<hr/><div class="floatright">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/2a/JP.png)</div><div class="floatleft">(https://elliquiy.com/elluiki/images/2/21/JacksonJackson.png)</div><br/><strong>Name:</strong>Jackson P. Jackson, J.P. Coleman<br/><strong>Faction:</strong>None, Sheriff (5)<br/><strong>Date:</strong>5 June, 1870<br/><strong>Time of Day:</strong>Afternoon<br/><strong>Location:</strong>Soddom<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong>Lilah, Closed<br/><hr/><br/>Samson bristled at the accusation.  “She’s a slant-eyed yella whore, and yer gonna take her word?  I was gonna give her the five dollars, so I<em>ain’t</em>forcin’ myself on no one.”  He spat, his nose still dirty from the clod she’d hurled at its mark.<br/><br/>J.P. Coleman simply took her words with a nod.  “Two charges of murder, and attempted rape of a minor.”<br/><br/>Samson growled.  “She’s a goddam chink.  They ain’t even people.  You can’t tell me - “<br/><br/>He staggered as another punch caught him across the jaw, hard enough to draw the words out of his mouth, and Coleman’s shotgun followed the movement but didn’t fire.<br/><br/>“That’ll be enough of that.  Samson, you best close your flapper while it’s still on your head.  Nick, get him outta here.”<br/><br/>Whiskey Nick stepped forward, and caught Samson by the scruff of his neck in an iron grip.  Samson’s fists balled.<br/><br/>“Jon, you strike one of my deputies and I’ll execute you here and now.”  Coleman’s voice was cold.  “You cool your heels and you’ll stand trial.”<br/><br/>“Trial for crimes I ain’t done,” he growled.  “Tilt and Slowpoke was gonna kill me for my share o’ the mine, and I was gonna<em>pay</em>that little whore.”  His eyes stared hatred at Lilah, and Jackson put a hand at her side, drawing her close and keeping his bulk between her and the angry miner.  He’d seen the way she stepped in front of him, admired the pluck of it, and didn’t relax until Nick had begun to be dragged away.<br/><br/>Coleman looked over Jackson and Lilah, lips pursing into a frown under his large moustache.  “Be a ten dollar fine for assault.  You stop by the Sheriff’s Office to see it paid.”<br/><br/>Jackson’s jaw clenched, and Coleman paid it no mind.  “Do appreciate your detaining a wanted man until the law could arrive.  Bounty on the man was set for fifty dollars.  Seein’ how you were just detainin’ him for us, means half that bounty rightfully belongs to you.  Come by and pay your fine, I’ll see you get that money, too.”  He tipped his hat, and turned his attention to Lilah.  “And you, young lady.  You want to see him charged for what he done, you’re gonna need to come by and give a statement when I got a pen and paper handy.”<br/><br/>He looked between them.  “Y’all got names?”<br/><br/>Jackson straightened.  “Jackson.  Jackson P. Jackson.”<br/><br/>Coleman’s bushy eyebrows lifted.  “Father had a sense of humor.”<br/><br/>Jackson bared his teeth in something like a smile.  “Somethin’ like that.”  Coleman nodded, gave Lilah a small smile, and made his way back through the tent city with his shotgun cocked on his shoulder.<br/><br/>Jackson looked down to her and blew out a breath.  “You got some spine, little one.”  His large hand ruffled her hair, and he gave a genuine smile.  “My tent’s right over there.  You can borrow a shirt while I stitch that one up for you.”  He gestured to his tent.  “Then what say you and I go by the Sheriff’s Office, make sure Samson gets a noose round his neck, and split that reward money and buy ourselves a real dinner?”