[HOE] The Ballad of Walter Hot Iron

["Martin Hall" <mr_rakshasa@hotmail.com>]

>great, thanks. Now I have snorted tea all over my keyboard, and the rest
>of the office is looking at me strangely...

Don't mention it! I have a particular tale to tell, and being as how I ain't 
subscribed to the Weird West at the moment, and have a hankerin' to tell it, 
I'd be much obliged if I could tell you folks here.
Now, our tale begins a few years back, and our posse, well, it sorta lacked 
team spirit. If you follow me. Tom Lumley, he was our Marshall, and the 
finest Marshall ever wierded up the West. Our posse consisted of:

Professor Thomas J. Carmichael, Aeronaut, inventor of the submachine gun and 
corpse.
Joe: Escaped railroad worker, two-clawed brawler and, it turned out, also 
corpse.
Dave Foreman: Crack shot, man of mystery, and pragmatic antihero.
Edward Jenkins: Drunk, gambler, horse thief. He had a heck of a nice gun, 
though.
Doctor Darius Bond: English alchemist, specialist in enfeebling powder and 
explosive concoctions. Doctor Bond had no knowledge of how to throw.

Now, our posse had got mixed up with Walter Hot Iron and a gang he was 
runnin' with. Mostly, the rest of them got killed in the fight, but we took 
Walter alive. Now, during the fight, Walter cut loose with some Shaman 
business that meant we couldn't spend chips to cut damage. Plus, it looked 
freaky. Now, we'd taken quite a beating on this, so we dragged Walter up to 
our lodgings and tied him to a chair, determined to find out where the rest 
of his gang was and who they were working for. A little interrogation 
(nothing more rough than shouting at him, or pointing Joe out to him), and 
he sang like a bird. We had gained important information, of the sort our 
party was criminally bad at gathering, and felt quite pleased with 
ourselves. Now, having incapacitated Walter, the group was of two minds. 
Myself, Foreman, and Bond thought we should kill him. I'm man enough to 
admit I was afeared of his power, and he might round up a gang and come 
after us. The rest felt we should let him go. Now, to understand what 
happened next, you've got to know this: Jenkins had no real inkling we 
wanted Walter dead. So, we agree to let Walter go. Bond, Joe and I leave 
with Jenkins. Foreman stays behind to "untie" him. Significant glances are 
exchanged, covert nods and so on. When we leave, there's a muffled bang from 
upstairs, and Jenkins hears it. Too soon. He runs back upstairs in time to 
see Foreman hastily trying to lever Walter's body (still tied to the chair) 
out of the window. There's a pillow covered in powder burns and there are 
feathers everywhere. Walter has been shot in the head, and Foreman doesn't 
make his Don't Look Guilty roll, and stands there, red-handed. Nonetheless, 
we go with the "he was trying to escape and was using some weird power on 
me" story. Jenkins doesn't fall for it, despite the presence of a renowned 
scientist [toting a Gatling Shotgun] who believes Foreman. Jenkins calls 
Foreman an evil man and takes a swing at him. Foreman ducks back and draws 
on him, convincing Jenkins to stand down or die. Jenkins and Foreman hate 
each other with a passion for the rest of time.
Sorry, don't quite know what got me started on that.
Anyway, don't you love it when a party works like a well-oiled machine? Or, 
in this case, like a Carmichael Electrostatic Ray Generator?
Sincerely,

Professor Thomas J. Carmichael
CEO, Carmichael Industries
Tomorrow's Technology Today

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