<div class="floatleft">(http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-KL7Uf3vdz0A/UDr2PAfW3xI/AAAAAAAAmBc/EIYJpjy2SI8/s1600/post5.jpg)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Matthew Ford<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>Judge's Constable<br/><strong>Date:</strong>May 20, 1876<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Midnight<br/><strong>Location:</strong>One of the main thoroughfares being FUCKING SHOT<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Big Jake, Scooter, Robinson, CLOSED<br/><hr/><br/>Now the good thing about the holster that his gun came from is it's quality. The poor sap holding the lady already had his gun out but it didn't matter. When your holster is made by J. Newman, the finest leathersmith on the East coast, you can draw your iron damn fast. So Ford's gun was out and firing at nearly the exact same time. Not that it stopped the bullet from digging into his leg that felt like a fire ant.<br/><br/>Despite the pain Matthew didn't yell or scream. The only sign of pain was a grimace from the grizzled veteran. It was only a flesh wound all things considered, it could of been a lot worse. Back in his service days he had suffered far worse then a bullet to the leg. In fact he could remember when the Reds tried to kill ol' "Smokey" for good. How many bullets was that? 10? 15? God knows but they seemed to sure want to get rid of him badly enough. No this pain was a good reminder that he was in fact alive and kicking. He may be a old geezer but Jake was about to find out he still bit back.<br/><br/>Saint Micheal had things to say to the young man, most likely disdain for the cowardly hiding behind a lady. One bullet spat out in a flash of colors from the barrel of the Model 3. It had been meant for the young man's head but it was now veering off kilter. It would likely ethier hit the head or clip it. Either was good enough for Ford. Looking through the young ladies legs as he hit the dirt he saw the other man. It was hard not to catch faint outline given the man was a veritable mountain of flesh. Rolling onto his back he looked at the wound of his leg before laying back in the dirt. Keeping the gun in his hand Matthew was prepared to fire again when a door opened up at the Judge's house.<br/><br/>It was Winona in her shift looking quite determined, not horrified as one would expect. Often dating a soldier meant one gets used to their spouse returning home with bullet wounds. Tonight was no different for her. Long black hair pulled into ponytail, she pulled the tie out as she moved towards her bleeding husband. Sighing in a nagging kind of way she shuffled to his side. Dropping to her knees they met eyes and smiled slyly at each other. Reaching out Winona held pressure to the wound causing a low hiss from Matthew. Then she took the strip of cloth and used it as a tourniquet.<br/>