The Miller Sisters were finishing up their act when Maurice stood up at table three, flipped it over, and reached for his gun. Most of the patrons in the Space Cowboy Saloon didn't even turn their heads to see what had happened. Table three had been flipped several times as Maurice (with Joe Bob and Parquet) drank buttermilk shots and played Spit.

It was a lot more fun to watch Patsy Miller as she strutted across the stage. Her sisters Tholepin and Flu pranced behind her. Between the three of them, they had eighteen tassels spinning at once. The raucous audience was generous in their appreciation with a steady stream of universal cash into the sparkling thongs of the sisters.

The bartender was not pleased to see Joe Bob draw his gun.

Parquet threw up his hands in disgust and said, "Maurice! Quit being a gangster!" Turning his head with a small beeping noise, he leered at Joe Bob. "Joe Bob, you are not the pompitous, so put that gun away now!"

"Let's play some Spit and drink some buttermilk! Bartender! Another round!"

Maurice pulled his gun out of the holster and looked at Parquet. He shrugged his shoulders, brought the gun up, and shot Parquet between the obsidian viewing ports. Joe Bob laughed and put his gun away.

The bartender carefully added a charge of 73 euros to Maurice's tab. The Miller Sisters grand finale reached a frenzied climax which made every bottle of buttermilk in the Space Cowboy bubble over. Five patrons had to be thrown off the stage as they tried to grab goodies from the bountiful buffet of the Miller Sister's breasts.

Maurice dealt another hand at table three.

Some people call me the space cowboy, yeah
Some call me the gangster of love
Some people call me Maurice
Cause I speak of the pompitous of love

Steve Miller Band - The Joker

His mind floats back to two days ago, he and the other remaining young men returning from another failed hunt, finding their home destroyed and only the oldest woman in the village left breathing. Somehow she had willed herself to stay alive despite the gaping wound in her side, she smiled as he bent down to cradle her, “I knew you would return Little Wing,” she gasped.

She told him of the white men who had came, dressed in clothing the color of night’s shadow. They had killed wantonly, savaging most, sparing only the young and beautiful. After torching their tents, the men, with the girls trailing behind their horses, rode in the direction of the rising sun and were gone.

“Thank you, Mother Bear,” he whispered as he sent her to the Clearing in the Sky. She had died a warrior’s death. “The ancestors would be proud,” he thought as he gathered the men to tell them what happened and about the camp he knew lay to the east.

His thoughts are interrupted as the bearded man gets up and begins to dress. As he exits the room, Little Wing begins to move, creeping along the shadows to the window of his sister’s room. He makes a soft clicking sound with his tongue to get her attention; her eyes flash with recognition and relief as she recognizes her brother.

Little Wing softly vaults the window sill, and is about to speak when he sees terror spread across his sister’s face. He hears the heavy footsteps closing in on the door, and moves quickly behind it, pulling out the knife his Grandfather gave him after his manhood initiation. As the bearded man enters and begins to yell at his sister in some unknown tongue, Little Wing shifts the knife into a throwing position. He wanted to spare his sister any more bloodshed, but as the man moves to close the door he realizes that is nothing but another lost hope.

Based on Nesehehame's wonderful Saving Little Sister. This is my first text entry, feedback would be wonderful.

aka The Mexican

Mohito woke and took one more slug of his Golden Tequila, the last of the bottle. He bearly felt the worm slip gently down his throat as it had been a another long day under the blistering mexican sun, and still without work, or hope for work, he had settled down once more in this very spot many hours ago and cracked the seal of the bottle he had just emptied.

The late afternoon sun beat down, he welcomed the near oblivion that the tequila had continuously granted him, as he drifted off again, this time he hoped he wouldn't wake up. He must have drifted for hours.

"Mohito, wake up", through the dirty romping thoughts of Maria, he caught the continuous call of a child, slowly bringing him back to his senses. Standing over him, her shadow falling across his face, was his beautiful, rosy-faced, four year-old niece, Mito. She was gently kicking his foot.

"Mohito, I've brought you a gift from Pedro, he told me to come give eet to you for your birthday", she held a brown paper bag in her tiny hands. It couldn't be, could it? He didn't believe it, he had hardly left this cactus in days, surely Pedro had given up on him.

He grabbed the bag from Maria and stuffed his hand deep into its recesses. He smilled deeply as his grubby paw wrapped around a completely familiar shape, a square bottle. He ripped the bottle clear, and gazed on the Golden shape, sparkling like a nugget in the sun.

"Mother's milk" he thought to himself as he rapidly unstripped the lid and raised the golden liquid to his mouth. He swallowed deeply, then coughed, spluttered, the contents of the bottle returning to his mouth faster than they had gone down! He vomitted all over himself and retched uncontrollably, face down in the mexican dust. He heard the laughter of Pedro and his friends across the yard. For the third time that week he had fallen for the same trick, but in-between they still gave him real tequila to keep their little 'urine game' going, so he didn't care. He silently hoped they never tired of the game.

He sat up, put his sombrero back on, leaned back against the cactus, bowed his head to the ground, and with as much dignity he could muster, he passed out again.

All was silent as Xog laid down his hand. Borg had the deed to his family's sector on the line, and he was not about to loose it. He had already laid down four-of-a-kind, and was confident that the game was his.

"Imperial flush! Scan 'em 'n' weep!" Xog slapped down his cards, and reached out to pull the deed.

Borg quickly snatched the paper and stepped back from the table. "You filthy cheat! I knew I felt somethin' entering my thoughts! You was using your telepathy again! I should've known your kind would resort to that."

"Well, I neva'! You're as paranoid as them humanoids."

Borg whipped out his gun, "Let's face it, Xog, you've neva' played by our rules from the moment you arrived, and you aint about to take advantage of me! We're gonna settle this right now, so I neva have to see your bug-eyed face in this cantina again!"

"You know what? Keep your no-good deed! I aint about to be called a cheater by your species, and especially not for some worthless crater! I'm outa' here!"

To the astonishment of all, Xog knocked over the table and left the cantina. Some wondered why he didn't fight for the deed that he rightfully won. The land, itself, was rich with untapped minerals.

Xog simply rode off into the setting sun of the east. Truth be told, he was reading thoughts - and he knew the deed was fake.

(Illistration: http://www.worth1000.com/view.asp?entry=119022&display=photoshop)

http://www.worth1000.com/view.asp?entry=118676&display=photoshop

Reporter: Dynamite Daisy is it true that you plan to rob the train?
Daisy: Oh no, no. Do I look like a common bandit?
Reporter: Then do you deny the mound of pyrotechnics I personally saw you place on the tracks?
Daisy: Pyro what? I am just a simple woman, sir. Paris, say hello.
Paris: Yip!
Daisy: Don’t worry Paris; the man has a treat for you.
Reporter: A treat?
(Paris jumps into the man’s arms)
Reporter: Take your mutt lady and stop the play-acting. I know you are the nefarious Dynamite Daisy.
(Paris bites the reporter’s hand)
Reporter: Ouch!
Daisy: Oh, I am so sorry. She gets nervous before long train rides.
Reporter: That damn dog...
(Daisy kicks him in the stomach)
(Leaves reporter gasping)
Daisy: (Straightens dress and hair) Paris baby, be good and sit straight for the nice photographer.
(Poof!)
(Screeching metal overpowers the Reporters cursing)
Photographer: Looks like you won’t be blow’n this train Ma’am. They’s stop’n for sure.
Lucy: I never meant to blow it up! I just need a ride to St.Louis. I have a sister there. You heard of Dynamite Daisy?
Photographer: You’re not Dynamite Daisy?
Lucy: You may have a fancy contraption but you sure don’t listen. No. I’m Lucy and that’s Paris.
Photographer: (Shifts feet)
(Train halts ten feet away)
(Lucy, bag in one hand and dog in the other runs to the train)
Confused Conductor: See here, what is this commotion?
Lucy: Slow day in the news I think. Can you believe the temerity of putting fake dynamite on the tracks to create a story?
Conductor: I wouldn’t put it past them. They wouldn’t know a story if I wrote it on their forehead and sold’m for a nickel.
Lucy: Yup. I agree. (Smiles)
Conductor: (Blushes) Hmhm. Do you need a ride to the next station Ma’am?
Lucy: Why yes. And call me Daisy everyone does.
Conductor: (yelling) Start her up boys!
(Train speeds by)
Daisy: (waving) Bye boys! Better luck next time!
Photographer: Do we have a story or not boss?
(The reporter stands, wrapping his hand)
Reporter: We always have a story, haven’t you learned that yet? The nefarious Dynamite Daisy was foiled today in her plan to rob the noon train. The ever watchful and prepared engineers displayed an eagle eye by stopping the ten-ton locomotive with plenty of time to spare. Etc…etc…etc.

I was just sitting there playing poker with my dark hat on. Everybody knew who I was, I was known as The Rider. I ordered another beer from the bar and sat down to finish my poker game. Just then, the Sheriff of the town came in and looked at me in the eyes. He said “What are you doing here Rider, I thought I told you to never come back again.” I just stared deep into his blue, misty eyes. I said smugly “When you told me to leave, you ain’t sheriff. So I ain’t leaving.” That called his bluff. He looked away and said, “Well now I am sheriff and I’m telling you to leave.” He looked back at me, lifted the edge of the poker table, and flipped it, pinning a person against the ground. The person was screaming as the Sheriff leant against the table and pushed down with all his weight. I was standing nearby and he was a good mate of mine so I decided to vent my anger at the Sheriff. I stepped up behind and tapped him on the shoulder, all the while the person on the floor was still screaming in pain. He turned around, I unleashed a vicious left hook on his face, and he went over the poker table and hit the floor with a groan. The screaming person stopped and the only sound you could hear was the painful groaning of the Sheriff. I went over to him, I spit on his face and I said, “You ain’t no Sheriff.” I helped the person up and then walked out the bar, down the street. I was just about to get on my horse when I heard the sheriff call out “I’m gonna hunt you down Rider, and when I find you, I’m gonna kill ya." I turned my back on him and rode away, never to come back to this town.