He moved somewhat slowly through the silent town. An eerie, almost not present song floated through the haunted air. He walked towards the saloon, the song growing slightly larger. He reached the half-hinged swing double door, looking into the saloon. The building was silent now but for the piano player—presumably. He pushed the doors open silently and walked into the large wooden room. He looked over at the piano. The regular piano player had been replaced by a young woman. She had a slim figure dressed in a simple patterned cloth. Her hair was hidden by a straw-woven bonnet. Her slender fingers moved gently over the ivory keys as she played the soft, quiet music—music not usually heard in the saloon.
A floor board creaked as his foot came down upon it. The next movements happened in just a moment. The young woman stopped playing and spun to face the sheriff, a handgun held out before her; the sheriff unsheathed his gun and held it steadily, ready to fire, at any moment, hot rounded metal into the piano-player’s forehead. They stood in silence, guns pointed.
“Put it down,” he said sternly, his gaze fixed on hers. “I didn’t mean to frighten you, but if you make it necessary, I will kill you.”
“You really think I wouldn’t be able to put this bullet in your head before you even knew I’d pulled the trigger? Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t blow you away.”
“I’m a sharper shot than you, faster too.”
Her eyes flickered down from his, examining the strange man’s clothing. Her eyes widened as they came to rest on the golden badge fixed upon his black leather belt. Her mouth formed words but no sounds erupted. Her hands began to shake. She dropped the gun to the floor, her eyes still fixated on the badge.
He put his pistol back into its holster. “I really am sorry. I honestly didn’t mean to frighten you. I heard the music and—” he stopped.
The young woman continued to stare, her eyes transfixed in a constant gaze of terror, flipping between his pistol, his badge, his face, and back to the badge once more.
“What’s your name, Miss?” he asked, trying to break her stare.
“Azalea Jameson,” she said, lowering her eyes.
“Azalea,” he smiled. “That’s a lovely name. I’m Sheriff Nash.”
She did not respond.
“Miss Jameson, I really did not mean to frighten you. I don’t have you at gun point anymore,” he raised his hands. “And you don’t have a pistol either, so I’ve no reason to harm you. But you are still acting scared.”
Again she was silent.
“I should be going. It was a great pleasure meeting you, Miss Jameson,” he said, tipping his hat and heading back towards the saloon doors.
“Oh, Little Jimmy, you aren’t going to stop there, now are you?” a smooth voice entered the conversation.
Nash turned slowly. Standing at the bottom of the back staircase was a stunning woman. She had bright red hair that swirled down in soft curls over her bare shoulders. She wore a corseted satin gown that ruffled in the skirt.
Nash looked from Azalea to the woman at the stairs. “She isn’t—” he paused, a look of disgusted disbelief on her fault.
“No, no, no, Jimmy,” the woman said walking towards the sheriff swinging her hips seductively. “But come now, Jimmy. You know you wish she were.”
“Goodbye, Sally,” Nash said sharply. He tipped his hat to Azalea and left the saloon.
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