Final 3 scenarios in 6GS campaign! (With pics.

[Legionnaire]

New Mexico in the Fall of 1880. Zebulon “Zeb” Turvey stood on the porch, the pale moonlight washed over the small but prosperous ranch. A few horses whinnied in the corral and an owl hooted in the distance. His little daughter was fast asleep, but his beloved wife stood beside him, only a short while ago they had been pleasantly surprised that there was another life growing in her womb.
“Zeb, do you really have to do this?” his wife knew him inside out, but she was uncomfortable with this idea of his.
“Ida, you know I have tried to put my past behind me and settle down proper like, so our children will have a future,” He affectionately caressed her tummy.
“But this Wilcott will never give up what he perceives as his. We are sitting on a prime location, plenty of feed and the creek that runs at the back is worth its weight in gold. I’m sorry, but I don’t see another way.”
“But what you are about to do is illegal, and if you get caught you will be hung in the nearest tree. That’s what they do to horse thieves around here!!!” Her tone had risen an octave in agitation.
“I know Ida, but trust me, I won’t get caught. I learned a lot during my years as a lawman. I have to go and meet the others now.”
“Be careful Zeb, be careful.” Ida had to bite back the tears as they embraced.
Zeb took his Sharp’s Carbine and limped over to the saddled horse, it was a fine specimen, one of his best ones. He patted the horse and grunted when he mounted up, he was neither getting younger or lighter. Then he headed out in the night, towards Wilcott’s domain.

Zeb met up with Amos Cross, his old gunslinger friend, Miguel, Zeb’s ex-Rurales foreman and Frank, a young cowboy. Amos carried his two long barrel Colt’s in a low-slung double holster and sported a brand new Winchester in a boot holster, Miguel and Frank were both armed with a pistol and a long arm.
“We are to relieve Mr Wilcott of some of his herd and take them across the border and scatter them. We take as many as we can manage and run for it. With a bit of luck we make it, if not we have to hole up because his men won’t quit easily. I don’t want any bloodshed during the raid, if that can be avoided, and in this darkness there’s a very slim chance of them recognizing anyone of us. Ready?”
He got an affirmative from the three men.

The raid had gone without a hitch, they had roped 7 fine beasts in in the process and spread chaos amongst the sleeping cowhands, but some of them had quickly gathered their wits and were giving pursuit. The chase went on across the countryside, ever heading southbound, the thundering from 11 horses at speed echoed in the approaching dawn, not very far behind were the pursuers, hard to tell how many of them. Frank’s horse was getting tired so they had to slow down.
“Damn,” said Zeb under his bandanna, as much for dust protection as for making it harder to be identified.
“I don’t think we can shake them. Miguel, Frank, I want you to ride up on that ridge there and take up position, Amos and I will be on the one to the east. For the moment we have to leave the horses, too dangerous to try to take them up there.”
They split up in two directions and scrambled for the indicated positions, they could hear the pursuer coming closer and closer.
“I’m getting too old for this,” muttered Zeb.
“Well, that makes two of us,” answered Amos with a grin, they were both sweating and breathing heavily from the quick climb. They certainly were no spring chickens anymore.
“Here they come,” Amos chambered a round in his Sharp’s Carbine and had just time to find a good shooting position.


“There they are, the sons of bitches!! Up on the ridges,” Smith yelled out to the others. They had ridden very hard to catch up with these horse thieves, Mr Wilcott paid and treated his staff well, but he wouldn’t be happy if these ones got away. Zeb might be old, but his eyesight was as sharp as a hawk’s and he could still knock an apple out of a tree at 300 paces. He saw the man gesturing towards them and took aim. The Sharp’s barked once in the pale morning light and Smith crumbled, he fell down over the horse’s neck and didn’t rise up again, but remained seated. His horse made a few nervous steps in place that shook him around a bit.
“Oh my God, they shot Smith!!” one of the pursuing cowhands sank his heels in on the horse and rode forward towards the shot man. That was what Amos had counted on.
“Like bees to honey,” he fired several shots with the Winchester and the rescuer tumbled from the horseback and remained lying down in the dirt.
“I was never too good with these things, but with this kind of firepower I don’t have to. Why didn’t I get one earlier?” Amos admired the new gun and turned it over in his hands.

Miguel let loose a volley from his Winchester, the cowhand that is his target jerks a little bit in the saddle but raises his own rifle and returns fire. Something stings Miguel’s brow and warm wetness seeps down his cheek, he raises his hand and it comes away bloody, none too bad judging from it.
“Puta!!!” Miguel mutters between his teeth and raises the Winchester and fires again. This time the cowhand tumbles from the saddle and doesn’t move. Frank has sweat streaming down in his eyes, every time a gun is fired he flinches, his mouth is dry and the heart pounding. Somewhere out there is a bullet with his name on, he just knows it.
“Shoot him, what are you waiting for?” Miguel says in a stern voice in heavily accented but understandable English. Blood from a cut in his forehead is trickling down his face, but he doesn’t seem to notice or care.
Frank lines up the sights at the remaining cowhand but he jerks the trigger and the shot goes wild, the man seems to only be armed with a pistol.

The remaining cowhand disappears out of sight but they can hear someone shouting and the words come through pretty clearly in the stillness.
“You horse thieves up there! I ain’t stupid and it’s only me left so I will tell you two things, you hear me?”
“I’m not going to answer, he might recognise my voice,” said Zeb.
“You’re getting mighty suspicious in your old age, pardner,”
“Well, I plan to live to see my son born.”
“What?... congratulations old friend, not the best time to reveal such things, but I sure appreciate that you did.”
“I hear no answer but I think you can. One, I won’t pursue you, looks like two of my friends are dead and Smith is in a bad way, Johnson is a bit behind but not much he can do now. I’ll gather them up and will give them a proper see to. Two, these horses belong to Jed Wilcott, you’ve probably heard of him? So, know now that you’ve signed your own death warrant!”

The man spoke true, so Zeb, Amos, Miguel and Frank gathered up the small herd and made it across the border where they set the horses to roam free.

AFTERMATH: Two of the cowhands were dead, Smith made a recovery and Miguel’s wound was but a scratch.

[Legionnaire]

New Mexico in the Fall of 1880. The loss of several of his finest horses was more than a nuisance to Jed Wilcott, not only was it an affront and assault on his personage but these had been carefully bred for horseracing and as such they were worth a lot of money, thousands of dollars. And now they were probably somewhere in Mexico, they might as well be on the other side of the Earth. And to make things even worse, that piss ant little rancher Turvey had shot down one of his men in a gunfight during the Summer. There were several witnesses to the incident and it was clear that Turvey had been provoked. According to the eyewitnesses he could beat lightning on the draw, pure magic they said! So Wilcott had hired some Pinkerton’s to find out who he was.

According to them, he was born Zebulon Archibald Poindexter Turvey in The North, son of a hardworking blacksmith, 43 years of age and had lived a fairly unremarkable life up until 5 years ago. He had no military record, so he probably didn’t fight in the war and had mainly supported himself through hunting. Up until 1875, when he’d served for one year in Montana as a Marshal! He had been badly wounded in a gunfight and resigned the following year, then he’d served as town sheriff in Ashbury, Colorado for three years and now he was here. So he wasn’t the knuckleheaded farmer that Wilcott had mistaken him for.

And his friend, Amos Cross, Wilcott had heard of him. In his previous line of work as a gun hand you heard certain things. Cross liked a drink, the more the better, but regardless of his state of sobriety he was a fast and deadly shot. He wore two identical long barrel Colt’s and according to his dossier, he grew up in the South, father unknown and mother had died at 19 from tuberculosis, he was 41 years of age and like Turvey he didn’t have a military record either. But he had a rep as long as your arm, drunk and disorderly, discharge of lethal weapon, assault… the list went on. He had always somehow managed to get away with a fine.

So this was what he was up against now? Wilcott paced his luxurious study and drew on the expensive cigar. How much he’d like to he couldn’t just gun them down, these people were connected and he didn’t relish the idea of lawmen rummaging through his affairs. No, something else was needed and he knew just the people to talk to…

“What is it Zeb?” Ida, his wife, mumbled sleepily
“Come back to bed.”
“There’s someone out there by the corral,” Zeb was pulling on his bracers and stepped into his boots, the Sharp’s Carbine was in his hand and the Remington pistol was tied around his waist.
“Senor Turvey, Senor Turvey, they is stealing the horses!!!” Diego, one of his ranch hands that had been injured a shootout with some rustlers yelled. He had still not recuperated fully but was a light sleeper.
“God damn,” Turvey swore between gritted teeth and hobbled outside as fast as he could. He was just in time to catch the fleeing black silhouettes of the men and his horses.
“Diego! Get Miguel and Frank and tell them to meet me and Amos on the trail!” Vamonos!!!”
“Si senor Turvey.” 

Zeb, Amos, Miguel and Frank rode hard in pursuit and as they drew nearer their prey, it was easier to ride than to herd, especially over this rough terrain.
“I know where they are headed Senor,” shouted Miguel who had been a Federal Rurales before becoming a ranch hand. He didn’t talk very much about his past, but Zeb had the feeling that maybe he liked his Tequila a bit too much. Anyway, they man was honest and hardworking, what he did in his spare time was his business.
“If we cut across to the east, we can waylay them.”
“Let’s do that then.”

The four horse thieves were riding hard but they had to herd several horses as well so Zeb, Amos, Miguel and Frank made it just in time to a ridge where they could waylay the bandits. As they took up their positions they were spotted!

Zeb brought his trusted Sharp’s Carbine to bear, it was an old gun but Zeb had shot it for most of his adult life and knew it inside out. He fired but due to the angle the bullet struck low, probably clean through the man’s leg. Surprisingly, the man wheeled the horse around and set off at a gallop, away from his friends and away from bullets!
“Spineless cowards!” Amos muttered and fired the Winchester. One of the rustlers tumbled out of the saddle, but another coaxes his horse up on the ridge and lifts the man up, still sitting in his saddle!
“Now, that’s not something you see every day, that man can sure ride.” Zeb says.
Miguel fires at the one that seems to be in charge with his Winchester and he is certain he hits him multiple times, but the man keeps coming, returning fire! Miguel and the man fire a dozen shots at each other and Miguel grunts with pain, some stone shrapnel has cut his hand and there’s heavy bleeding from a chest wound.
“Are you ok Miguel?” asks Frank, he can’t help but staring at the wound as he rushes to his friends side.
“No, I’m not ok, it hurts like Diablo, but I’m not out just yet.”
“Here, have some water,” Frank pulls the cork from his canteen.

Zeb reloads on automatic and lines up the sights on the leader but the shot ricochets off a stone outcrop, the leader gets the point though and turns his horse around, joining the other fleeing horse thief.
“That went fairly well, didn’t it?” said Amos as he watched the fleeing horse thieves, one horse carried two riders.
“Well at least no one got killed this time...” Zeb was interrupted by a shout from Frank.
“Boss, it’s Miguel, he’s hit!”
Zeb and Amos rushed over as fast as they could.
“He’ll live, if we can get him to the doc quick enough,” said Zeb reassuringly to Frank who looked worried. He was a good drover, but he had no stomach for gunfights.

AFTERMATH: Miguel was not as badly injured as first thought and was soon fit for work again. Zeb is now a REP 6/5/5 Mountain Man!!!

[Legionnaire]

New Mexico in the Fall of 1880. Three men stood in front of Jeb Wilcott with downcast eyes and their hats in their hands. They had delivered the anything but satisfactory report of the failed horse rustling to him, one of their number had been badly injured in the shootout with that blasted Zeb Turvey and his men.
“Sorry Boss, but…”
“Sorry doesn’t cover it at all, Dulles, not…one…bit!” Jeb Wilcott was seldom agitated, but this time he slammed his fist in the desk so hard that the three rustlers jumped at the loud noise.
“I gave you one simple little thing and you let them catch up with you! Didn’t you listen a single word of what I said? That drunkard Miguel rode with the Rurales for many years, Hayneman’s Roost was a place that was very popular with the outlaws back then. Didn’t I explicitly say do NOT go there??” He was almost yelling now, this Turvey had made him so angry and these useless men…
Wilcott gripped the edge of his desk with both hands and without looking at the trio he hissed:
“Get out of here before I kill you, all of you!”
There was a rush of bootheels and then silence, he sat down and brushed his hair back, glaring at the desk. He sat like that for a few minutes, then he nodded to himself as if he’d made a decision. Then he took out some writing paper with letter head, pen and ink and wrote a message that would be sent later that day with telegraph…
Zeb, Amos, Miguel and Frank had been to Esperanza and had a couple of drinks together, Miguel and Amos had gotten into a drinking contest and Amos was thusly so drunk that he could hardly stand. The cantina was cool and the senorita was pretty and had a good singing voice, although Zeb didn’t understand much of what she was singing, something about love he guessed. His thoughts drifted as he drank his coffee, it wouldn’t do to show up at home reeking of booze.
“Boss, boss. You need to come quickly!!” the door burst open and Diego, one of Zeb’s ranch hand’s rushed in, he had a wild look on his face. Zeb felt numb inside and rose to his feet.
“Diego, que pasa?”
“It’s senor Wilcott!! He and three other men rode in not long ago and ordered me to fetch you!”
“What in Hell? And Ida and Mary-Anne?” A blade wrenched itself into his heart, he felt sick and was reeling for a second, Amos steadied him.
“I… I… I don’t know senor.” Diego couldn’t meet his stare.
“We’re coming with you, old friend.” Said Amos although he was swaying like a boat in a storm and Miguel only seemed marginally better in that aspect. Frank had enjoyed the friendly drinking but seemed tense, Zeb knew how he felt about gun play.
“Thank you. Frank, you don’t have to and no one will think less of you.”
“How can I turn away from my friends when they are in need, didn’t you hear? There are four of them out there, and no disrespect, but Mr Cross and Miguel can hardly stand up with all that liquor inside them.” He looked ever so young thought Zeb, only 19 years of age, and he was scared. But with four guns waiting for him, he couldn’t turn people away, scared or not, an extra gun on his side could make the difference.

Amos almost fell out of the saddle a couple of times on the ride out but Miguel seemed to sober up. As they rode up towards the house the could clearly see four men standing in the shade on the porch, they had obviously seen them already, it wasn’t like Zeb was trying to hide. Wilcott and the three men strode forward, all of them wore low slung holster of the type that only professional killers wear, men like Zeb’s friend Amos Cross. The bearded man on the left wore a double rig.
“Well, I would bid you good afternoon, but I’m not here to exchange pleasantries,” Wilcott said. Zeb had never met the man but his voice carried well.
“Where are my wife and daughter? If you’ve hurt them…”
“I have not harmed them in any way, it’s YOU that I want.”
“Prove it!”
“Mrs Turvey, would you please speak up?”
“Zeb, it’s as he says, the little ones and I are unharmed!” his wives voice came from the kitchen and he could see her through the window.
“Did she say little ones? As in more than one? Aren’t you full of surprises!” There was a smile on Wilcott’s lips but there was no warmth in it at all.
“Stop yacking and get on with it, you come out here and threaten my family. I will kill you for that Jeb Wilcott!”
“Many men have tried and still I’m here!”
Men on both sides realised that the time for talking was over and now it was time for the lead to sing!

Dusters were folded behind gunbutt’s, in Amos case he was wobbling in place but his hands and eyes were steady. Frank whet his lips, his throat was dry, oh ever so dry. Opposite him, across the yard stood a man, his holster was slung low and tied to his leg, his hand hovered an inch over the butt of his gun and his eyes seemed to bore into Frank.
Zeb’s hand is a blur as he pulls the Remington pistol out of the holster and cocks it in one smooth movement. Zeb Wilcott is blinking in surprise once, twice, he has only gotten his hand on his gun. Zeb keeps the gun trained on Wilcott in an unwavering grip and Wilcott slowly raises his hands in the air. Then all Hell breaks loose!

Amos beats the Mr Two-Gun, barely and fires several shots, emptying one of his Colt’s. The man discharges his guns into the scenery as he falls to the ground with a bullet through his skull. Miguel and his opponent are drawing their guns and firing at each other, but all their shots go wild, some hit the sturdy ranch house. As Frank is drawing he sees the gun hand has already cleared the holster and is fanning the hammer, something fiery hot punches through his gut and Frank falls to the ground, his pistol falls from his numb fingers and he tries to stop the blood rushing out with his hands.

As the gun smoke drifts, there’s a click-click-click from cylinders as guns are reloaded, Wilcott pulls his ivory handled pistol.

“Surrender Wilcott!”
“You will have to kill me before I give up!”
Wilcott rushes off into the ranch house, where Zeb’s wife is!
Amos is staggering all over the place and takes a moment when he sees Frank lying down in the dirt. Amos turns to face the gun hand.
“Hey you! Did you shoot the boy!”
“Yeah, so what?”
Amos lets his Colt’s speak for him and the man spins around as two bullets pierce his heart, you could cover them with a dollar coin, they are that close to each other. Miguel spins the cylinder and shoots his opponent before he can fire, the man is hit in the leg and the gun arm but refuses to go down, he too hobbles into the cabin as fast as he can.

“Turvey! I’ve got your wife here, a lovely woman and I’m going to come out through the door. If you shoot, she dies too!”
“Miguel, Amos! Get behind cover!” Zeb limped towards a wagon as fast as he could and climbed up on it.

Wilcott came out, holding Ida in front of him like a human shield and the gun pointed towards her head, the injured gun hand staggered to the tethered horses. Zeb kept his Remington pistol trained at Wilcott, how he wished he had the Sharp’s Carbine, it wouldn’t be long before Wilcott would be out of range.
“Don’t you try any funny stuff, Mrs Turvey.” Wilcott motioned her to mount up.
“How dare you? Unhand me!” Ida turned around as if to slap him but he took hold of her wrists and forced her up on the horse.
“I just need ONE shot, please God, just one shot!” Zeb whispered under his breath.
Wilcott sat up behind Ida and sat the horse in motion, his hired gun hand was riding alongside him, slumped over a bit in the saddle. Seeing her husband becoming further and further away from her Ida lashes out in desperation, but she’s quite ineffective, Wilcott looses his temper and catches her with a hard punch, she goes limp.

“Ida!!!” Zeb yells.
Time slows down to a crawl, his Remington pistol is held in a two-handed grip and the sight lines up, he cocks the hammer and exhales. The shot rings out and a split second before that he knows it’s a true shot. Wilcott falls from the saddle with the top of his head split open, the horse prances around for a bit as the two bodies tumble from the saddle. Amos seizes the opportunity to open up fire on the remaining injured gun hand and fills him so full of lead that he could be used as an anchor!

Zeb rushes across the yard as fast as his limp will carry him as Miguel tends to the injured Frank. Wilcott and all of his three gun hands are dead, Ida has got a nasty bump on her head from the fall but is otherwise as ok as the circumstances allows.

AFTERMATH: Diego’s wounds are healed, but poor Frank is so severely wounded that he passes away a few days later.

I proclaim this to be the last adventure of Turvey and Cross, they’ve had a good run, Turvey made it to REP 6 (they started out as REP 4’s) and I’ve had a real blast. But fear not, I shall have some more Old West Gaming, but will switch to an Outlaw career.

[mattblackgod]

Great Batreps. Very entertaining.

[Elbows]

Yep, always entertaining...and I see you bought "a few" cacti. 

Speaking of...I need to put up the rest of mine.  I bought a bunch of "terrain" bases in MDF from a buddy...time to start stickin' a bunch of cacti and trees to em.

[Legionnaire]

Thanks oh Warlord and Gents! 

There are smaller boxes from Pegasus, but this one was pretty cheap (only a few quid) so it was not much to think about.