It’s true Kelly is worth more to Sam alive than he is dead, but that doesn’t mean Samuel will hesitate in shooting the outlaw should be prove himself to be more trouble than he’s worth. Admittedly Samuel always tries to bring his bounties in alive, but he hasn’t lived to the age of 41 by being overly compassionate. He is not a soft touch, something men have seen fit to force him to prove time and time again, always to their detriment. You don’t live long in this game if you try to give the men you hunt the benefit of the doubt.
“Oh civilised gentleman are we now James? What would you have us do, sit here in our button-up shirts and politely shoot the shit…maybe have us talk about the pissin’ rain while you figure out how best to kill me?”
In truth, Samuel knows better than to take even the smallest sip of whiskey tonight; he knows himself too well, knows that he will get the taste for it, a taste Kelly is likely to manipulate to either subdue him or make a quick escape.
Slowly Samuel slips into the seat, but he does not lower his gun, nor take his eyes off Kelly for a second, even when the bartender starts flapping his gums, because he wants James to see the tense conviction shining in his eyes.
“Oh we is goin’, don’t you worry ‘bout that. Big Kelly here is gonna finish his drink, put on ‘em cuffs and accompany me like the civilised old boy he is, ain’t you Kelly?”
Now sat side by side Kelly was met with the full force of Silas’ glare. Despite the steel in his gaze, Kelly didn’t shy away, instead taking the opportunity to get a good look at him and get a sense of the man he was up against.
There was no softness about him, that much was clear, in his appearance nor in his affect. Of course that was somewhat expected of a man who'd been in the business as long as he, but the years didn't seem to have taken their toll. At least not in the way it might have, perhaps only picking away at his patience considering the lack of any he showed today.
“You tryna say I ain’t a gentleman?” Kelly interjected, said with the wily grin of a man anything but. "You just seemed like you could use a drink is all... Jesus! You ever lighten up?”
The bartender didn’t seem to be having any of it.
“I don’t remember saying you could take your sweet time. Now means now.”
“We’re goin’, we’re goin’!” Kelly hollered right back, muttering his displeasure. “Thanks for nothin’ Marshal you damn bastard.”
He took his time, raising his glass in friendly toast to Silas and to the bartender in turn, even as he cursed them out. Of course, it was never going to be that easy. The next second was a blur of movement, glass cracking between the bony side of Silas’ head and the fleshy pad of Kelly’s palm, chairs flying, gunshots popping somewhere above the clattering as he bolted for the back.
Kelly’s hand was hot and wet and smarting something awful as he pushed through swinging doors out into the pouring rain. His heart hammering hearing the ruckus following behind him, lurching a little more with every slip through the mud to where his horse was lashed. Perhaps not quite as graceful an exit as he had planned, but he was out, yanking at Bess’ reigns as he clambered up into her saddle, kicking her into motion.
snowghoul
theartofmadeline
