After this day, Sheriff Catling would be known as the greatest gunslinger in the valley.
Right now, he had to listen to this farmer.
"It's like this Sheriff," George began nervously, pacing around the office to work off his fear. "I need you to help me out with this. If you don't, I won't last past evening." here he stops, focusing on the sheriff.
Further words are caught off by a mind devoid of anything but worry. Words escape him, leaving only an empty mouth that grasps for the words he needs. Sheriff Catling, looking at his half-finished coffee, doesn't think there are any words that could save George's life at this point.
That doesn't mean he can't try. Doing so was a part of his duty here in the valley.
He stood up from behind his desk, letting himself loom over George briefly as he reached his full height. Swiftly, he moved to the map of the valley that dominated one wall.
Ignoring the collection of farms that sat next to his town of Greenwood, his gaze focused on Fair Folk's Forest. "Which part of the forest did you find the gold?" he asked, hoping he'd get a good answer. He'd heard stories, typically of the horror variety, about people who found gold; depending on the area, this story might not have to be one.
"From that area between the bones and the spiderwebs," George explained, pointing to the area on the map. His finger sat next to a lake between the exaggerated illustrations.
"How do you know it really was there?" Catling challenged. He liked the answer so far, but had to be sure. Between his distrust of the shoddy map and George's nature, Catling wasn't accepting easy assurances.
"There was this old statue there. It had heathen designs on it, probably left behind by the barbarians. After that, I barely walked a few steps before I found the gold."
Inside, Catling felt just a bit happier; whatever was causing trouble, it wasn't anything important. There were things with great power deep in that forest, which kept to themselves and didn't cross into the sorts of areas someone like George would wander.
George might have been careless about wandering there in the first place, but he wasn't that stupid. Unfortunately, he was just stupid enough to pick up magic gold in a magic forest.
Catling tried to remember which fable warned against picking up something tempting in a magical place. When the details blended into a homogeneous stew of religious diatribe and moralistic truisms, he gave up.
Returning to his desk, he found a pen, paper, and began using both to record the facts of the case. If all went well, a little paperwork would be all he needed to keep things in order. As he put the facts to paper, he patted the silver-lined revolver necessary if all didn't go well.
Fact one, after finding this gold last week, George began to experience unusual activity. Water turning to salt water, a piece of the ceiling falling down, and a pig falling over to die on the ground. He received "all o' this unnatural buggery," as he phrased it, over the next week.
While George explained all this, Catling was thinking it was just a run of bad luck. It was unfortunate, but it was all far more mundane than the typical curses he knew about. Then, George moved on to fact two.
Yesterday, a threatening letter was delivered to George; almost giving him a concussion as it flew through his window, wrapped around a rock. The letter commanded George to bring the gold he found to Greenwood's Gate at sundown today, or face the consequences; which, from what Catlin could determine from reading it, included simple limb-breaking and the supernatural curses of Bac-Mec-Bunain and several other barbarian deities.
That last part convinced Catling that George's situation might be more serious than just a mundane prankster. Catling only recognized Bac-Mec-Bunain from a friend at a university which studied religion, which led him to vague recollections on some of the others mentioned. Very few other places even taught about those deities anymore; so, unless George pursued a college education before becoming a farmer, he wasn't making this up.
Fact three, his solution was ... going to be more complicated. Catling already had a vague plan in place, but he didn't want to record it yet. Besides the fact he'd look like an idiot if his plan didn't work, it wasn't a plan that would look good in vague details.
If all worked out, then he'd figure out how to make it sound good. If not, then no one would care about the public record.
After adding a few more gesticulations to pretend he put something more down, he put the aborted paperwork in his desk. While checking to make sure the paperwork fit in, he declared "I think I can help you George." Catling hoped he sounded unconcerned, like someone who considered unorganized paperwork to be a bigger threat. He didn't want to raise George's hackles with his next question. "I just need to see this gold you're talking about, to verify your story. Do you have it with you?"
With a sideways glance, Catling kept his eye on George. Putting a hand on his gun, he remembered stories where ordinary men who found mundane gold slaughtered each other with standard means. He didn't know how magical this gold was, but hoped that magic wasn't dark; the sort of dark that would drive George to defend it with insane fury.
"No problem Sheriff," George replied simply. Causing Catling to let out a relieved sigh. This job proved too many fears real, kept him on his toes, and left him with the sort of tension that could only be satisfied with the ole cup of coffee.
Grabbing another cup from the pot he had nearby, he took a glance at the gold George pulled out. It was too big and too rough to be considered a coin, being palm-sized and covered in sharp points. The thing, instead of making Catling consider its value, forced him to consider how uncomfortable it'd be to step in a flat sticker plant.
Seeing the gold, and noticing no reaction from George, Catling decided to help the man out. "Alright George," he drawled, "I think I can help you with your problem here."
"Thank you, Sheriff!" George cheered. "Once you take of whatever sent me that letter, I'll be able to sell this trinket for some good cash."
Catling frowned slightly, disagreeing with that plan. "Be careful George," he warned, "a little caution could go a long way. Especially when we're not out of the fire yet."
With that warning, followed by a chuckle that threw caution to the wind, the two parted to reconvene at sundown.
Surveying the area, Catling found nothing around Greenwood's gate except the semi-unnecessary sign. Anyone who had put the effort into reaching Greenwood Valley would know what it was, since there was no other town to compete for the name; still, the Oak & Elbar Corporation needed to put their mark on the village.
Under scrutiny, beneath the bold lettering of the town's name, he found that mark. Resisting the efforts of time and nature, the worn lettering defines everything within two miles of the village as property. An important distinction, since it meant Catling, who still had to help out with the nearby mines, didn't need to be too concerned about the forest twelve miles away.
The day Oak & Elbar tried to own that forest, he'd resign and leave this valley on the same day. He liked the town well enough, but he'd rather die in his home then die taking that eldritch place.
Thankfully, Catling's foreboding thoughts were banished by the sudden sound of nervous steps. George emerged from the alley, sharply turning his head to search. "Have you seen anything strange Sheriff?"
Catling just shook his head. "Nothing yet, but we haven't reached sundown yet." The sun was only close to touching the ground, a golden ball squatting over a red-brown horizon. He checked his pocket watch, counting down the ticks of the second hand while listening for a sound on the edge of hearing.
Experience taught him that could be a good way to find something. Looking directly could fail against magic, noticing nothing that sat in a direct line of sight. Instead, looking out of the corner of the eye, letting instinct keep watch, would be more useful.
It quickly proved itself, when Catling perceived the tap of wood against stone. He kept his gazeon the falling sun, while his eyes took a peek to the left. There, from behind the sign, it came out.
A knee-high creature covered in green fur, clothed in odd green overalls and a green bowler cap. The portly body showed yellow skin where the fur didn't cover. This let the sheriff see the red-slit eyes and the gnarled teeth emerging from a wide grin.
A suspicion bounced through his head about it, but there was only one way to know for sure. "Are you a leprechaun?" he asked.
The small creature giggle with joy. "Hee hee indeed! You found me! Good eyes you got there fellow!"
George, who hadn't noticed the little creature yet, found his attention dragged to it. It shocked him for a bit until his mind returned to the here and now. "Is that it Sheriff?"
"Is that it Sheriff?" the leprechaun teased in a high-pitched squeal. "It's me little Georgie and I've come for me gold!" The creature's eyes turned serious, taking on a crimson color darker than blood. "You have it here, it's magic calls to me, so give it here!"
"Not a chance you little monster!" George screamed in equal parts rage and fear. "After what you did to my pig Porgie? Not in this lifetime!"
"I was taking things a wee bit easy on you it seems. Laddie, little Porgie was a demonstration of our wicked ways." The little creature warned with a grimace filled with sharp instruments. "What I've got in store for you will be worse."
"That's what you think. I brought the Sheriff here! He'll help me take you out and-".
"George, turn towards me," Catling ordered.
"What is it She-", the question was cut off by a sudden uppercut from the Sheriff. In a demonstration of precise pugilism, Georgie was knocked up into the air and had his fall stopped by the sheriff. Setting George to lean against the wall, Catling pulled out George's gold and turned to a laughing leprechaun.
"Good show!" screamed the leprechaun, bowled over with laughter. "The bloke didn't see a thing coming." It got up and threw two jabs in the air. "Pleasant surprise, but maybe not so pleasant for him!" After a short chuckle, the thing turned towards him, "what's your name my good man?"
"Sheriff Catling at your service. How about you?"
"The name is Fearghus Mac Canann," the leprechaun said, adding a brisk bow to the introduction. "Pleasure to meet you."
"Mac Canann," Catling repeated the name, tasting a familiarity from the words. "That sounds like some old god I heard about. A … Bac-Cercon?"
"No relation there." Canann waved away the guess. "You mean the dream god Cercunnos. I do have cousins in other worlds who might have that name. I can't say for sure, since my forest is comfy."
"I see." Seeing that the little leprechaun was acting friendly, Catling decided to focus on the important question. "If I just throw you this gold and you take it, would you leave farmer George here alone."
Canann, giving the unconscious figure a considering look, answered, "don't you want the gold? It's a good piece."
"Why would you ask me if I want it?" Catling asked, annoyed that the important question wasn't answered. "You've already put in all this effort into getting it. Leaving the forest, messing with George,"
"Aww. I would've put a trick or two on the farmer there for fun if he gave me the chance."
"And then," Catling continued, "came all the way here. This place is … far from the forest." He was tempted to make a joke about short people and long distances, but thought the creature looked spiteful and petty.
"All that is true sure, but hear me out for one point," Canann paused, holding up a stubby finger to emphasize. "The best way to determine a thing's value is by how much someone wants it. So, I'm curious about what you want more than gold."
Catling considered it for a moment, having reached the answer long ago. "A peaceful life for this town. Both that and my life are worth more than this gold."
This answer sent Canann into a chuckle. "Wisdom! A rare thing among the tall folk! A king of thinkers among the lessers" Before Catling could comment on the backhanded compliment, Canann continued in a whisper, "just for you my friend. I'll give you an opportunity."
"You let our little Georgie think he's gotten away with no punishment for his crime. Then, out in that lonely farm of his, I'll take him by surprise in my own special way. Maybe jump on top of his empty head, run over him with a cart, or just stuff him with enough good gold."
Catling took the words in. "So, killing a man's your source of joy?" he asked simply. He took the little monster's energetic nod as an answer. Then, with a nod, he said, "okay, I'll throw the coin over there."
He kept the words brief, remembering that some magical creatures could hear a lie.
Before the leprechaun could ask anything else, Catling threw the gold piece. He needed the distraction, anything to keep the tiny bastard from pulling some magical shit out of his ass.
Shining in the sunset, it flew forward in a soft, golden parabola. As it launched, Catling's hand shot for the revolver. With the coin in mid-flight, the revolver flew from its holster. Near the end, with Canann's eyes on his piece of gold, Catling pointed his revolver.
There at the gate, Catling aimed at the light between him and the leprechaun.
He pulled the trigger, shattering the silence with a bang and a shocked gasp.
Holding himself steady, Catling saw.
There on the ground, the leprechaun had fallen. His hands reached for his heart, stopped by death's grasp. A gold piece stuck there, marking the spot where the bullet had entered. Catling smiled at the sight, glad the blacksmith who forged that bullet wasn't lying about it being made from "proper anti-nonsense materials" as he described it; Catling might not know what they were, but he didn't care.
Checking to be certain the thing was dead, with a tap to pale and cold skin, Catling nodded to himself, glad he took the shot before Canann could do anything magical.
This was a job almost well done.
Now he just needed to get rid of them both. He didn't want anything else from the forest coming for this gold. If that leprechaun had any relatives, he didn't want them too think that he stole that gold.
Later, a few would complain about how he dropped the leprechaun and gold off at the forest. Some, especially George, considered it capitulation and called it a "pagan sacrifice" to the self-proclaimed gods there.
Others would remember this feat of gunslinging. They would talk about the showdown at what they called "Gold-Coin Gate" for a long while.