<br/><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/d/de/Nash_bilton.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Sheriff Nash Bilton<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Law Dogs (5) Sheriff<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 11th, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Sheriff's Office/Gomorra Jail<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Open<br/><hr/>The smile on Bilton’s face was almost bemused.  Almost.  It didn’t quite touch his eyes, though, but it hadn’t since Ford had walked in with a gun.  “No, it’s not necessary for me to renege on a dead man’s promises.  Not when I was never made aware of them, and not when I - like every man and woman in this office - worked my way up from nothing.  You know how I put food in my belly?”<br/><br/>He pointed behind him, to the wall of wanted posters and bounties that were posted.<br/><br/>“I earned my keep.  If you come to Gomorra looking for charity, I recommend the church.  I’m sure they’ve got pews the father will let you sleep on.  Those clothes on your back?  They’re more than some men arrive with.  And they’re damn sure more than some men leave with.  I made you an offer.  You’re welcome to take it.  If not - they’re giving away free booze and free food across the way.  That kind of generosity don’t come often in Gomorra.”<br/><br/>His smile went a little wider.  “Or you can try Nathan Hunter.  He’s always been a sucker for a hard luck story.”<br/><br/>Townsend snorted and pounded the desk he sat at with a hand.  But the words that followed made his eyes narrow.  “Do I<em>look</em>like a gentleman to you?  No spoon in my mouth, Yankee.”<br/><br/>Bilton’s mouth pursed.  “No, you left your uniform far behind.  Just kept the hat and the jack boots and I’d wager the gun on your hip’s standard issue, too.  Putting a star on you would be like telling the town we’re reopening the Union Army recruitin’ station.  Liable to start a war.”<br/><br/>He pointed his hand out towards the road.  “Head up north and west along Temptation.  Sweetrock’s main offices are at the end of it.  They hire on miners.”  Townsen smiled cruelly as Bilton made the offer.  Men didn’t live long, when they hired on as miners for Sweetrock.  Just enough to keep themselves fed, before ghostrock fever, whiskey, or the mines killed them.<br/><br/>As Ford was stepping away from the entrance to the Sheriff’s Office, a well dressed man with a white goatee and a bald pate passed him.  He paused, eyes roaming over the hat and the boots, curiosity in his eyes.<br/><br/>“Captain Ford?”  The voice was even, cultured, but he threw out the name as a gambit.  He offered the small tip of a slightly dusty bowler.