harnesses and bullwhips hang from the wall next to an assortment of button-up shirts. They have cowboy hats, boots, denim, and khakis. The register is surrounded by a variety of candies, wooden toys, a barrel of pickles, potatoes, jerky, and other foodstuffs. A large bulletin board next to the door displays wanted posters, work for hire, election notices, and other information about the town.
“How can I help you gentlemen?” A weathered voice draws my attention, and I spot an older man with a long gray beard sitting on a stool behind the counter.
“We’re looking to get this one outfitted.” Grayson gestures toward Dean. “And we’ll all need to buy weapons.”
The old man gets off the stool. “Follow me this way and I’ll show you our starter packs. You get more bang for your buck that way.”
Dean follows the man toward the back of the store.
Grayson turns to me. “Do you want to pick a quest off the board for us? That way we can decide what weapons we’ll need. I’ll help the kid get his gear sorted.”
“Will do.” I leave Grayson to shop and return my attention to the bulletin board.
It’s filled with notices attached by thumbtacks. I disregard the work for hire and stuff relating to the townspeople. We want action and adventure, and the best way to find it is with a bounty. Dozens of posters offer rewards for capturing outlaws wanted for everything from trespassing to murder. I quickly glance through them.
Wanted: Dead or Alive
Peter 'Dust Devil' Griffith
Crime: Murder
Reward: $1000
Wanted: For Capture Alive
Matthew 'Whip' Williamson
Crime: Fraud (Selling Harmful Substances as Miracle Medicine)
Reward: $100
Wanted: Dead or Alive
Jack 'Night Rider' Patterson
Glen 'Hawkeyes' Hendrix
Fannie 'the Blind' McConnell
Elsie 'Faith' Whitehead
Percy ‘Big’ Leon
Crime: Robbery
Reward: $750 per person
As I focus on each poster, it enlarges across my vision, offering more detail on each bounty.
Peter ‘Dust Devil’ Griffith is wanted for the murder of Ulysses Smith. Griffith murdered Smith in cold blood over a disagreement relating to a game of poker. He is believed to be hiding in Caldecot Cove.
Matthew 'Whip' Williamson is wanted for selling harmful substances under the guise of a miracle cure. After several people became ill, it was determined that Williamson was passing off a mixture that included snake venom as a cure for baldness. He was last seen on the outskirts of town to the west.
Jack 'Night Rider' Patterson, Glen 'Hawkeyes' Hendrix, Fannie 'the Blind' McConnell, Elsie 'Faith' Whitehead, and Percy ‘Big’ Leon, also known as ‘The Rowdy Five’, are wanted for stagecoach robbery. Their last-known whereabouts were in the Black Hills, where it is believed they have stashed their loot in the rocky caves.
They go on like this for a while. There are enough bounties to keep us busy for weeks, but I take the one for The Rowdy Five off the board and go find the others. With there being five of them, we have a better chance at collecting at least one of the bounties, not to mention the possibility of finding their stolen loot.
I find Grayson and Dean in the back of the store near the clothing. Dean has a large red-and-yellow poncho draped over his shoulders and a tan Stetson hat. He’s also traded his sneakers for a pair of brown boots.
He turns to me with a wide grin. “Pretty cool, right?” He lifts his arms, revealing the breadth of the poncho. “I should blend in pretty well with the sandy terrain.” He reaches down and picks up a burlap sack. “I also got this starter pack. It has everything we need to make camp. Plus canned beans and jerky for when we need energy.”
“Nice. I found us a bounty. What else do we need?”
Grayson takes the bounty paper and glances it over. “We need weapons, and then we’ll need to rent some horses from the stable.” He turns to the older gentleman. “Let’s take a look at your firearms.”
The old man leads us to a glass case filled with various weapons. Several revolvers, a shotgun, and a few different rifles, along with knives of different lengths, and even a slingshot and marbles.
“What can I do for you gentlemen?”
Grayson kneels in front of the display. “It looks like we’re setting off in search of The Rowdy Five. We’ll capture them if we can, but we need to be prepared for a shootout just in case.”
The man shakes his head. “Good luck with that. Many have tried to round them up, but they’re a dangerous bunch. They know those hills like the back of their hands.” He unlocks the display and reaches inside. “There’s a reason nobody has caught them yet. I’d suggest you each take two weapons. But you’ll definitely need a revolver in any case.” He picks up a handgun with a rotating barrel. “This one should do nicely.”
Peacemaker. Single-action Revolver.
Ammo Capacity: 6
While they lack the range and firepower of a rifle, the revolver is a staple in every westerner’s toolkit. They can be fired with one hand, making them the perfect weapon for firing from horseback or while steering a carriage. They are quick to reload and are accurate in close to medium range.
“Alright, we’ll take three of those.” I pull out a handful of chips from the saloon. “Tell us about what else you have.”
“We’ll take four.” Grayson takes the revolver from the counter and spins it around his finger. “I prefer to dual wield.”
“Very well.” The man reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a shotgun. “For close range. Or if you want to pe
pper something from far away.”
Winchester Model 1897. Pump-action Shotgun.
Ammo Capacity: 2
The preeminent weapon for close range. The use of pellets over a single bullet provides greater accuracy and damage at close range. They are also excellent weapons for hunting birds and other small game.
“And then we have this if either of you are a sharpshooter.”
Spencer Repeating Rifle. Lever-action Rifle.
Ammo Capacity: 7
Rifles provide longer range and more firepower than revolvers. Due to the increased damage, they are not recommended for small prey, as they will obliterate the animal, leaving nothing to skin.
“Dibs on the rifle.” Dean picks it up and aims down the sight toward the wall.
I take the shotgun and feel its weight against my palm. “After your stunt in the saloon, I’m not going to argue with you. You have the best accuracy out of any of us. I guess I’ll take the shotgun then.”
We stock up on ammo, as well as a few other provisions before heading to the stables where we rent three horses for the evening.
Once we’re all saddled up, I pull out the wanted poster for The Rowdy Five and focus on it again.
Accept Bounty? Y/N
I accept and a small dot appears on the map in my vision.
Chapter Nine
The clop-clop of horse hooves against the sandy terrain is surprisingly calming as we travel across the desert. As I expand the map in the corner of my vision, I notice the dot marking our destination is less precise than it appeared on the mini-map. Instead of it showing a specific location, it’s actually a large area nearly a mile wide labeled “Black Hills.”
We’re definitely going to have our work cut out for us finding these outlaws.
Dean hasn’t stopped smiling since climbing on his horse. He holds the reins in his hands, head held high as we trot along. With his poncho and cowboy hat, he fits the part remarkably well.
We all do.
Pangea Online 3: Vials and Tribulations Page 7
