Chapter 4: LeBlanc.

Red stepped into the dingy Sherriff's office, his eyes taking a moment to adjust from the glare of white sand outside.

"Ah, the bounty hunter. May I have your name, before we conduct business?"

"Red."

"Thank you. You will be pleased to know that Sherriff O'Grady is in a stable condition."

Red was not reassured. "Dead IS stable."

Wilson chuckled. "I assure you, he is far from death."

"Good. You had work for me?"

"Ah, yes." Wilson passed a poster over to Red, who found himself looking at a long, moustached face.

"And this guy is?"

"A Mr. André LeBlanc. He has a predilection for dynamite. He's travelling with a circus troupe that has been stirring up trouble recently."

Red nodded. "Anything else?"

"Yes, actually. Our gunsmith, Mr. Victor Stone, recently went missing in the vicinity of their camp. If you find him in one piece, do endeavour to keep him that way. He's quite a promising young man."

"Alright." Red turned tail and left, wanted poster in hand.


"Gar. Time to go."

"Wxlfrgl."

"Gar, get your lazy ass out of bed, or I'll shoot you."

Needless to say, that worked.

"So, who's our target?" Gar asked as he pulled on his boots, having slept in his clothes.

"Some French guy called Leblanc."

"Anything special about him?"

"Well, he likes to blow shit up."

"Joy. Where is he at?"

"Some ruin or other. A circus troupe set up camp there. Oh, and if we see a gunsmith, we keep him alive."

"What does he look like?"

"No idea, but his name's Victor."

"So," said Gar, standing up, "let's go."


The pair dismounted at the foot of the hill, and proceeded with caution. Nodding to Gar, Red took up a defensive position as Gar crept slowly forwards, his soft shoes making no noise on the ground, and his crouched walk making it almost impossible to detect his movement. He had rolled in the dust at the bottom of the hill, to disguise the green of his clothes. Even Red, who knew where he was, had lost track of him.

"Hey! Hey! Heeeey!"

Damn it. So much for stealth, then. Red's eyes roved, trying to find the source of the voice. There. A large wooden cage, suspended in midair. An indistinct figure was hunched inside. Clearly, Gar had already noticed this, as he was climbing up one of the ruined shacks that littered the hilltop. When he had reached a dilapidated wooden roof, he took a deep breath and launched himself into a standing jump that carried him all the way to the cage. He clung desperately to the release handle, trying to attain enough momentum to swing the lever into the 'release' position.

"Oh no, nonononono, you don't wanna do that-" The man's complaints were cut off by two things- firstly, Gar managed to pull the lever, and subsequently, the cage suddenly lacked a floor. Chuckling, Gar dropped down next to the fallen heap of a man.

"You would be Victor, right?"

"Uhhh…"

"Sorry, what was that?"

"…Get off my hand…" With a start, Gar jumped to the right, releasing the man's hand. He pulled himself up, and Red, from his hidden vantage point, could appreciate just how huge he was. Sitting down, his head still reached Gar's shoulder. He could see something else too. A sparkling, fizzing light, dancing erratically towards the two…

"Get down!" Red screamed, and fired wildly at the stick of dynamite, praying to a God he didn't really believe in that he didn't miss, and that it wasn't too late.

He didn't, and it wasn't. The stick blew in midair, sending Gar and Victor flying, but leaving them relatively unharmed. They both looked a bit dazed, though, so Red guessed he was up.

"LeBlanc, I'm guessing."

"Mai oui, my foolhardy opponent."

"My God you're stereotypical."

The Frenchman grinned at this. "And you…are about to die." Red's eyes narrowed at this. He wasn't dying today.

Not if he had anything to do with it.

Red suddenly ran past LeBlanc into a ruined house, up a creaking flight of stairs, onto a gutted second floor. Lunatic throwing dynamite around the unconscious form of his best friend? Not an ideal situation. He ducked behind the ruined stub of an interior wall, and waited. He didn't have to wait long. LeBlanc quickly followed, and lit another stick of dynamite. The deranged European was about to toss the stick and beat a retreat when Red suddenly burst out from behind his makeshift cover and shot a hole in the his chest. The stick slipped from dead hands, and as Red leant over the man to make sure he was dead, he almost slipped on a cylindrical tube, almost like…

Oh shit.


Victor sat up, shaking his head to clear any trace of the concussion, but only succeeded in dizzying himself. Nonetheless, he wasn't too dizzy to notice the explosion that tore the whole top floor of one of the ruins into toothpicks. Less obvious, but still noticeable, was the dark figure diving from one of the windows, a huge plume of flame briefly following before the window collapsed outwards.

"AAAAAHHHHH!! I think my ass is on fire!" Red screamed as he ran around in circles.

"Stop, drop to the floor, and roll around for a bit!" Cried Gar. "That'll stifle the flames!"

Complying, Red soon found himself at an acceptable temperature, although his poncho was now burned all the way up to above his waist, with the edges ragged and charred.

"I think you need a new one, Red."

"Eeh, some time. I like it like this." Red smirked as he looked around on the ground.

"Looking for proof? Don't worry, I got something." Gar said

"What?"

"His head."

"…Lovely. Now let's go."

"Not without my baby."

"You have a kid?" Gar asked, incredulously.

"No. My baby." Victor's tone could have cut diamonds.

"Okay. Officially lost." Red contributed.

Victor sighed. It would be easier just to show them.


"This is my baby!" Victor held the thing up for all to see.

"That's not a baby. That's a shotgun." Red's voice had a layer of Extra Banal.

"She's my pride and joy."

"She's a gun."

"And I'm a gunsmith. What's your point?" Victor's voice had a touch of defensiveness, which Red picked up on.

"Nothing. It's just a little underwhelming, that's all."

"Underwhelming? Underwhelming?" Victor's voice held the note of an outraged academic. Gar knew that this was his cue to intervene.

"Guys, we can argue about it all we like on the way back into town. Now come on."

"No." Victor's voice had taken on that tone again, the one you could bend castiron around.

"What?"

"I've got unfinished business with this guy's"- here he pointed to LeBlanc's head- "employer. I'm heading to Widow's Patch."