Old Rimrock

To the close observer even at a distance, there was a difference in the figures as they struggled through the sagebrush. The man who rode a big black stallion, leading two others was outfitted in all black. A horned toad startled by the intrusion darted across the trail from the shelter of one sage-brush to another—'In a country that raises sage-brush, horned toads, and hell,' and Big John laughed softly to himself.
The June sun was dropping low in the west over the black Colorado range. Purple haze began to thicken in the timbered notches. Gray foothills, round and billowy, rolled down from the higher country. The land burned like hot slag, and except for a panting lizard here and there, or a dust-gray jack-rabbit, startled from its covert, nothing animate stirred upon its face. They were smooth, sweeping, with long velvety slopes and isolated patches of aspens that blazed in autumn gold. Splotches of red vine colored the soft gray of sage. Old Rimrock, a mountain scarred by an avalanche, towered with a bleak rocky peak above the Panhandle valley, sheltering it from the north. When the three men came down out of the mountains looking dusty and gaunt as most strangers did, there was no marvel in the matter of how dusty they were among the town folks. Although the sun was halfway down the west, its glare remained untempered, and the tantalizing shade of the sparse mesquite was more of a trial than a comfort to the three riders as they entered the town of Desolation at the foothills of Rimrock.
There was a furtive look in Big John's restless, wild-animal eyes, smoky like the rest of him, and a surliness about his long, high-ridged nose which came down over his mustache like a beak. Seven feet he must have towered, his crown within a few inches of the smoked beams across the ceiling, and marvelously thin in the running up. His big black stallion was tall, with almost 27 hands. They had ridden boldly, into town, not one man dared to stare at them, their horses walking slowly with the rattle of spur and bit-chain, the squeak and whine of saddles. They pulled up in front of a shady little saloon that was quiet and dusty with barely a good light in the place. Not that the men minded; Big John just wished there was a little more noise. He felt a little too...noticeable here. They sat beside the wall at one of the rounded tables in the corner, where only a small lantern hung from the dark wood. The outlaws jerked as if they'd been slapped and turned to look at the man sitting opposite them. Sitting slouched in his chair like a carefree youth, examining the glass in his hand from underneath his tipped hat sat Texas Red, the most feared and infamous outlaw in the territory. And the reason why most of the tables near them were empty.
"I'm trying ta have a relaxin' night away from lawmen." Tex drawled darkly, clearly not in a good mood, "So shut yer stuttering trap." The bartender and waitress snapped their jaws shut without another word. He glared sourly at Tex, a bottle in one hand. "Man, what a dull night." The waitress said as she walked away from the bar to wait on the tree strangers.
The three strangers looked up in slight alarm as the creaky doors of the saloon burst open and a group of cow-boyish men stood in its wake. Tex glared over his shoulder with a raised brow and wrinkled nose, noting how they pumped out their chests and grinned all over the place like they were expecting autographs. They strode in with their boots jingling like bells, shiny buckles reflecting in the dim light.
A brunette, the one in front with annoyingly sparkling teeth and a whip tied around his belt strode forward towards the barman, who looked even less impressed than Tex. "Give me an' ma boys all Sweetwater, my good man!" He boomed, panning a hand towards his gang of five, "We're lookin' for some thirst-quenchin' drink!" The barman, a short man with a large brown mustache, grunted in response, moving away to fill the order. Perhaps he thought it would get these show-boys out quicker. Big John, Lefty Joe, and Dakota stared mutely at these men, questioning whether such show-offs with overly wide grins cold really exist. Tex took another drink from his glass, brow still raised in incredulous annoyance.
Big John didn't notice that his two men had stared at the newcomers, then slowly turned to look at each other with devilish looks. Lefty Joe and Dakota stood and slid nearby to lean against the bar, Lefty Joe drawing on his cigar as they paused. Then, as if on cue, Dakota remarked loudly, "well den, Lefty, I didn't know we were comin' to a sissy's party..."
The newcomers stiffened and glanced over, taken back by the two outlandish figures. Tex's smirk grew when he saw the look; obviously, they hadn't been in these parts that long. Dakota cackled in a wheezy manner somewhere near Lefty Joe. "Well welcome, Stranger." He crooned in a raspy, sly voice, swirling his drink around in the glass with a subtle grin, "Me an' ma pals here were wonderin' when things would get a lil' more lively."
The fool of a leader grinned at the comment, obviously missing the tone Tex's "pleasant" comment had been soaked in. "That's what we do, friend."
"Heh-heh!" Dakota coughed from below, arms folded with a sneering sort of smirk directed at the men, "Lively as a gaggle of cattle, heh-heh!"
The leading cowboy scowled and turned towards the three with clenched fists. His men seemed to have finally caught the hostility too, and there was a pause as the two groups stared at each other.
The irritated bartender slammed their drinks down and for a moment they all glanced at the pink drinks. Lefty Joe chuckled as the leading cowboy reached for the glass and brought it to his lips.
"Sure ya c-can manage it?"
The Cowboy scowled, then a knowing grin appeared, flashing those stupid white teeth of his. "Better than you can, Tin Can."
Lefty Joe's arm twitched as did the lines cringed in his eyes, but he made no move just yet. Dakota drew on his cigar and puffed out a cloud of smoke. The cowboys coughed roughly as it drew near. "Get that thing away, Shorty!" Dakota sneer at them and folded his arms, but stayed where he was. He and Lefty Joe knew what they were doing- Tex on the other hand was just sitting back and enjoying the show. His mood seemed to have lightened as he was smiling with all the charm of a skeleton at the hapless group. "Say dere, Dakota." Lefty Joe spoke in an even tone, "M-maybe we should g-give these d-dudes some advice 'bout messin' with outlaws." Dakota smirked up at him. "Yeah-" Cough, cough, "Sounds good ta me!" They stepped forward, and the group of cowboy's eyes widened noticeably. Then they stiffened their postures and raised their fists in a fighting stance, their leader reaching for his belt. Flashing another one of his annoying toothy grins, he pulled out the whip and gave it a meaningful slap against the floor.
"Ain't that cute," Tex remarked, putting his feet up.
There was another pause. The other occupants of the bar stared, frozen, gaping at the scene. The bartender grumbled in annoyance. "Scramble 'um S-Dakota!"

Then Lefty and Dakota whipped out their weapons; Dakota pulled a gun from his holster and Lefty Joe tilted his gun at the men. A flash of red-light the dull bar and the cowboys ducked for cover, their whip-wielding leader screeching and diving for the side.
"S'Matter, pretty boy?!" Dakota called with the following cough, aiming his gun at the other cowboy's feet and chasing them around the place like headless chickens. "Too much of ye?" Lefty Joe yelled over the noise. Tex sipped calmly at his drink as the bystanders ducked under their tables; the cowboys running all about the place to escape the shots.
From outside the usually quiet and dark saloon, passers-by stared curiously at the red lights flickering, lighting up the street outside, along with the banging sound of guns and bullets.
They scattered when one of the cowboys, half-roasted and screaming, was thrown through the doors of the saloon and across the dirt road.
One of the cowboys tripped over another one of the men, and as soon as he hit the floor Dakota whacked him over the skull with the leg of a chair. "Who's short now, huh-" Cough. The leading Cowboy finally managed to scramble to his feet, and narrowly dodging one of Lefty Joe's ricocheting bullets, he spied the realizing Tex Hex nearby and snarled. He made the biggest mistake of his life that night. "TAKE THIS YA SCUMBAG!" With an infuriated yell, he lifted his whip and slashed it towards the pale-haired outlaw, and just as Tex lifted his glass to his lips for another drink, his hat was whipped clean on his hair, his head jerking forward. His eyes widened. Dakota and Lefty Joe froze; as did all action in the bar. Terrified on-lookers hiding behind the door, window shutters, and beneath the tables gasped in horror; Dakota's mouth fell open and his cigar fell to the floor with a thump. Lefty Joe's eyes actually focused on pinpoints and widened, both still locked in mid-attack stances.
There was silence.
Very slowly, Tex placed the glass back on the tabletop and stood, lips twisted, sneer just making its way onto his face. The grin on the Lead Cowboy's face slowly faded as the mean outlaw turned to face him. That grin was the most petrifying thing he'd ever seen.
Tex lifted his chin a little, eyes narrowed dangerously as his hand subtly made its way to his gun holster. "Weeeell then," He rasped, "Seems ya ain't caught on yet, Cowboy..." He whipped out his gun and the Cowboy gasped, ducking. But he didn't fire. Confused, the man looked back at him with a raised brow.
Tex's smile widened and he tilted his gun towards the cowboy a blinding red light sparked in the saloon, and lightning-like bullets flew from Tex's gun and barreled themselves into the man's chest, sending him speeding backward through the air- and right through the wall of the building.
As the wall crumbled, Tex reached over with a wide smile and drank the last of his drink, setting the glass back on the table. He glanced at the remaining cowboys and rose a brow. They squeaked like mice and scampered, scrambling out the door with Lefty Joe and Dakota's hysterical laughs following them. Lefty Joe was doubled over, Dakota almost falling backward as they hollered. "T-That was t-too funny-!"
"Heh heh-!" Wheeze, "They scared like chickens-!"
"Alright, ya varments, let's clear out!" Tex barked, ending their rant, though still with a grin playing at his cracked lips as he strode towards the door. Dakota, Lefty Joe, and Big John followed, still snickering. Tex waited till they were out before he turned to the cowering bystanders, still hiding under tables and behind chairs. He tipped his hat. Flipped two $20 gold coins to the barman, "Have a nice evenin', y'all..."
With that, he was gone, as were his cronies, leaving behind a toasted load of cowboys, broken furniture, bullet-hole-filled walls, and terrifying townspeople in their wake.