<hr/><div class="floatleft">(http://24.media.tumblr.com/tumblr_m6anzg7ITX1qdjxsro1_500.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Graham Neiler.<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Unknown.<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 4th, 1876.<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Morning.<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Casino Morongo<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open, Max Baine.<br/><hr/><br/><br/>"I'druther my tab ran backwards, all the same to you."<br/><br/>Dipping a hand into the pocket of his duster, Graham slid a thick silver Dollar across the bar, exchanging it for the foaming mug.<em>Down to ten,</em>he thought while nibbling the head of his brew, then taking a big gulp. Setting the drink down with a thump, the big Texan gave a nod of approval to the 'tender, smacking his lips to spread the taste around his parched mouth. "That suits me fine! Strong enough to stick a spoon in, and chilled just right."<br/><br/>Even as he bent his elbow for another pull, he half-turned in his seat to see who it was that had come in so close behind him. Immediately, he picked up that this was a pretty unpopular fellow around town, or at least among the working folks; not that such an observation was any kind of trick, seeing as how there were enough ugly looks shooting his way like knives in the dark. Of course, the face didn't mean anything to him, being so new in town, but the name Sweetrock sure did. They were the big brass monkey around here, with a reputation for claim-jumping and racketeering from all he'd heard.<br/><br/>From the reactions that announcement got, Graham figured that there might be something to those not-so-hushed rumors that had floated his way. When miners started getting to their feet and flipping tables, as one had done, Graham got a mite itched in the palm of his hands. He returned his mug to the bar for a refill, coincidentally freeing his hand so that it could wrap its fingers around the butt of his Colt and pull it clear of the leather holster. He didn't raise it into to sight, nor aim it at any of the man at all, but he slowly thumbed back the hammer.<br/><br/>From this angle, it could be that the erstwhile patrons were leaving in disgust, or they might be forming up into a lynch mob. If the latter, he'd rather have iron in his fist for any breakout of violence. Normally he would reach for the scattergun first, but there was no call for painting the walls red, just yet, and there were enough of them that six rounds would be better than two. Wait and watch, that was his plan, observe from a distance and mind his own business if there wasn't any call to get involved.