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[h2][b]Chapter One: The Hunt For The Sinful Six[/b][/h2][/center]
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The town of Soursprings was quiet as usual, the sun shined bright in the sky. It was the middle of the day and here was not a cloud in sight.  A few wagons moved through the streets, others were stationary as the townsfolk sampled their stock. It was a the near definition of a pass through town, just under 200 people actually lived in it. Many of them were old, retired folks, though there were a few young families. Several farms sat around the outskirts of the town, the moo of cattle could be occasionally heard. The town’s draw for many residents was how safe it was, there was little to no crime, no outlaws making it a living hell. 

Some people were inside of the small white church as the pastor gave a speech about the ten commandments. Others walked through the town as they stopped in stores and did their shopping for the week. Others chatted with their neighbors and fellow townspeople. The Soursprings saloon was the most interesting spot in town, the usual bar crowd were huddled inside it's comforting doors. Horses were saddled outside of it, as were two hitched wagons. A bartender stood behind the bar, a mug in hand as he scrubbed it clean. The resident musician, Billy, tapped the piano keys which produced a soothing tune.. 

Most of the guests were outsiders, a few scattered residents were also there. A small group sat at a round table, that was a merchant and his guards. They seemed to be doing shots as each man tried to hold more liquor than the others. Some more scattered strangers stood around, a couple in the corner played a game of darts, two at another table played cards. Another chatted up one of the bar’s floozies. The most interesting fellow was one that Clayton Beck kept glancing at from his seat across the bar. A half full glass of whiskey sat in front of the deputy, he took another sip from it. Next to that was his cowboy hat. He wasn't a heavy drinker, but something cold like whiskey on the rocks fit a hot day like this perfectly.

"Can I fill your glass up, Clay?" One of the waitresses in the saloon, Sophie, asked the lawman. She was a pretty girl, a year or two younger than he was. Her blonde hair was tied back in a ponytail, she looked at Clayton with her blue eyes, a smile on her lips.

"No thank you ma’am, my father wouldn't appreciate me getting drunk on my shift." Clayton replied as he returned the smile. He received a good amount of break time, there wasn’t often much crime in town. His dad would just have him patrol or sweep the sheriff's station.

His eyes flashed back towards the mysterious individual, now three mean looking men had joined him at the table and they were making conversation. The man had a tough scar across his cheek, part of it covered by a thick black beard. Clayton’s father taught him to not judge someone by their appearance, but there was something about this stranger and his friends. Travelers were a common sight in the little town, but this man and his friends looked ready to fight. He also noticed a revolver on each of their hips as they had walked in. Clay had his own hitched into its holster, he had left his rifle at home.

“I don’t know why Sophie, but those men stink of bad medicine. Look like they stumbled right out of the badlands.” Clayton said quietly as the waitress listened, one of her hands wiping off his table with a rag.

“They’ve been real quiet, no fussin’ from them. That bearded fellow ordered a drink and sat down quietly.” Sophie replied as she gave a quick glance to the strangers, then walked towards the bar which left Clayton alone. He took another sip of his drink, letting the liquor swirl in his mouth for a moment. Then he heard one of the bar’s patrons woo as he nailed a dart center on the board. Billy had changed his tune, someone placed a crisp dollar into his tip jar.

Clayton rose the glass up towards his lips, but paused before he drank in his liquid as he noticed his father, the sheriff walk right through the front door. He had his usual outfit on, grey slacks, cowboy boots, a black vest with a star on it, the sleeves on his grey shirt underneath rolled up to his elbows. He pulled his cowboy hat off as he entered the establishment and stuck it on the coat rack. Then William Beck paused in stride as he glanced over the scene in the bar room. He flashed a couple smiles and nods, then moved towards Clayton’s table, Billy the musician making a remark.

“You’re getting a little chubby from sitting in that office all day, Will.” The piano player said as he paused the music. The sheriff laughed a heart laugh and replied.

“My fat ass could still throw you clear through one of these windows, Billy.” William said as he took a seat across from his son who was surprised to see that his father had decided to join him at the in the saloon.

“Who's watching the station?” Clayton asked with a raised brow, his drink still in hand. 

“Old Orville, there’s no really anything to watch anyway. Other than the mice in the walls I suppose.” William replied as Sophie placed a full mug of beer on the table in front of the elder Beck.

“Compliments of the house, sheriff.” She said with a smile.

“No, no, I’ll pay for it. None of that doggery type business in my little town.” William said as he reached into his pocket then pulled out a couple clean dollar bills. He placed  them down in front of the waitress, she picked them off the table as William sized up his drink. He flashed a nod to Clayton then took a long drink of his beer. Sophie wandered towards the bar.

“Nothing quite like a bit of firewater on a burning hot day.” He said as he set down the mug, then ran a hand through his fleeting head of hair. A layer of stubble sat on his face, the first grey hairs had started to poke through it. He was not that old, a man of forty five. He sighed, then looked around the bar as he noticed the mysterious scarred man eyeing him. The two made eye contact before the stranger shifted his gaze towards one of his companions.

“Lot of visitors to our fair town this afternoon.” William stated to his son as he crossed one leg over his other. Outside the saloon another wagon pulled into town, it was a larger one, pulled by four horses. It went down the streets and out of sight from those inside the bar room.

“I just had that thought. No reason to think they’re troublemakers, nothing valuable in our little town.” Clayton said. The bank they had was a small one, he doubted there was even enough money inside of it to make a robbery worth it. The closest train station was a few miles east, and the stores in town didn’t have anything worth taking. No jewelry stores here. 

“Exactly. Not like anyone will mess with us fierce lawmen anyway?” William asked, then both him and his son started to laugh heartily. It seemed to be just another quiet day in Soursprings, and that was just what the residents hoped for.