School + Work + Homework = Where my free time at?

Yeah, that's pretty much why I didn't have time to write all of Chapter 6 today. I'll be in D.C. tomorrow and Saturday, so I might not be able to post the new chapter until Sunday (depends on whether or not the hotel has wifi).

Chapter 6 - The Saloon

A gunshot rang out. A sharp crack that echoed off the wall of a nearby shack, startling Victor. He drew his revolver and crouched down, looking around for the source of the violence. Peeking around the side of the wall, Victor saw an older man dragging the dead body of a Gecko, which explained the gunshot. Standing up and holstering his revolver, Victor looked around the settlement for the first time, his eyes scanning the area like a hawk searching for prey. The place was full of shacks and farms, but it seemed completely empty, abandoned, even strangely haunted, as if ghosts were tending to the farms instead of men. A shiver darted up Victor's back, settling in face. The place was creepy, desolate, and he wanted to get out of there as soon as possible. The only part of the settlement that didn't look like a shantytown was a walled off compound on the Southern edge of the town, which Victor assumed was the Crimson Caravan's local office. Outside were a couple of leather armor clad guards who were easily recognizable as Crimson Caravan guards, but there wasn't a single NCR Trooper in sight. Near the Caravan Office, Victor spotted a large shack with a crudely made sign that read "Snake Eye Saloon." Automatically, Victor began to walk toward the saloon, knowing from experience that the local bar was always the best place to ask for information in a small settlement.

He pulled the junk door open slowly, sweat forming on his palms. The place gave him the creeps, just like the rest of the town. To his relief, the inside of the saloon wasn't creepy in the least, in fact, it was quite normal when it came to saloons and bars. It had tables, stools, and an old radio playing Lazy Day Blues. On the opposite end of the room, standing behind the bar, an older man was polishing a glass cup, his overalls and gunslinger-style mustache adding to the striking normalness of the bar. Victor began walking toward the bar, comforted by the familiarity of the place and its stark contrast to the spooky town that surrounded it.

"Howdy" the Bartender said, looking up and putting the cup down on the bar.

"Howdy" Victor responded.

"What can I get ya?"

"Information," Victor stated bluntly. "I'm new here, and I want to know a few things about this town."

"I thought I didn't recognize ya, but the caravans come in ev'ry now and then, and they always bring a few new folks. That feller over there came with the last caravan," the Bartender said, pointing to a man who was sitting at one of the tables."He's a nice fell --"

"Who is he?" Victor said, growing more and more impatient with the man's rambling.

The Bartender scowled. "His name's Ringo. He works for the Crimson Caravan."

"Oh," Victor said, uninterested. "You know anything about a guy named James Harrington? Old friend of mine."

"Yeah, I know him. Real nice feller, doesn't drink much, but he comes in here to chat with me sometimes. He's a farmer, so if you're looking for him right now, you'd best try the fields on the western side of town. He's a hard worker, that James is. So is all those farmers, workin' all day in that sun. I would never want to--"

"I hear ya" Victor interrupted "Now, when I came in here, I didn't see any NCR Troopers around. I was kinda banking on this place being a safe little town, but --

A sharp crack rang out, signaling another gunshot. Victor twitched at the sound but the Bartender seemed unaffected.

"Oh, that's probably just another Gecko," the Bartender said. "Damn things are everywhere, you know, just last night when I was walking home from the Saloon here, one of them things just come running out of nowhere and starts chasing me! I said, 'good thing I brought my gun!' because otherwise the little varmint coulda bitten--"

"Yeah, those Geckos seem to be everywhere these days," Victor said. "Now if there were some NCR Troops here, I'm sure the Geckos would be taken care of..."

"Ah, yes. You was wondering why the NCR hasn't sent any troopers here, right," the Bartender remembered. "Well, that's because this little town of ours is outside of NCR's borders, so they don't give a Coyote's tail what happens to us. Well, except for the Crimson Caravan, but they got their own guards. Believe it or not, this little place used to be a tribal camp, and a violent one too. One of the weirdest, most dangerous little tribes you'd ever see used to live here, heh, well, accordin' to the stories at least. And they blocked off this whole trade route into the Utah, so the Crimson Caravan had the NCR clear the place out so they could send caravans into the Utah, you see, so after that, some settlers wanted to make a new life, like me and your friend James, so we--"

Victor stood up. "Well, I'd better get going now, thanks," he said trenchantly, turning around and walking out of the Saloon. The Bartender scowled and shook his head, then he picked up the glass cup and continued polishing it, as if nothing had happened.