[Koprnkc]

January 1st, 1911
Las Vegas, Nv.,

The Iron Boot was established in 1890 by Gunther Von Revoch, a german immigrant. Under Von Revoch's ownership the Iron Boot was the place where Las Vegas's social elite met. The Iron Boot became Von Revoch's pride and joy, and one of his true loves.

Unfortunately, gambling was his second love, and as such that is how Von Revoch came to lose the Iron Boot to Patrick "Paddy" O'doule, a no good card cheat.

The story goes that in 1899, in a game of cards with O'doule, Von Revoch threw the deed to the Iron Boot into the pot, certain he had a winning hand. O'doule laid down a full house, Aces and Eights, commonly refered to as the dead mans hand. Von Revoch also laid down a full house, Kings over Aces. Von Revoch accused O'doule of cheating, and as he reached over to gather the deed and pot, O'doule shot him between the eyes.

When the Las Vegas Police came to investigate, O'doule produced 3 witness that stated Von Revoch became upset at losing the Iron Boot and came at O'doule, forcing him to act in self defense. The testimony of these less then upstanding citizens, along with alittle money under the table to the Police Chief and O'doule was cleared.

From that point on, the Iron Boot became the gathering place for Las Vegas's men of ill repute, and how I came to find myself standing just outside the saloon doors on a cold rainy night.

I stepped in and gave myself a moment or two to allow my eyes to adjust to the light. Despite the poor lighting I could tell that at one time the Iron Boot was a magnficent place. A large mahogany bar ran the length of the West wall, and behind it a mirror that matched the length of the bar, along with a brass foot rest.

A large chandelier hung in the center of the room, giving off a soft light, as several of the small oil lamps where missing, probably as the result of having been shot out some time ago, and the lamps having never been replaced.

As my eyes became accustomed to the lighting in the room I noticed two fellars standing at the bar, an a few more at a table or two.

It was not surprising, being as the weather outside was miserable, and most folks where hunkered down inside their homes.

I walked up to the bar, and had the bartender pour me a shot, tossing it back, before ordering a second.

My attention was drawn to a table in the back, where four fellars set, their talk loud and boisterous.

One of the fellars got up and headed towards the bar, and I watched him in the mirror as he approached, recognizing him to be the one they called Red.

"Tom, another round of beers." he called to the barkeep.

I took a small sip of the whiskey, my eyes gazing into the mirror, recognizing the other two fellars who had been with Red on the the night they had ruffed up Ageda. The fourth fellars face was obscured by the shadows, and I could not make out any features.

My attention was brought back to Red, and as the stench of whiskey and beer hit my nostrils, I realized he was talking to me.

"Hey, you to good to talk to me Mister?"

I turned my gaze towards him, looking him in the eye, resisting the urge to pull the peacemaker then and there. I could tell that in his alcohol induced stupor he did not recognize me. I kept my hand on my drink, simply saying "sorry, I didn't hear you."

"I said why don't you find it in your pocket to buy a round for me and my friends over there" he indicated by pointing a thumb over his shoulder to the group at the table.

"Sure, Sure, bar keep, set em up with a round on me." I called to the barkeeper, Tom.

Red slapped me on the shoulder, like I was his new best friend. Threw back his drink laughing, and turned to head back to group with their drinks.

"You don't remember me?" I asked.

Red stopped and turned back to the bar, walking up to stand next to me, trying to will his mind to remember who I was. I slowly turned to face him, pushing the brim of my hat up slightly, so that he could get a better look.

"I told you I would put my next shot right into your gut." I said, my steel gaze burrowing into his eyes.

His face flushed, as he realized who I was, and he raised his right hand hoping to land a blow. My right hand fell to the peacemaker, smoothly and quickly pulling it from the holster with the practiced ease developed so long ago.

Pushing the barrel up against Red's belly, I fired two shots, and he crumpled to the floor, his hands trying to push his insides back in. I quickly turned, snapping off a shot at the fellar sitting to the left. The round struck him in the upper right chest, sending him spinning and falling out his chair. I caught a flash out of the corner of my eye, and could hear the bullets hitting and shattering the mirror behind me. The third fellar had made the mistake of rushing his shots, and I calmly pulled out the second colt in my shoulder holster with my left hand, bringing it up. Another round smashed into the bar next to my hip, and I fired the big colt, three rounds in quick succession.

I watched as the rounds struck his chest, causing him to fall back into his chair, his head slumping, the pistol in his hand falling to the floor. Now armed with both colts, I walked up to the table. The fourth fellar, his hands on the table, unmoving, his face still hidden in the shadows.

"It would seem, that you have a skill I was not aware of Senor Smith." came a voice from the shadows.

"You know me?" I asked, somewhat surprised.

"Si, I know you and you me." came the response, as the face of Luis Ortiz appeared from out of the shadows.

At one time, Luis Ortiz was a player for the Las Vegas Mafia. I had brought him to the team in trade, but, we had a falling out when he became upset with his playing time, and I shipped him off to the Columbus Cruz. I had heard rumor he had been involved in a fight in the Columbus clubhouse and had knifed the manager for sitting him on the bench. From there, he just disappeared. I never would have believed he would have returned to Las Vegas.

"Luis!"

"Si, it is me." he sneered, pulling that same large bone handle knife out of his waistband that he had used to threaten me years ago, with rattlesnake quickness. He lept at me from across the table, displaying the cat like agility he had as a player. The peacemaker in my right hand belched fire, once and then twice. Luis fell, sprawled across the table, the life fading from his eyes.

Holstering both Colts I walked back to the bar, picking up my drink and downing the last of it. A moan came from the floor, next to my feet. Red had managed to pull himself up to a sitting position, and was leaning against the bar, holding his gut.

"Mister, we..we... never meant... to killem, we... never meant...."

The sound of the peacemaker drowned out his last words.