Three of 'em poured outta the police station into the dusty main street as Augustine approached, his duster swirling behind him in the warm breeze. He didn't hesitate, just opened fire, killing one outright with a bullet through the neck and sending the other two diving behind the dumpster that sat open and stinking just outside the pitted metal exterior of the jail.

Without breaking stride the gunslinger clicked a switch on his weapon, which let out a brief high-pitched whine, and fired on the dumpster. The HE bullet blew the trash bin and the men behind it apart before they could duck around the sides to return fire.

"What a mess," slurred Augustine, "last time I run my fuckin' mouth to a barman..."

Taking an uneven step towards the jail, he sank to his knees a few feet from the entrance and vomited into the dust. He reflected blearily that the whole situation was pretty much only his fault. It was one thing to take your time and get to know a place before making your move. Another thing to get completely shit-faced two hours after you roll into town and immediately blow your own cover.

That was his last thought before the burly woman in mining gear hit him on the back of the head with a wrench and sent him spiraling into semi-consciousness.