A Deadwood scene -- "...their hearts and minds soon follow"

~~~

One of the things many people in town liked about the Saloon Number 10 after Dio took it over was that she had turned it into a “lager beer saloon” which meant it was generally acceptable for just about anyone, including children and fairly respectable women to enter and socialize there. Only the most absolutely conventional and class-conscious ladies in town would hesitate to enter Dio’s place for fear of ruining their reputation or being accosted by some rough and vile individual.

Most of the saloons and booze parlors in town were not as accessible for everyone--and appropriately so. There were some mighty goddamn rough and ready places in town. But because all Dio served was lager beer (and other non-alcoholic libations), her patrons generally didn’t wind up being stupid drunk. Dio had got the idea from the German beer gardens she had seen in Cincinnati after the war, where families from the youngest to the oldest, as well as both ladies and gents could come in and sit downn to talk and sing, drink beer, have a meal, or dance and listen to the oom-pah music and folk songs of their homeland. Those Dutchmen back in the Queen City were always fond of telling anyone who cared to listen that “you can’t get drunk mit der lager bier.” Dio took that idea to heart, and put it to work to make her establishment different from all the others in town.

A customer at the No. 10 when Dio owned it. Note how sparsely it is furnished. Behind the gentleman is the only table and chairs in the place.

So Dio’s Saloon No. 10 was a place anyone could come in if they cared to, so long as they behaved and treated the other guests with courtesy, or at least didn’t harass ‘em any. The 10 offered no “ardent sprits,” and no gambling. Gamblers, con men, and notorious drunkards were of course welcome in her beer saloon--they simply weren’t permitted to engage in their usual pastimes. Likewise chippies, upstairs girls and dancers were never prohibited from entering to enjoy a beer and a bowl of venison stew in the dimly-lit, starkly simple confines of the 10--so long as they didn’t attempt to engage in any “frisky bizness” while there.

The simple rules of the house were enforced when necessary by Roku, as well as Dio herself. Dio offered a man a job at the 10 one time, but he declined, explaining, “I’m sorry M’am, but I just don’t feel quite right working with a woman who can out-shoot me, and another who can out-cuss me.”

After a few months, Dio also had taken on another security man--a fella from up north called Clay Kungler. Clay was there to act as back-up, especially when Roku was off working her other “job.” Clay was just about the toughest character Dio had met in a long time, but she found him damned likable. He had the kind of sense of humor that she appreciated. Dio had told Clay on one occasion that he was "an asshole of epic proportions," and being the sort of fellah he was, Clay looked on that as quite the compliment.

So anyhow, yeah, trouble happened now and then like it did in all the barrooms and saloons of Deadwood, but when it happened in the 10, it usually ended pretty quick.

Taking that into consideration, people got used to the idea that as long as they behaved well, anyone was welcome to go into Dio’s place. And they certainly did--like I said before, you’d find confidence men, card-sharps, booze-hounds and working gals in there for sure, but also miners, drifters, respectable ladies, young’uns, cowhands, soldiers, shopkeepers, outlaws and lawmen, all together and mostly being pretty civil. Most folks didn’t think much about it after a while, but every now and then, Miss Dio’s policies still had some surprising results.

Like the time that Hawk came in...

It was a pleasant Fall afternoon in the 10: Dio cleaning glasses behind the bar; Roku in her usual corner reading her paper; Clay was happily engaged in cleaning and oiling one of the big Colt Dragoons he habitually carried. The only customers were Kit, this real nice woman bullwhacker, and Maybelle, a pretty young lady who as a skilled swift, doin’ typesetting for the new printshop that Mr. Steeter had just started up.

Well sir, as they were all chit-chattin’, the door swung open and this immense shape loomed up, silhouetted by the light from the street. A certain...almost animal-like fragrance greeted the nostrils of those inside the bar. And in lumbered ol’ Hawk.

You remember Hawk, don’t you?

Big...very big.

Ugly...very, very ugly.

And with an ugly reputation. You will recall him shooting the Bella’s bartender in the leg with minimal provocation, harassing folks on the street--he had also been know to beat fellows up at the Gem just for fun, breaking arms like they were twigs. And he had been involved in some more shooting incidents with some men who he said had been trying to jump a claim he had up in the hills. He was pretty much an all-around disturbing presence.

So when he walked in, right away, Kit’s right hand instinctively went towards the the butt of her pistol. Maybelle--normally an irrepressibly loquacious lass--went dead silent for a change and shrunk into the shadows back by the beer tap. Both of the women looked expectantly at Dio and Roku, waiting to see how quickly the fireworks would start.

Dio glanced up from her work with the beer mugs...and smiled.

“Hawk!” she called out cheerfully.

“Hello Dio,” Hawk rumbled back in his grizzly-growl voice.

Roku peered over the top of her newspaper. “Howdy Hawk, nice to see ya again.”

Clay nodded pleasantly to Hawk and resumed oiling the cylinder on the Dragoon.

Dio took a glass and began filling it from the beer tap that protruded from the wall. “Hey, ye pestilence-ridden, stanky mess o' so-called human bein! How the hell are ye?”

Hawk caught the beer mug that Dio expertly slid down the bar to him. He pulled some coins out of his pocket and deftly pitched them into the open cigar box on the back counter. “

“I am doing good, thank ya Dio.”

Kit and maybelle were just plain flummoxed. They looked from Dio to Hawk and then from Hawk to Roku, who had risen from her chair--one of the few in the bar. After stretching like a tall, well-armed cat, Roku ambled over to the bar and was standing next to Hawk, signaling Dio to pour her a beer as well.

Roku never, ever would take a drink when trouble was about to start. In those situations, she always kept her hands free for duties other than holding a beer mug. But here she was holding a beer mug and casually sipping away, while standing next to the epitome of trouble, with a capital “T.”

To Kit and Maybelle, all these things simply made no sense.

Roku looked over at Hawk as she worked on her beer.

“Wheahs ya guns, Hawk?” She gestured at the middle section of the big man, which was noticeably lacking its usual compliment of hardware and leather.

Dio was frowning slightly. “Yeah, don' tell me ye turned Quaker on us, Hawk.”

Hawk grunted, in what presumably was a small laugh. “I dont need no guns, Roku--all I have to do is breath on them...”

Clay laughed, “Ha! I reckon so...I have smelt buffalo farts that were easier to take.”

But Roku frowned. She was appalled at Hawk’s lack of good sense in this matter. “Hawk, that ain’t good, a man like you goin’ about unarmed. There are evil thangs afoot in this town--did yah see the bloody hoss’s haid someone done left on the porch o’ the Red Bird saloon across the street?”

“No, didn't see it.” replied Hawk.

“Well, go on over there, take a good look, Hawk. somebody was sendin’ those boys who run that place a message, and it ain’t a friendly how-ya-doin’ kind o’ message neither.”

Hawk looked curious. Without a word he walked out of the No. 10, still carrying his beer and strolled over in the direction of the Red Bird.

Roku watched Hawk leave and commented, “Whew, Hawk’s gettin’ stankier than evah.”

Dio shrugged. “Well he has been spendin’ most o’ his time up at this claim he seems to be workin’ with some success. But he is convinced some some weasel-fuckers are tryin’ to jump his claim, so he has been purty much livin’ up there--workin’ hard, diggin’ an’ carryin’ gravel to wash it, lookin' fer color...never takin’ a chance to bathe nor even clean up a bit--yeah I ain’t ‘sprised he’s gone a bit more skunky than he had been.”

About then Hawk wandered back in, and set his now empty beer mug down on the bar.

“Damn, that is a mess over there,“ he commented drily. “Who in the hell would do something like that?”

Roku arched an eyebrow. “Wouldn’t be any of your handywork, would it, Hawk?”

Hawk shook his head, with an expression that indicated he took absolutely no offense at being asked such a question. “Not mine.” he grunted.

“Naw, that ain't Hawk's style,” added Dio. “He's the kind who if'n he wanted to intimidate those boys, he’d jus’ go in an’ shoot ‘em in the leg...like he did with Pel.”

Hawk did not seem inclined to argue with Dio about her opinion on the matter. Instead he reached over and patted Roku on her ample backside.

Kit drew in sharp breath. Surely this was not going to turn out well.

Instead Roku grinned an odd little grin and snorted, “Careful, now Hawk--that’s mah money makah.”

Dio grinned too. “Yep pard, you get too frisky there an’ I ain't responsible fer what might happen next.”

Hawk just laughed and then emitted a resounding burst of flatulence. “Damned beans,” he muttered.

Clay looked up from his gun cleaning. “Goddamit Hawk, don't stand so close to the stove when yah do that! Yah wanna blow this place up?”

A look of concern actually crossed Hawk’s face. “You think it might explode?”

Dio’s expression was one of deadly seriousness. “Look, if you catch yer ass on far fartin near m' stove...I ain't puttin’ it out.

Now at last Hawk looked hurt and offended. “You mean you would let it burn? Glad y’all like me so much.”

Everyone in the saloon, including Maybelle and Kit were now laughing.

Dio at the No. Ten

Dio went on, “Probbly not. Mostly jus cuz I'd be curious to see how long it would take before the sensation o’ yer buttocks bein’ aflame would take to mosey on up to yer tiny lil’ critter brain...”

“Might take a while,” interjected Clay.

“Oh not as long as ye might think,” stated Dio in a deadly earnest tone. “I'm bettin’ two, three days, tops.”

Roku was now doubled over with laughter.

Dio sighed and leaned on the counter behind the bar, gazing at Hawk with a strangely wistful look.

“Seriously pard..why ain't ye packin iron?”

“Someone stole it while I was passed out drunk the other night,” grumbled Hawk.

Dio tried not to sigh again...but she did anyway. “Look, you know theys more'n a few folks would kill to get that claim o’ your'n. An’ the critter they'd have to kill to get it, happens to be you.”

Hawk shrugged, but you could tell he was processing what Dio was saying. “Hmmm...guess I am going to have to invest in another shootin’ iron.

“Who knows?” added Clay. “Might it be that perhaps there’s some connection between yer pistol disappearin’ and someone is maybe fixin’ to jump yer claim?”

Hawk furowed his brow. “Hmmm...could be...I went down to Mort’s store to buy a knife, but twas locked up...”

“Hawk...pard...all joshin’ aside,” said Dio in a tired,voice, “I really wish ye'd get ye a new six-shooter, an’ sooner rather than later,”

Hawk suddenly grinned, “Hey, maybe if I catch the right person passed out I wont have to buy one!”

Dio picked up the empty mug that Hawk had left on the bar, weighed it in her hand for moment... and then threw it with all her might at the far wall by the stove, where it shattered into a dozen pieces. “Holy Moses on the fuckin’ mountain! Look here, you cheap, tightfisted baboon! A goddam gun don't cost that much! Just stop foolin’ around an’ get yerself armed like someone who has got more brains than a prairie dog who had his haid stepped on by a draft hoss!”

Hawk looked unsure how to react. Then he shrugged. “Well...if y’all insist, I guess I will go get myself one...since y’all care so much for me and ever’thing.”

Dio nodded and answered quietly, “Damn right I insist, ye overgrown, dirt-eatin feckless rapscallion...”

“And whilst ya at it, Hawk, get a damn haircut,” said Roku.

“And a bath,” added Dio. “And a clean shirt!”

Hawk looked shocked. “A bath??!!”

Dio wagged her finger at him. “Yes! A bath! With hot water, and with soap!"

Clay nodded. “Oh, and yah might get some kerosene too, to kill what ever might be living in that beard of yours.”

Dio had picked up a broom and was sweeping he broken mug out the door into the street. “I mean goddam, Hawk, I spent a couple years with buff’lo hunters, an’ we smelt better than you do right now!”

Hawk raised up an arm and took a sniff. “Damn. Is sorta ripe there. If I get me a bath, will you kiss me?”

Everyone laughed again at this, including Dio. “Naw. But I tell you what. You get ye a bath, a clean shirt, an’ new firearm, and then, if’n ye do ignite yerself fartin’ near a open flame, I promise I shall do m’ utmost to extinguish ye.”

Hawk thought about this a moment. “Fair enough.” he nodded, and stalked out purposefully.

The room was quiet for a spell after the big man had left. And then Kit finally spoke up.

"Dio...when did you all decide that Hawk isn’t such a bad fella after all...and how did you get to where you can be laughin’ n’ jokin’ around with him like that. Other times I seen him, if anyone had talked to him like you n’ Clay n’ Roku just done, he’d a ripped their arm outta its socket an beat ‘em o’er the head with it.”

“No kidding," agreed Maybelle, who finally seemed to have found her voice again.

Dio finished sweeping the last piece of broken mug out the door. “Well, Hon it’s like this...when I found out that someone was tryin’ to weasel Hawk outta his claim, I kinda started lookin’ at him a bit different. Simple fact o’ the matter is that they ain't that many o’ the small time claim holders left now...I’m guessin’ the fellers who are trying to get him off his claim are workin ‘fer one o’ the big mine operators. Hawk’s been here almost since the rush started...an’ I guess I'm a sentimental ol’ fool...but goddam, I would hate to see him get kilt or disappeared, an’ his claim get gobbled up by some big-ass minin’ company."

Maybelle and Kit both looked thoughtful. Finally Maybelle spoke up again. “Allright, so I understand why you are treatin’ him as you do, rather than trying to shoot him--which is what most folks seem to think he deserves. But how in the world did you get him to behave as he was just now? Is that how he has responded to you treating him with some decency and consideration?”

Dio looked at Maybelle and smiled. She always had a soft spot for optimists and naive Mary Sunshine-types who thought that human kindness could re-make the world--even if they were dead-ass, one-hundred percent wrong about that.

“Oh no, Hon, Nothin’ o the sort. Hawk’s been acting different since a encounter I had with him a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh? What happened?” asked Kit.

“Well, Hon, I was walkin’ up Lee street an’ I seen him across the bridge by town hall, talkin' with Miz Mahaila, acting all kinda blustery an’ such.”

”What did you say to him, Dio?”

“Oh, hell’s britches, Hon, I din’t say nothin. I simply went up to him an’ kicked him square in the testicles, just as hard as I fuckin’ could."

“Oh my Lord! What did he do then?”

“Well...I din’t see it, bein’ as I was runnin’ like Hell, about as fast as m' stubby lil' laigs could carry me...ye know, as a matter o’ principle an’ self preservation. But accordin’ to Mah, he sorta sunk to his knees, groaned a little bit, an’ then tipped over. An’ ever since, he has behaved hisself like a real gennleman in m’ presence.”

~~~

"Yeah, I shot the sheriff" -- conclusion

~~~

At right, the key figure in this story: Hawk Auebach. This image was taken some time after this story takes place. You can tell that because ol' Hawk is really cleaned up at this point. No kidding. You shoulda seen him when he first came to town!

Old Bill’s eyes narrowed. “That Hawk feller, he’s outside?”

Dio looked up from bandaging Pel’s leg. “Goddammit. Me an Bill shoulda kilt him that last time...woulda saved ever’one a whole lotta grief...”

“What’s that?” Sheriff Dazar Perun looked confused. “What last time? What did he do that you shoulda killed him for, Miss Dio?”

Mahaila was now visibly upset. She turned to the sheriff, hoping she could clarify the situation without making it worse: “You see Daz, Hawk was...um...he was just...”

As Mahaila’s voice trailed off, the ever helpful Mrs. Kuhr interjected, “That goddam rascal Hawk was bein rude to Mahaila, tryin’ to take liberties with her.”

“WHAT?!!” yelled Daz. His face turned bright red, and the others in the room could tell he was ready to explode. On the frontier, even in a primitive mining camp like Deadwood, society at large generally took a very dim view of any man who tried to force his attentions on a respectable woman such as Mahaila. In this case, Daz Perun’s reaction was understandably ten times worse, being as Mahaila Bertrand was his sister.

“It ain’t jus’ a problem with Miz Mah, Sheriff,” said Jesse. “He be rude to all the women!”

Mahaila began trying to explain, “He came into my office...”

Daz looked at her with a fierce expression. "Why in hell was he in there?"

“Oh he was probably drunk,” offered Old Bill. “He gets drunk n’ causes all sorts of problems...but only with the women, he don’t fool with the men.”

Dio could see where this was going. “Pel, I suspect I am gonna have to be steppin’ outside in a minute or so.” She handed him another bottle of whiskey. “Here...if the pain starts troublin’ ye, have a swig o’ this an’ jus’ hold on ‘til I get back.”

Pel gratefully accepted the bottle, and looked at it for just a moment. He then pulled out the cork with his teeth, spat it on the floor, and commenced drinking.

Meahwhile, Daz was getting even angrier. “That son of a bitch! Insulting my SISTER! Where the hell is he?!!”

Old Bill glanced out the Bella’s door. “He’s still out in the street there by the Gem, Sheriff. He don’t seem to be in no hurry to go anywhere...”

Daz Perun charged into the street, followed by his sister, who was now truly concerned that she had set in motion a chain of events that would end in violence.

“You comin’ along too, Dio?” asked Old Bill.

“Reckon I’ll be there presently, Bill.” Dio answered. Old Bill nodded and went out into the sunlit street.

Dio was retrieving her new double-barreled shotgun from behind the Bella’s bar when she heard Marshal Rau shouting for her and Sal to come out. They looked at one another and without a word, they proceeded from the Bella’s dark interior into the windy street. Cold weather was already setting in, and the frozen ground and stones of the street crunched beneath their feet. The two women walked over to the area in front of the Gem’s broad front porch. There, they found a small crowd gathered in a circle around Hawk Auebach and Dazar Perun.

Daz was not a terribly big man. He was muscular, but somewhat slightly built and like his sister, not especially tall. This made his antagonist, Hawk, look even bigger than he actually was. And Hawk was, in fact, a hugely imposing creature to start with. He stood at least a head taller than most of the men present. He was broad-shouldered, with massively muscled arms, and huge, grimy hands. And he definitely was not a thing of beauty to behold, His clothing was rumpled and stained, and he exuded a ripe stench of someone who had not bathed in a very, very long time: a miasma of stale sweat, old tobacco and rotten teeth. His hair and beard were a long, tangled mass that framed a ruddy, filth-spattered face, with burning dark eyes and a bulbous, pock-marked nose.

He was laughing at Daz.

“Yer a skinny-looking lil’ feller t’ be accostin’ me,“ he chortled. “What did I do now?”

Marshal Rau motioned for Dio and Sal to come over and explained why he had called for them: “Miz Dio, I figure we’re gonna need ya to be doctoring somebody or other here before long. Sal, is that the fellah who shot your bartender?”

“Sure as hell is,” a replied Sal quietly.

“AND you made the mistake of insultin’ my sister, ya miserable sonfofabitch!” hissed Daz. The Sheriff drew back his fist and let fly with a punch to Hawk’s face. The big man took the blow to his chin with barely a flinch.

Everyone in the crowd looked on, visibly impressed.

After a moment, Sand broke the silence.

“Damn.”

That one word pretty much summed up everyone’s reaction. It was a good punch, thrown with everything Daz could put behind it. Mahaila commented later that she had never, ever seen her brother hit a man like that without the recipient of the blow going down.

Dio moved over next to the marshal and made a quiet suggestion. “Sand, I do believe ye might wish to simply go ahead an' shoot the big ol’ cockchafer an’ be done with it...though there may be a risk it’ll only serve t’ irritate him further.

Meanwhile, Hawk looked Daz in the eye and laughed again. “That all ye got, sissy?”

Daz was holding his hand, which obviously hurt a great deal. "Jesus, you’re ugly...and I think your face is made of stone...”

Hawk grinned, “This face been thru more than you can ever think about giving me...”

Sand turned to Dio and noted dryly, “If I try to arrest him, I don’t think he’s likely to come quietly...got any suggestions?"

Although Dio had no particular wish to see anyone get killed -- even Hawk -- she figured that the threat of being shot might make him more cooperative. Therefore, Dio loudly responded to the marshal, “Well ye kin always say ye shot him whilst he was escapin’ or somethin’...or do I gotta shoot him for ye? After all, he done shot Pel the bartender at the Bella...he’s a violent cuss, an’ he’s more’n likely gonna get plugged sooner or later. Might as well save ourselves some trouble an’ get it over with.”

Sand seemed surprised by this suggestion: “Ok, woman, settle down now.”

Dazar sighed and drew his gun. He was quite seriously debating whether or not he should just shoot the man where he stood.

Suddenly, Mahaila stepped in between Hawk and her brother.

“Wait, please,” said Mah. The crowd was dead silent, except for Jesse from the Bella who was quietly praying for everyone involved.

Hawk, smiled at Daz through the undergrowth of his beard. “Go ahead and shoot me. I got no gun on me to defend m’self. But yer never gonna find m’ gold.”

Mahaila ignored Hawk’s odd statement and went on: "Nobody should be getting shot right now. This is a perfect time to use our actions to show we are serious about law in Deadwood.”

“I’m not going to be shooting him, Miss Bertrand,” replied Sand.

“They’s a better than even chance that I won’t either, Mah,” added Dio.

Mahaila looked over her shoulder at Hawk and went on. “We’ve been talking about making this a more civilized place. Well, let’s act like it. Why not a trial? Sure it would be makeshift, as we don’t really have a justice system set up yet......but couldn't we do some sort of bail or something?"

Dazar's eyes traveled up and down the big man's form, and he concluded that indeed, Hawk seemed to have no weapon on him -- he must have tossed away the gun he had used to shoot Pel. And Daz wasn’t about to gun down an unarmed man. “Mahaila, you can step aside. I ain’t gonna shoot a man when he’s not carrying.”

Mah smiled and did as Daz had asked. As soon as she had done so, her brother turned his pistol in his hand and swung it at the side of Hawk’s head, striking the troublemaker on the temple with the butt. Hawk staggered back several steps and dropped to one knee.

“I don't need your goddamn gold,” hissed Daz. "And if you ever go after my sister I’ll kill you...”

The look in Hawk’s eyes was one of pure murder. He stood up, his fists clenched and he took a step towards the Sheriff. Mahaila gasped and retreated back towards Sand.

“Oh satan's huge red testicles,” hissed Dio. She wasn’t about to kill an unarmed man either, but she figured a warning shot might give him pause and keep him from ripping the sheriff into small pieces. She pointed her new shotgun at the ground in between Daz and Hawk, thumbed back a hammer and let go with a blast to the frozen ground.

A ten-bore shotgun with a three-and-a-half inch chamber holds one hell of a load. And when that load is discharged, it makes one hell of a noise. It certainly got Hawk’s attention, and Dio was pleased to see him stop in his tracks and look at her with astonishment. She was much less pleased as Sheriff Dazar Perun made an odd grunting noise and fell to the ground clutching at his leg.

“Wrong man, dammit,” noted Sand.

“Thanks, Sand. I mighta not realized that if ye hadna pointed it out,” answered Dio.

Jess had dropped to her knees and was praying harder than ever. Mahaila looked to be in shock, and then she screeched, “DAZ! Oh my GOD Daz is shot!”

Old Bill, like many of those present had not realized what had happened. He looked at Sand and said with disgust, “Damn marshal, that wasn’t too good o’ shootin’ there.”

Sand was deeply offended: “Hey! I didn’t shoot him.”

“No, I did, goddammit,“ said Dio.

Hawk shrugged and commented in a toneless voice, “I guess I’ll get the blame fer that too.”

All of sudden, Dio found herself starting to like the big man.

Mahaila was frantic: “DAZAR!!!!!!!!!! DAZ...Daz..Dio..why?” She crouched next to her brother, who was doing a good bit of cussing. She pulled off her cloak and pressed it against Dazar’s wounded leg to staunch the bleeding.

Sand glared at Dio. “Dammit woman, How in the hell did you miss a huge, ugly-ass man like that one? I mean, how in the world...”

Dio cut him off, “Oh hush up, Sand, I stopped him from tearin’ Dazar limb from limb, din’t I?”

She stepped over to the fallen Sheriff and looked at his wound. “Dammit Daz, yer just nicked in the leg. Don't be a big goddam baby about it. I seen people hurt worse playin’ checkers.”

Dazar was still not mollified. Holding his leg, he snarled at Dio, “Goddammit! You shot me!” He pointed at the hulking figure of Hawk and said incredulously, “How the hell could you miss THAT?!!"

Dio, cradled her shotgun like a beloved child. “I was TRYIN’ to miss him, goddamit. I wasn't tryin to hit him...jus’ make him shit his trousers an’ pause a moment before he tore yer fool head off an' spit down the gapin’ hole. I ain’t about to shoot a feller what ain’t armed. So I was aimin’ in betwixt the two o’ y’all. But it hit the frozen ground an’ a pellet done ricocheted up an’ nicked yer leg.”

Mahaila shook her head and tore off a piece of her cloak to wrap the injury. She was still worried beyond words. “Daz, you need to get to a doctor...this could be worse than it looks...”

Dazar Perun sighed and told his sister, “I ain’t seeing no Doc -- not fer something like this." As his sister frowned and glared at him, Daz pushed her hands away and unwrapped his wound to look at it. “Jeezus Dio, what you got in that thing? Sounded like a damn cannon going off!”

Dio smiled. “10 bore, 3 and-a-half-inch shell with double-aught buck.” she replied proudly.

Dazar looked impressed. “Shit,” was pretty much all he could say.

While Dio and Mah looked after Daz, U.S. Deputy Marshal Sand Rau turned his attention to the large bearded man who was still standing there, watching with interest as the scene played out.

“Hawk,” asked Sand, “did you shoot a man tonight? Yes or no?

Sal answered for him, “Yes he did! Right in front of me!”

Hawk shook his head in assent: “Yeah..I sure did. He accused me of stealing.”

“Stealing what?” asked Sand.

“A cigar,” replied Hawk.

Now Sal was just livid. “He asked you to pay for cigars -- two cigars! Not one, but two! And you shot him for it!”

Jesse stopped her praying and looked up at the big man. “You don't got to go shootin' someone over seegars, mister!”

Now it was Hawk's turn to get indignant. “Hey, he called me a thief. I’da paid fer them seegars sooner or later...”

Before he could continue Mahaila walked up to him and struck him in the face as hard as she could. Hawk simply gazd at her blankly, but Mah stood there looking at him, her face burning with anger. And then she turned around, gripping her hand, gasping in pain.

"Man has a face just like rock, don't he, sis?" commented Daz in a matter-of-fact tone of voice.

Hawk turned back to the marshal. “Listen, if I wanted that man in the Bella to be dead, he would be dead right now. He just needed a lesson.”

Sand nodded. “Well I tell you what...you say you got gold somewhere...you pay Miz Sal here for the damage to the Bella and for the medical care to look after her bartender...” He paused and looked at Sal for a moment before he continued, ”AND for the two seegars...and I shall let you off with a warnin’ this time.”

Hawk grunted and pulled a leather bag out of his pocket and tossed it to Sal, who caught it. “Oughtta cover it,” said Hawk. Sal weighed it in her hand and nodded.

Hawk yawned and commented to no one in particular, “Well hell, I need me a whiskey.”

Daz swore and shouted, “Auebach! you get the hell out of town right now!”

Old Bill added his two cents worth as well. “Hawk! You bother Miss Bertrand again an’ I am comin’ for you!”

Hawk looked at them both for a moment...then shrugged, and went in to the Gem.

Dio began helping Daz to his feet. “Hey Sheriff, sorry I shot ye, pard.”

Dar Perun smiled at Dio. "No big deal, m’am. As often as I been shot, it’s kind of a nice for a change gettin’ shot by a friend.

“Oh, and I am sorry I called ye a big baby,” Dio went on. “You ain't nothin’ o’ the kind.”

Dazar laughed, "Been called worse, Miss Dio...much worse"

Jesse looked towards the Gem. “Well, that's done I guess.. he gone to the Gem fer some more whiskey...probbly Miss Foxy'll take care of him. If’n he ask her fer a kiss, she'll give him a bullet. I expect to hear a gunshot any minute now.”

But no gunshot rang out. Hawk was going to keep making trouble in Deadwood for some time to come...and then...well, that's another story for another time.

~~~