Chapitre 88: Sinister Threats
Jostice parked the wagon next to the others, where gunslingers from all across Texionya readied their weapons. Men and women with scars, missing eyes, gangly teeth, and bushy beards. There were some wearing snake teeth hats while others had whips on their hips. Some with tusks around their necks and red beards masking their chin. There were men dressed dapper with rounded hats, and women wearing thick hides, carrying tusk-sharpened daggers. Some carried bows, others carried rifles, most carried a pair of six shooters.
Boone climbed out of the wagon, peering out at his competition: there were many flags that represented each nation: A white flag with two revolvers pointed east and west was the sigil of the pioneers; a boar skull on a black canvas was that of the Borks; the red bearded man was that of the Huskmen; a hissing viper on a mossy green flag was that of the Merkoits; A rolled whip was the sigil of the Stralies; a black sombrero on yellow was the Dravados; a black scarecrow on green was the Moolu; the chained compass on gold was the Pompies; two crossed daggers was that of the shinoons; the walrus tusks was the Yukimo tribe; two stallions dancing in a prairie was the Yurks; and finally the golden feather on orange representing the Oganak.
"Shit," Jostice shook his head. "The competition has brought out every killer in the southern and northern region."
"I've seen worse odds, Laddy."
"And I've seen better … much better … we didn't have this kind of competition during wagon racing, and that brought out every kind of evil you could imagine."
E'krek spat. "Killing them is not the goal … That I know."
Grotknot guffawed, "if we're not all here to kill each other then why bring us out?"
Jostice nodded, "and even if that were true, doesn't mean any of them will listen to reason. Everybody wants the pot. And when there is that much coin up for grab, they'll kill even if the rules don't ask for it. Once you've entered High Noon we're on our own. And only the duelring will decide our fate."
"E'krek's got a point," Leslie said. "Don't pay any heed to these gunslingers. Focus on what it will take to get us out of here alive—"
"Boone!" A voice rang from the wagons.
He turned around, eyes finding the raven black hair and forest green eyes of a young, olive-skinned girl. She was dressed in black trousers and a black brimmed hat. One that matched that of her brother. Both holding rifles, and looks that were nearly as nervous as his own.
"Olivica?"
Jostice corked his head, "son of a bitch … what in the two hells are you two doing here?"
Quincy puffed on his pipe, strolling up to them. "We got ourselves a pair of tickets, same as you. We're fixing to win that pot and pay off our ranch." They stopped a few feet from the group, and Quincy's eyes found the Yurk, cocking his rifle. E'krek grimaced. "What's that filth doing here?"
Leslie said, "he's with us … we have an alliance and if you wish to stay alive, you're going to need one too."
Boone shook his head, "It's too dangerous for you lot … you'll be killed—"
A cloud of smoke engulfed the boy. "Don't tell us what we is to do, ya hear? You won't change our mind."
Maybe not, Boone rubbed his chin. He looked at the girl who glowed in the morning's light. "I reckon we could use two more ally's."
Jostice wrinkled his nose, "our rosters full."
"We don't have a roster," Boone said, "and we need every man and woman we can get. With that, it makes us nine strong."
"More like twelve," Jostice mumbled. "That is, if Scaleface keeps to his end of the bargain …"
Grotknot eyebrows furrowed, "you made a deal with that heathen? You know he's got it out for my head … he will betray us, and likely me, the second he gets."
"Good thing that won't affect the rest of us." He chuckled, but nobody else seemed to find his humor. He looked towards the pair of raven-haired kids. "Hell. Bring them on too … why no."
Quincy puffed, "We didn't agree …"
"I do," Olivica winked at Boone. He brightened red. "He can be on his own …"
"Hell, if she ain't giving me a choice ... Guess I'm in too—"
There came a ruckus of laughter behind them. The group turned to face a second group of gunslingers. Each one armed as they were. More fierce than the last. Two standing with bushy, black hair blooming from their chest, brows, and arms. One large brute with arms the size of logs. One black hooded slinger and a Yurk with scab by his throat. A short man dressed dapper with a sharp nose, standing next to a giant man with a small head and large eyes. A wild-eyed man. A pocked-faced woman. And a man who laughed as feverishly as a heina.
"We meet again," Mason snickered. "And looks like you are three shy of our ten … outnumbered and outgunned … with a supporting cast of fools." He shook his head. "You're going to make this too easy."
Boone placed his hands on his hips, "we've got more than you see here … the others are already inside. You best stay clear of us or you'll regret it."
Mitch glared, sweat slithering down his scar. "You're a fool, boy. Just as your Grandpappy was … your pappy " He looked towards Jostice. "And your uncle."
Boone hands trembled once more. The wagon ride had calmed them. Maybe it was the girl with the hopeful eyes? But now his nerves jump and jolted, making them shake like a rattlers tail.
"Don't speak about my Kin … or I'll make you miss your own."
Mitch chuckled, "Again with them threats. You're either brave or stupid—"
Jostice barred his teeth, "you talk tough to a boy, but how do you do with a man?"
Leslie raised her palms, "let's just everybody calm down … And we can do our talking inside the arena."
The pocked-faced woman rubbed her nose. "Kenneth was a cousin of mine … once I'm through with you, I'll be sure to visit your brother on the other side."
Leslie reached for her gun, "you bitch!"
Jostice grabbed her wrist and pulled her into his embrace. She fought for a moment, but calmed the more he held.
Krix said, "let the guns do the talking … there are too many feuds in this field. Don't want to start the duel early."
Mitch nodded, waving a hand, "Let's get. My eyes are growing weary looking upon this filth."
"We'll be waiting," Boone said.
Mason chuckled, "You don't have to wait too long … and don't you worry … you'll be seeing Grandpappy Jerocobish real soon."
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone