Arthur sighed, straightening his tie and waistcoat in front of the mirror. He ran his fingers through his straw blond hair, attempting to flatten it slightly from its usually messy look, but to no avail. The hairs sprung up into their place each time he tried, and eventually he gave up. Opening the wooden window shutters, the early morning sunlight poured into the room. It illuminated the small wooden bed in the corner, the small wardrobe and a few shelves, and the dressing table with a warm, peaceful glow. A fair contrast to the commotion that would later be outside the door. Of course, it's nothing new, it's an daily occurrence.
The Brit pushed open the bedroom door, stepping out into a fairly large room, filled with tables and chairs, a bar and stools. Above the saloon doors is a horned skull, he knew that much, but wasn't entirely sure which animal it belonged to. Some sort of bison or other large animal. He took up his usual position behind the bar, picking up a cloth and beer flagon, starting to clean it, humming softly to himself. Being the landlord of the most popular saloon in the town, The Blue-Eyed Snake, he had a reputation to hold of both clean tableware and not-so-clean tenders and saloon girls. Not too long after, a couple of the latter pushed through the saloon doors from their rooms, hips swaying gracefully, their crimson corsets around their waists and voluminous skirts brushed past their ankles when they walked. Arthur nodded at them as they arrived, taking their seats on the bar top, waiting for their 'clients' to arrive. They'd serve the customers drinks, food, dance entertainment as well as... other entertainment in the rooms at the back. Of course, Arthur did none of that unless they were very short on staff, though he did give out drinks. Sometimes he stayed behind the bar, other times he'd serve individual tables. Sometimes they'd even pay double, and he couldn't resist an offer like that.
The saloon soon filled up, cowboys from both in the town and outside of town; various button ups, chapped trousers, spurred boots, topped off with Stetson hats and the occasional whip or lasso. Some in groups, others solo. Some went to their usual corners or tables, others walking straight to the bar to order drinks. The swinging doors would open, alternating directions a few times before falling still again. Arthur was busy, filling up flagons of beer across the bar top, cleaning new ones and clearing old ones. He was in the middle of serving one of his usual customers when the room went silent, everyone held their breath and looked towards the door. Arthur did the same, noticing a shadowed figure with his hands in his pockets, his hat pulled over his eyes. As he entered, all Arthur could hear was the heels of his boots clicking on the wooden floor boards and the spurs on the back rattling at each footstep. No one spoke as he reached the bar, taking a seat. He didn't speak at first, just placed some coins on the table top. And when he did, his voice was deep, mysterious, laced with hints you'd only hear from cowboys in Florida, or so Arthur had heard.
"Some o' your finest, if ya don't mind, darlin'." He glanced at Arthur, who nodded, pouring his glass and setting it down in front of him after taking the money. He didn't say anything after that, and looked down at the table. Standing in the doorway, he was silhouetted against the run's rays, but now Arthur could get a good look at this newcomer. He had a long sleeved white shirt on, the sleeves rolled up just above his elbows, looking rather dusty and well worn. There were a few rips here and there, and it was lazily tucked into his trousers. These were a dark brown, with a lighter beige around the thighs. These were also worn, thin around the knees and hips where he'd been seated on a saddle for so long. At least, that was what it looked like. They were held up with a leather belt, the silver buckle used and slightly rusted in places. He had some sort of brown leather waist coat, with white tassels on the chest pockets. There was something golden tucked into the left one, but Arthur couldn't tell quite what it was. From the hushed voices in the room, the landlord thought it best not to ask, especially as he still couldn't see the man's face. From what he could see under the tan leather hat, the man had untidy dirty-blond hair which stuck out carelessly, rather like Arthur's own. When the man spoke again he lifted the cap slightly, revealing piercing blue eyes which seemed to search the men around him, as if he were trying to seek someone out before turning back to the front. He downed the glass of beer and smirked, almost as if he were challenging others to do the same.
"As good as they say," he drawled slowly, as if he were deliberately trying to be seductive. Arthur rolled his eyes and smiled faintly, ignoring the shiver the man gave him.
"Thank you," he replied, "we do have a reputation to keep here."
"Oh yeah, quite the reputation," one of the men in the back jeered, encouraging chuckles from some others in the room before the voices started to rise again. As if cued, one of the saloon girls switched on the record machine, hips swaying provocatively as she leant against it. Her heels clicked as she walked and her hair was drawn over her shoulder.
"I don't see anyone complaining." Arthur muttered under his breath, going to turn around. He felt a hand on his wrist. It was the man again. "What?" Arthur said, annoyed, even more so when the man just laughed.
"What sort of reputation?" he asked, raising a blond eyebrow, "Because I've heard it's quite the attraction for... tourists." He laughed again, letting go and resting both hands on the counter top, swirling his empty glass around.
"If you're ever lonely, this is the place to go," someone else said, before he busied himself with the woman in his lap. Arthur sighed, feeling the grin of some of the men in the room. It wouldn't take long for people to realise what they meant.
"Buy a drink, rent a room, or get out." Arthur said simply, before directing his attention to the man still watching him. His smile was secretive, like he was hiding something. He stood up, and tilted his hat slightly.
"Until next time," he winked, before turning on his heel and strutting out, but not before grabbing what looked like a wanted poster and stuffing it in his pocket. Before Arthur could question or protest, he was gone. Just like that, away with the wind.
"Who was that man?" Arthur asked the man beside him at the bar, Matthew. He was an old friend of Arthur's, though no one knew much about him or where he came from.
"His name is Alfred F. Jones," Matthew replied curtly, leaning against the counter. "Known by many as the Eagle of the west, he's bad news."
What came next was a surprise to Arthur, and he could almost hear the warning in his voice.
"And you're his next meal."
