Being an Account of How Three N'er-Do-Wells Seemingly Prospered but Eventually Met Their Just Reward

This "battle report" is based on one of the games played in the still unfinished testing of the Tactical Studies Rules "Wild West" campaign rules for 1:1 gunfight action. The participants were: Bill Corey (Sheriff "Whitey" Hatfield), Gary Gygax (Pancho Lopez), Ernie Gygax ("The Drifter"), Rob Kuntz ("Toothy Pete" McCabe), and Mike Monard (Ike Sharp).

The scene of the events recorded is the area in and around "Promise City", a railroad town somewhere in the West. North of the city lies "Blume Valley", site of the "D bar K Ranch", and nestled between high mountains and the foothill and canyon country to the northeast. The latter is the home for numerous miners, and the town of "Shaft City". Just at the base of the hills is the only sheep ranch within a week's hard ride, "Coreyisky Sheep Enterprise". To the east of Promise City the land is excellent for grazing, and despite the encroachment of some small farms, there is a large spread known as the "Hacienda del Roberto".

Far to the southeast there is the old Spanish town of Glencia Portos and a few small farms. The high plains below Promise city are the lands claimed by the big "Rocking G Ranch", although a bit westwards of this outfit there are several smaller spreads. A waste of desert and sandstone makes the far southwestern section of the territory unappealing to the "civilized" peoples thereabouts, but of course it is fine for others, so there is a large Indian Reservation in the sandstone country.

Completing the circle back at the high mountains once again, there are tales told of a difficult trail leading up into the northwest country, with a collection of shacks, saloons, and sportin' houses known as "Rustlers' Roost" purported to be the hide-out for a nasty collection of badmen. The area described is bisected from northwest to southeast by the "Cascade River". which arises from the "Crystal Creek" (a muddy cow trough) and "Gold Creek", which comes down from the mining country to the northeast. Last but not least there is a small fort near Promise City. "Fort Offense" was built to keep the "Redskins" in check, but only a small garrison now holds the place. Anything can happen around Promise City -- just wait a while and it will.

Our Story Begins...

Our story begins in the miserable little town of "Burned Bush Wells" which lies at the edge of the desert.

One day three men rode into town from seperate directions: "Toothy Pete" McCabe was on his ,way out of the mountains to the north, evidentally seeking more money to blow on debauchery. Ike Sharp, an unemployed buffalo hunter, was heading west.

Pancho Lopez had been run out of Glencia Portos and inadvertantly stumbled into Burned Bush Wells. The stage hadn't brought so many new faces into town in a month of Sundays, and the sheriff didn't like the looks of things -- particularly the "greaser" who he saw headed for the pool hall. Sheriff "Whitey" Hatfield was an upright man and was out to protect "His Town". He headed for the billard hall to check things out, and this traffic attracted the attention of the two other strangers. Both McCabe and Sharp ambled over to the place too. They arrived in time to see the sheriff rousting Lopez, for the latter had been sullen in his replies to Hatfield's first questions.

"What are you picking on the Mex' for!" demanded Sharp.

"Yah. Leave him alone," chimed in "Toothy Pete".

Sheriff Hatfield quickly swung his hogleg to cover the two, and all protests over his arrest of the Mexican were immediately stilled. His icy stare turned the pair away, and he thereupon marched Poncho off to jail. Once he was safely behind bars, thought Whitey, he'd see about those other trouble makers ... divide and conquer.

As he finished locking his prisoner in one of the cells the sheriff thought a quick peek out the back door might not be a bad idea, for he hadn't liked the expressions on the faces of those saddle tramps who'd tried to interfere with the performance of his duty. They might be hanging around out back to spring the greaser, for they could all be in cahoots.

McCabe stepped out the door. A rifle roared from the window of a nearby building, while from the back door of the billiard parlor Toothy Pete snapped off a couple of shots from his handgun. The sheriff dived back inside unhurt but badly surprised. He slammed the door, and as he gathered himself to return the fire at a rear window a heavy knife thudded into the wall beside him.

Pancho's arm still protruded from the bars of his cell as McCabe swung around, and the prisoner hastily said: "Here's my knife, shereef, I thought you might need it to defend yourself from those desperados outside." The sickly smile on his face didn't make the story any more convincing, but luckily for Lopez the sheriff was too law-abiding to gun down one prisoners in a locked cell -- particularly since it was McCabe's own oversight which allowed him to be locked therein with a knife hidden in his boot.

"I'll deal with you later," Hatfield promised, and dashed out the front door.

"Where's the sheriff?" called a voice fro the outside.

"I can't tell you," shouted Pancho, "cause he run out the front door jus' a meenet ago."

The commotion of slamming doors, crashes, and booted heels running towards the jail didn't make Pancho pause for a moment in his efforts to pick the cell lock with one of the long rowels on his spur. He was astonished, however, when the door swung open a minute later! Unbeknownst to him, the sheriff had dashed past the opening between the jail and the general store, taken a slight wound in the process, and disappeared. So had Pete and Ike...

Pancho left the back door of the sheriff office on a dead run, heading for the rear of the Wells, Fargo & Co. Bank. He was in a foot race with Ike Sharp, and although they had never met before, they grinned in a comradely way at each other when they realized that there were two minds with but a single thought. When they battered down the back door with one heave no one in the bank was able to react before the two would-be robbers raised their pistols, for Toothy Pete had come in the front door a few moments earlier and had the drop on the whole staff.

Luckily for Ike and Pancho, his nerves were steady. Pete planned to aim before he shot the reinforcements coming in the back, for he thought them to be some of the sheriff's ilk, not reinforcements for his own nefarious activity.

When he heard them shout, "Stick 'em up!" as they crashed through the door Pete called for the two not to shoot him by mistake, for there was plenty of cash for all! The three strip. ped the bank of loot in a trice, stole the nearest horses, and beat it out of town at a gallop. Several shots rang out but none hit them. The robbery was a success, netting, several thousand dollars, and a price was posted on the heads of the trio of outlaws.

The fact that they were all wanted men slowed them not a whit. Ike, Pete and Pancho began a reign of terror throughout the territory, robbing the stage lines, banks, assay offices, and just about any other place that kept a few dollars. The rewards rose. A hue-and-cry was raised, the vigilantes rode out in force, and bounty hunters began to track the desperadoes. They decided it was time to disappear for a while, and headed for the safety of Rustlers' Roost.

It was weeks later, and the trio was still living high off their ill-gotten gains. They were carousing in the Dead Dog Saloon with the usual crowd of outlaws and fast women, buying drinks for all -- even the two strangers, a hulking, shifty-eyed fellow in a grey hat and a chubby kid still covered with trail dust. These two were sitting at seperate tables not paying attention to anything in particular. Near sundown the big spenders were sufficiently well-oiled to pry themselves loose from the bar and decide it was time to look for some fun elsewhere. They clumped from the bar and out the swinging doors, pausing a moment on the walk to gather their wits.

There was a smash of splintering glass, and the black mouths of a sawed-off shotgun spoke towards the trio. Two flew backwards, covered with red, but the blast missed Ike Sharp, and he threw himself from the porch, clawing for his gun.

The man behind the shotgun was one H. Whitfield, a bounty hunter with iron nerve, who wasn't awed by having to venture into the outlaw community in order to bring back three valuable corpses. Whitefield never lived to collect. As he dropped the sawed-off and was reaching for his six shooter the kid at the far table smiled as he sent three slugs into the bushwacked.

Ike Sharp headed out of town immediately afterwards, and he has never been heard of since. The young drifter took Whitfield's gun, watch, and money and left also. No body attempted to stop him. A couple of months later he was killed in a tavern brawl in Promise City.

Thus the tale ends, with the only one to profit from all the killing being the Sheriff at Burned Bush Wells, Whitey Hatfield, whose sleepy little town was safe and unmolested once again.

The exchange of fire between the sheriff and Ike Sharp and Pete McCabe was all at low hit probability because of near total concealment and evasive movement. Two shotgun blasts, a shot with a .50 cal buffalo rifle, and six slugs from a hand gun all missed the sheriff, for he was firing from a small window in the back door of the jail. Likewise, when he first fired at the pair who had tried to am bush him they were well-covered, and they weren't touched by six shots. As the three men fled town after robbing the bank they were crouched low and moving at between a canter and a gallop. One horse was grazed by a rifle bullet, none of the outlaws were hit, although several shots were fired.

The fight at the Dead Dog Saloon was slightly different. Whitfield came close to killing all three of his intended victims, for at close range a sawed-off 12-gauge shotgun is nearly always lethal. However when he dropped that weapon (now empty) and went to draw, he was at a distinct disadvantage. The drifter had the drop on him, was fast, a good shot, and had a steady nerve, although he had had no previous experience in gunfights. While Whitfield was perhaps faster and had had plenty of experience, he was a coward at heart, and he didn't have time to clear the holster before he was spun around by the first shot from the kid. The kid wasn't as fast as he thought, for he was dropped in a gunfight by being beaten to the draw.