Post by account_disabled on Dec 14, 2023 6:08:49 GMT
She smelled a corpse as soon as she entered the city. She smelled her armpits, but she was sure it wasn't her that smelled like that. Nor Willy, her bison. She had groomed him only a month earlier. She sniffed the evening air and let the sweet aroma of rotting flesh guide her. Deafening noises hit his ears as soon as he came into sight of the saloon. Glass exploded and a man flew into the street, landing on fresh horse dung. Inside, he saw chairs and benches flying, heard shots and the crash of wood and bottles. He paid no attention to the fight in progress and continued on.
He turned into an alley where a smelly, yellowish stream flowed into the darkness. He passed a building with peeling walls riddled with bullet holes. He went forward a few more meters and stopped. The man was lying on the ground, sprawled out, his arms almost covering his face. The woman got off the bison, stroked the animal and approached the corpse. She turned him Phone Number Data over with the toe of her boot and a sparkle appeared for a moment on the man's chest. A tin star. Someone had killed the sheriff. The woman looked around, but the streets were deserted. Indeed, it seemed that the whole of Bang City was beating each other up inside the saloon. He wondered where the Widow Abercrombie's house was. The rich lady had hired her as a personal chef and Barbara had let herself be convinced by that tempting proposal, even if she didn't feel like she was born to be behind the stove.
Once she was over thirty-five, the woman already had two husbands under her belt and six or seven time wasters left under a meter of earth. No one could afford to mock her without paying the dues. Taller than average, two hundred kilos well placed on a virile body, oversized breasts, a cigar constantly in his mouth, long black hair tied in a ponytail, a tweed skirt, a waistcoat and a pair of Buntline Specials with a 16 gauge barrel thumbs on the belt, Barbara Stone did not go unnoticed. And her mount, a three-meter long bison weighing about eight hundred kilos, increased the matron's flamboyance. No, that was certainly not what a cook serving an elderly Montana nobility looked like.
He turned into an alley where a smelly, yellowish stream flowed into the darkness. He passed a building with peeling walls riddled with bullet holes. He went forward a few more meters and stopped. The man was lying on the ground, sprawled out, his arms almost covering his face. The woman got off the bison, stroked the animal and approached the corpse. She turned him Phone Number Data over with the toe of her boot and a sparkle appeared for a moment on the man's chest. A tin star. Someone had killed the sheriff. The woman looked around, but the streets were deserted. Indeed, it seemed that the whole of Bang City was beating each other up inside the saloon. He wondered where the Widow Abercrombie's house was. The rich lady had hired her as a personal chef and Barbara had let herself be convinced by that tempting proposal, even if she didn't feel like she was born to be behind the stove.
Once she was over thirty-five, the woman already had two husbands under her belt and six or seven time wasters left under a meter of earth. No one could afford to mock her without paying the dues. Taller than average, two hundred kilos well placed on a virile body, oversized breasts, a cigar constantly in his mouth, long black hair tied in a ponytail, a tweed skirt, a waistcoat and a pair of Buntline Specials with a 16 gauge barrel thumbs on the belt, Barbara Stone did not go unnoticed. And her mount, a three-meter long bison weighing about eight hundred kilos, increased the matron's flamboyance. No, that was certainly not what a cook serving an elderly Montana nobility looked like.