"I expect he's in the office, Inspector," responds the teller, gesturing to a door on the other side of the wooden cage. "You want I should ask him to come out here or you want to go back there?"
There's a dilapidated wooden fence running along the right side of the mission grounds, apparently marking the old boundary of a farm or homestead no longer in existence, but you expect any proper hitching post would be found in the courtyard of the mission itself.
The spacious lobby of the hotel is elegantly appointed considering its location far from most civilizing influences. A large oaken desk runs against the far wall and a crystal chandelier hangs from the ceiling. A clerk looks up from his place at the desk, folds his leather-bound register closed, and you seem to recall now that you were previously told by someone, maybe Cisco or perhaps by Señor Chacón himself, that Álvaro Álvarez de Chacón is staying at the Western Star while he is in Saguaro. You also notice the familiar face and figure of Señorita María Dolores, whom you last encountered in the coarse company of Buckskin Johnny and Honcho de la Vega, seated alone at a small round window table, drinking tea and reading a week-old copy of The Southern Arizonan, one of the very few newspapers printed in the Territory. She doesn't appear to notice you--or else she is studiously ignoring you.
ooc Proper? What else ya got? In the absence of any good way to tie up the horses, I suppose we'll just have to enter the mission...
Eugene looks to see if there is some means of entrance that might allow the pair some cover, or at least a chance to see what they're getting themselves into. Is there still gunfire? He concentrates, trying to determine how many guns there might be, and how large. He leads Lincoln cautiously, presumably with Lars alongside. His pistol is drawn.
You heard a total of three gunshots in quick succession, then the firing stopped abruptly. It sounded like the report of a large-caliber pistol, but more than that you can't tell. There are a couple of screwbean mesquite trees growing wild about 20 feet from the front of the mission if you want to tie up your horses outside. There looks to be a side entrance with a heavy door, but you're not sure how easy it would be to get in that way if it should be locked.
"Sounds like it's just one feller, Lars. Maybe an abundance of caution ain't really necessary..." Eugene starts to trot, gun still drawn, leading Lincoln towards the open front entrance.
The teller unlatches the gate and guides you to the door to the manager's office. He raps a telltale knock and you hear a deep voice boom "ENTER!" Inside you see a well-dressed older man with cynical eyes seated behind a large oaken desk. The teller looks nervous as the manager says, "I hope you aren't wasting my time, Mr. Bartleby."
As Corbin moves up the slope to the point that his eyes are high enough to see over the wall of the arroyo, he looks upon a makeshift camp where two men lie on their backs on bedrolls, facing away from you, apparently asleep or just quietly watching the foothills off to the east. Between them you see the dying embers of a campfire over which still hangs a black iron pot with a spoon in it. Their saddlebags are carelessly lying on a patch of sun-browned grass, but curiously you don't see any horses around. A small volt of turkey vultures seems to have found a meal in a larger patch of grass, but you can't see what they're picking apart except to see that it's definitely fresh meat, as the blood still drips.
As soon as you enter through the wide open doors into the mission courtyard, you see a slit-eyed man holstering a mismatched pair of revolvers. From the glimpse you get of the pistols, you think one is .44 Colt Dragoon and the other looked like a .44 Smith & Wesson Model 3. The man grins wickedly and says loudly to a group of cowering peónes, "Come on, I need one more o' you Mexicans t' talk back t' me. I only kilt three o' you sons o' bitches 'n I don't like odd numbers!" Sure enough, there are three men lying dead on the ground with red stains spreading over the chests of their white cotton peasant tunics. Seeing Eugene and Lars come on the scene, he squints your way and says nothing, lighting a cigarette and putting it between his lips.
From your current vantage point you don't see any blue bandanas, but you can barely make out more than the fact that they're men probably having a late siesta. You'd need to get closer to learn more as they're about fifty feet away.
"Why don't we just ride on? Let's not go disturbing people who we might put on edge without a good reason"
The man is dressed head to toe in black, which you find impractical for the climate. The dead men all appear to have been peasant laborers armed with machetes which now lie in the dust near the lifeless bodies. You're about twenty paces directly opposite the man in black. A Jesuit brother emerges from a doorway to the right, clutching a cumbersome wooden rosary and looking aghast at the massacre.
"If you're concerned about that, I can tell you he wasn't hurt. In fact, he just finished a game in our cardroom and went up to his room to attend to personal business. I can send a boy to see if he'll receive you. What did you say your name was?"
ooc I know I yelled that I wasn't the law, but I forgot we've been deputized, and if I'm not mistaken, may still be wearing our stars...
The directions you were given said to follow the arroyo and you'd come to the Kerrigan spread. So far you haven't seen any telltale signs that you've reached her grazing lands yet.
You two can decide whether your stars are on display.
Perhaps unfortunately for us, and being relatively new to this, we are indeed wearing our stars...
"Well, well, well...looks like the law's here to put things in order," observes the man in black. He calls to Lars and Eugene, "I'm glad you're here, men. I would like to prefer charges against these three men for attempted horse theft. It's getting to be so a man can't leave his horse unattended outside a church!"
"Who put the bee in his bonnet?" you hear Ludlow say to Marshal Clary as you exit.
Eugene eyes the man warily.
"You must be green," the man replies, "or you wouldn't be so nervous that you don't see my guns are already holstered."
"I want no trouble with the law," he says. "Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Clint McCord. I stopped here to pray before continuing my journey to Hermosillo. You can ask the preacher. I gave him a hundred dollars in gold to hold for me until I pass this way again, and twenty more for him to use as he sees fit. Don't want no bandidos to kill me for it. Some of these layabouts thought they could steal my horse while I was having a word with the Lord."
