Hamilton was one of the biggest towns in the plains of western Kansas. Home to the United States Marshall, a train station, and an assortment of shops and vendors. The town was home to just two hundred residents inside the town itself and a couple hundred more on scattered farms.
The sun was hanging just past its apex when the Wanderer and Aquinas first walked into town. There were a few dozen people walking along the main street, only a few gave a passing glance at the man in the blue duster. They had no reason to pay him any attention, his kind came into town every day. It did not matter if he was a bounty hunter, a prospector, or a highwayman, they all visited Hamilton at one time or another.
Walking Aquinas in a soft trot up the main street, Wanderer saw the unmistakable building of the saloon at one end. A handful of horses were hitched out in front. He hitched Aquinas next to an aged mare before walking inside the saloon.
The inside was of typical construction for this area of the frontier. It was clear that the proprietor took great care to maintain cleanliness. While most saloons that Wanderer had been in had a thick layer of dirt and debris covering the floors, this one was clean. Just as he had expected there were only a few townspeople and farmers enjoying a drink or a meal. The majority of the tables were empty.
Before he had even taken a seat at the bar, the bartender turned to address the Wanderer. "Looking to wet ye whistle?" The bartender had the sing-song accent of a Welshman.
"Ja, whisky." The Wanderer replied as he took his seat.
"Just took a pot of beans off the fire, if ye fancy a kip." The bartender popped the cork on a bottle of Old Crow and poured two fingers in a shining clean glass.
"Ja, I will take some lunch. Danke."
"If ye don't mind me asking, Stranger. What brings ye out here, hunting profit, people, or a woman?" The bartender asked inquisitively as he ladled a scoop of pork back and beans into a ceramic bowl.
The salty, sweet aroma of his lunch caused the Wanderer's stomach to rumble. It was his first proper meal he had had since he set out from Chicago. He bowed his head and said it a soft prayer before making the sign of the cross. Mixing the beans with his spoon he answered the bartender, "I am tracking someone down. A young woman who I was instructed to keep safe was taken before I could reach her." Despite the simple ingredients that made up the beans it was a far cry above his travel rations and he greedily took large bites.
"Aye, its always the women. Can't say seen anyone that seems taken pass through. Just the normal rabble." As if to bring credence to his point sounds of a scuffle came through the swinging doors before one of the front windows were smashed in by the flying body of a man. "Oh for fucks sake!" The bartender exclaimed.
As the man who had been thrown through the window lay in a sea of broken glass, the man who had thrown him walked through the broke window frame and mounted him. Several heavy fits began fall on the downed mans head and abdomen as the assailant berated his victim. "Try and cheat me! You lying sum bitch, I'm gonna kill you!"
'Just once I would like to enjoy a meal, I blame you.' The Wanderer thought as he placed his half eaten bowl on the bar and made his way to the violence, his heavy soled boots drumming along the floorboards. "That's enough of that now!" The Wanderer grabbed the man on top and threw him to the ground.
"You want some too, Dutchy?" The assailant lunged off the ground and jammed his shoulder into The Wanderer's solar plexus, the wind being knocked out of him. Wanderer locked his feet on the floor to attempt to keep his balance as the assailant threw a right cross that connected with Wanderer's jaw.
'This guy is full of adrenaline and that makes him dangerous', thought Wanderer, 'I gotta end this soon or this can get out of hand.' The assailant attempted a follow up left uppercut, Wanderer saw it coming and stepped backwards. His fist finding nothing but air, the assailant now exposed. Wanderer reached and grabbed him opponent into a front headlock, wrenching him forward, driving short knees into the assailants chest. In a vein attempt to get out of the hold the assailant drove his fist into Wanderer's testicles. The pain shot up the Wanderer's groin and stomach, his grip released.
The assailant looked to end this fight quickly, he pulled out a knife from his belt and lunged its glimmering point at the doubled over Wanderer. As if a sixth sense took over Wanderer stepped back and the blade graced his jacket, barely scratching the leather. With the assailant now fully extended at an angle and Wanderer standing straight up he drove his fist down on the assailant's back, knocking him down on his knees. Reaching around his opponent and lifted him to his feet, the assailant dazed was than lifted off the ground and slammed down onto the ground into the broken glass. Getting up to his feet Wanderer assumed a shiznetai before realizing that his opponent was knocked unconsciousness.
Seeing that he had won the fight he went to check on the man who had originally been thrown through the window. The man's face was bloody and his chest was raising and only the left side of his lungs was raising during his short ragged breathes. His lung was collapsed and the trauma done to to his head and face would be deadly if not treated soon. "This man needs the doctor immediately!" Wanderer said with urgency to the bartender.
"I will go get him!" The bartender beginning to come around the side of the of the bar when the doors swung open. In walked a man in a dark red suit, his large stomach hanging over the belt and holster on his waist. On the lapel of his suit jacket was a shinning Marshal's badge, it appeared new. "Where do you think you are going, Welshman?" He asked in an accusing tone, his eyes surveying the battleground that had opened up in the bar.
"I am going to get the doc, Jasper Goldwin is in a bad way." It struck Wanderer that the bartender seemed scared by the Marshall.
"Who says?" The Marshal asked with the same accusing tone as he walked over to Wanderer and man he now knew was named Jasper. "I says Marshall." Wanderer spoke up, something about the Marshall was not setting well with him.
"And who are you? From the blood on your face it appears you were involved in this fight as well, is that correct?" The Marshall's gripping at his belt attempting to be a strongman but it only accentuated his large overhang.
"My name is Abishai Aebi. The gentleman who lays there unconsciousness through Jasper here threw Jasper through the window and began to beat him senseless. I intervened on behalf of the helpless party. This gentleman," Abishai pointed to the one he had thrown onto the ground.
"Mathis." The bartender said.
"This gentleman, Mathis was planning on killing Jasper. He made that plainly clear." Abishai said as he raised to his feet.
"Mr. Aebi, you must be new in town. You see here in Hamilton our mayor has made it clear that he has zero tolerance for fighting. Can you turn around for me?" Abishai cursed under his breathe as he turned around and he felt the irons clamp down on his wrists.
"Now Marshal! Wait just a minute, all he did was prevent a murder. Clearly you can see that he only made your job easier!" The bartender began pleading with the Marshall.
"Stand back Sheep-Shaggier! Unless you need another trip down to the jailhouse yourself." With that threat the bartender sulked away.
"Let's go Fritz!" The Marshal walked Abishai out of the swinging door.