A gunslinger masked in red rides with an easy confidence atop his bay, Clydesdale horse – as surefooted as he is ornery - down the main through-way of the roughneck, Montana town of Big River; the dirt road slick with mud from last night's rain.
Raphael looks at the darkening clouds adjusting his tan cowboy hat, his duster coat whips in a gust of wind as he turns saddle to spy the man tied up walking behind him, bound at the wrists.
His captive, still caterwauling although crudely gagged with a bandana, desperately tries to keep up in the sludge. The people of Big River cannot help but notice their arrival. A barber sharpening his blade stops cold, mouth agape, to stare out his window at the twisted parade. The mortician, inspecting his coffins on display outside his shop, whirls around to size the pair up. Even some gap-toothed, little varmint is eyeballin' him, casually slapping a catstick in his palm like he's gonna do something, until his mother wrenches his ear and they pass.
He has no quarrel with them or the handful of other curious townsfolk following all the way to the Sheriff's office, where his bounty will fetch a few dollars.
The man's final reparation will be made with a sudden drop at the end of a decent coil, if he is lucky. But that's enough of that shit.
"Sheriff!" he bellows as the crowd shies back at his dismount. They murmur in a mix of shock and dark approval as he shoves his prisoner, splaying him out with an earthy thud upon the wooden steps leading up to the building.
The door bursts open.
After the dust settles, a tall, finely clothed man emerges, the devilish features of his face, from his pointed chin to his widow's peak, are in stark contrast to the wide-eyed look of astonishment and boyish freckles across his nose. He flips one side of his vest back, the star pinned to his chest flashes, and the gun that had made every man equal should have been in his holster. Raphael spits out his old toothpick in disgust, wondering why anyone would climb into the saddle if they weren't prepared to ride.
Obviously embarrassed, the Sheriff's gaze darts nervously over the crowd, finally settling on the newcomers he puffs out, "I'm the Sheriff…." Voice breaking he starts over, "I'm the Sheriff here now." A crow caws and he continues. "Name's Vernon Fenwick. Who are you and who is…" Gesturing hesitantly. "…your charge?"
Grinding his teeth, he yanks his charge to stand, ordering, "Tell the nice man your name." He pulls down the bandit's muzzle.
The man let fly; cursing him, his horse, and all of Creation. A few townspeople had to cover their mouths in shock at the violent accusations, when it had come to animal husbandry.
The tenderfoot lawman sputters and guffaws, proclaiming the outburst 'uncalled for.' Snarling at the Sheriff in response, he returns the man's face to the dirt via the back of his hand.
Vernon unrolls the wanted notice given to him, a low whistle escapes his lips upon discovering the fate of, one, Orville Boggs. Reading the bulletin he scoffs, the Bounty Hunter has done no one any favors by making a live delivery. Not wanted for questioning or trial, now it is his responsibility to swing this outlaw into the sweet hereafter. Ugly way to go. He almost gags, Vernon Fenwick can practically smell the hereafter.
His eyes repeatedly shift from picture on paper to the statuesque, square-jawed man, recovering from having his face crushed into the dirt at the Bounty Hunter's feet.
He can see a resemblance, but as much as he did not want to summon the Marshal all the way out here for nothing, he didn't want to have any doubts while watching a man perish, especially on his own rope. Loosening the ascot around his neck he soon regrets asking, "Are you sure this is the right man?"
After a cough and realizing he can freely speak, 'Boggs' staggers to his feet and blurts out, "That's the last person you outta ask!" He flinches away from the Bounty Hunter, saying, "I'll be good!" Then addressing him. "I-I'm sorry for my antics, please, Sheriff, he brought the wrong man! You gotta believe me, I am not…"
"I've heard enough!" A woman from the crowd steps forward, interrupting Boggs.
Raphael had been having quite a difficulty weighing if he should manually correct the Sheriff's eyesight or simply kill his Bounty outright, but now, everyone can hear the hollow-high whistle of the wind as the woman adjusts her bonnet to better reveal her tear stained face.
Her voice hitching she cries out again, "That dog's name is Orville Boggs!"
Warily glancing at Boggs, who is seething at her, she offers the Sheriff one long-gloved hand and then gathering her bustle he assists her up the stairs. The people of Big River whisper in speculation.
Her eyes shining she tells him, "He killed my husband, Vernon." The widow's posture weakens ever-so and he squeezes her shoulders, unable to hide his surprise nor show her more concern.
Raphael groans, smelling a story, and the woman starts desperately, "I'm sorry, I didn't want to tell you like this. When I moved here it marked two years since my Henry's murder." Raphael checks his pocket watch with irritation and she continues, "I had accepted the way things were, assuming his killer would never pay for his crime. I was just happy I finally wanted to start a new life, in a new town." She looks at him shyly. "With new people."
Rumbling and spreading his hands wide, "Well, here we all are." His voice carries well and everyone's attention shifts towards him, casually procuring another toothpick he says, "And just so we're all in agreement." Placing it in its rightful spot. "Who are you receiving, Sheriff?"
Everyone's sight hones in on Orville Boggs, who had been struck dumb ever since Miss April had showed her face, grittin' his teeth like he could bite the sites off a six-gun. Vernon turns to the crowd, clearing his throat, and proclaims deeply, "Orville Boggs, come high noon tomorrow you will be hung by the neck until completely dead." The people ruminate with excitement at the proposition, while arms crossed, Raphael nods approvingly at the Sheriff's new conviction. There is a smattering of applause and the folks dissipate back to their daily routines.
Vernon, glancing back at April as his Deputy fixes to collect Boggs, addresses Raphael, "You forgot to tell us your name so we can thank you properly."
All he has to do is bare his teeth to halt the Deputy's approach and remind them. "Two-thousand dollars 's all the thanks I need."
Big River is going to host a hanging and the fever spreads across town faster than the mighty water for which it is named.
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A/N: Hello and thanks! What did you think, mood agreeable? Did you like Vern? Should be two more chapters coming, next Raphael pays visit to the local saloon.
PS: I am sure you already know, but some of the turtles' facial features are borrowed from Hollywood actors, in this case Clint Eastwood for Raphael, so that's just what I used for inspiration. I have Mikey/Bill Murray completed, Leo/Johnny Knoxville/Russell Crow will be coming soon XD