Stories of the West

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The Smith Lloyd Gang

Smith Lloyd always had big ambitions. As a boy, he dreamt of helping others in need and punishing those who deserve it. But as he sat by the camp fire sipping his coffee, observing the gang around him, he wondered if it was all worth it.

Let’s start at the beginning shall we? It all started going wrong about two years ago in New Mexico after his gang pulled of their biggest robbery yet. They robbed a train and rode off with almost $50,000.

He let out a puff of smoke as he took a drag of his cigarette, sipping his whiskey, observing the rowdy saloon he was in. Some men were getting drunk and spending their hard earned money on whores. Some were playing a game of poker, looking to take others’ money by spending some of their own. And some were simply winding down after a hard day’s work.

“Can I interest you in some company for the night, mister?” Smith looked at the whore beside him. She was young, he thought. Too young to be in this trype of profession.

“What’s your name, ma’am?” He asks her, his voice low with a southern twang in it.

“Anythin’ you want it to be, darlin’” The whore says, putting her hand sensually on his chest.

Smith was barely able to react before he heard a single gunshot from outside.

The music coming from the manplaying the piano in the corner of the saloon stopped abruptly and everyone went out to investigate whaf had happened.

He sighs and whispers under his breath, “Can’t these fools stay out of trouble for one minute?”

He steps out on to the street where his trusted friend and enforcer, Liam stood.

Liam was much shorter than Smith’s 6’2” build, standing at about 5’9”. He was also leaner. He stood there inspecting the body, who was one of the newerr members of their gang; Kell Ash.

They found her in New Orleans. She was a common thief and pickpocket but when it came down to it, she knew how to use the Ebony handled Peacemaker she always carried.

Smith approached Liam.

“She was a good kid,” Liam muttered. “What happened?” Smith asked, bewildered that a member of his gang layed dead in the street without her pistol being drawn.

“Didn’t see nuthin’” Liam said, “I heard the shot and by the time I got here, she was already dead. Must’ve pickpocketed the wrong type of folk. Never even fired a shot. Must’ve been a quick gun.”

“If this was some robbery gone wrong, Kell would be dead a long time ago.” He inspects the body further.

”This was a long range shot. 200 yards at least.” Smith looks to the direction where the shot came from. “She was assassinated.”


Liam’s face stayed stern and cold as it always was. “I heard sumthin’ awhile back when we was in Kansas, that the Ryker Railroad Company hired Crast The Ripper’s boys to find and kill anyone of us. He’s offering each member of his gang $500 once the job’s done. Thought we could’ve been at least a few weeks ahead of em. I was wrong. He’s found us yet again.”

“Get back to camp, we have to move before Crat figures out where we are.”

That was the first incident of a member of their gang being murdered in cold blood.

Once a gang of almost fifty men and women, now the seven people before him were all that was left of the Smith Lloyd gang.



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