The main post is getting a little jumbled so for the sake of clarity I am going to put up this recap post for us to continue off of. It might make things easier if we just reply to the last comment in one thread and once that fills up, make a new post. Kinja has a way of fouling up the order of the comments. P.S. I took a few liberties with your comments for narrative flow. I apologize in advance.
In the years since his 'retirement', Doc Scurlock has avoided notoriety as best he could. It has not avoided him as well as he'd like. It's known in town that he refuses to discuss his past in mixed company. Doc is... unsettling to be around, for the weak of stomach. (Being shot in the mouth and surviving will do that.)
Doc Scurlock buys himself a whiskey. He finds a quiet table near the back of the saloon, and waits. Eventually he sees the Padre enter the Capitol Bar. The Padre wears a plain brown robe typical of someone from a Southwest mission. He appears about thirty years old with dark brown hair. The lower half of his weathered face is covered by a thick beard. He is a large man with rough hands that hold a Bible. The Padre finds a seat, opens his Bible and reads while he waits. An observant person might note that the Padre is in a shadowy spot in the rear of the saloon with his back against a wall and facing the main saloon doors. He has also raised the hood of his robe making his face difficult to see.
Doc buys himself another whiskey, and casually makes his way to the Padre's table.
"I'll be damned. You are alive."
The Padre looks up from his Bible.
"'And he that was dead came forth.' Like Lazarus I have come back from the dead. We have a lot to discuss, Doc. But let's wait for the rest to arrive. Believe it or not, I'm here to help you."
Around this time Lawrence Scurlock arrives in town from his home of Santa Fe. He bummed a ride on a freight train passing through Socorro.
He is a bit tired and is in need a shave, but no so much as to ruin his rugged handsomeness. He's fit from working outside on the rails. He's wearing slim pants held up with a thick leather belt covered in small notches, and a stained, off-white Henley shirt with the top three buttons undone, revealing a hairy chest. Over this look is a well-worn duster with a slightly tattered hem and cuffs. There is noticeable dust on his boots and his spurs have a hint of rust. He is wearing a weather-beaten cowboy hat that has lost most of its shaping but keeps the sun out well. He has a dark, scratched and repaired, leather sack on one shoulder. In his mouth he is chewing on a hay seed.
Lawrence, Lars to his friends, walks in the saloon's swinging doors as a wave of warm wind blows a tumbleweed around the dirt street behind him. His head is down and he refuses to make eye contact with anyone. He walks up to the bar and quietly orders a sarsaparilla. He turns away from the bar to take his first sip and notices two figures conversing in the corner. He stops mid-drink, puts the glass on the counter, drops the two bits and calmly walks over to the two men, just within the peripheral vision of the one standing. His dry lips part and through a raspy tone, he acknowledges his company.
"Hello, Father. Your slave is reporting for duty. "
The Padre chuckles softly and mutters something about the fourth commandment. Doc is not so amused. He straightens up and stares down his son.
"You watch that mouth, boy. You got a thought worth sharin', you go ahead and do so. But you will show me respect. Got a job needs doin'." Doc turns, sits a chair away from the Padre.
"And we need ya."
Always one to show up late to the party, Henry McSween arrives outside the saloon and pauses before going in. Never one to hesitate without good cause, he gets the sensation that he's overlooked something. He quickly runs through things in his mind. Satisfied that he's ready for all possible scenarios he steps in and quickly spots his "friends".
Without pausing he makes his way towards them while taking in the room, scanning for any threats or things to be mindful of.
"Gentlemen," he says nodding in their general direction as he takes his seat at the table. "Sorry for the delay, was taking care of a few things," he says effectively putting a halt to additional remarks about his appearance.
He looks tired and disheveled, covered with more than a fair amount of grit. The men take note of the dirt covering his hands, not an uncommon sight for a man whose worked mines or a soldier who can ride all day and then some without stopping for rest. But given the size of Socorro and the fact that there are no mines or Army outposts anywhere in the vicinity of the town that's more than just a little unusual.
He makes a mental note to address their unspoken questions when the opportunity presents itself, which he knows will be soon. A man doesn't do half the things he's done without acquiring talents of a seemingly superstitious nature. He can't shake the feeling that something is about to happen and above all, Henry McSween is a survivor.
William Skylark hit town several days and rented a room at the Capitol Bar before Doc's prescribed meetup, telling himself it was to get the lay of the land. In reality it had more to do with the lay of the ladies that worked the floor of the saloon. Socorro was more of a one-horse town than Las Cruces, the one town that William would consider "home", meaning it was mostly filled with miners and rail road workers. Having a proper gunfighter in this burg, especially one as famous as him, should be a treat for the local hicks so William dressed to impress. He wore a white button down shirt and emerald green vest under a black town coat cut slightly higher up the hip. A silk emerald green necktie was around his neck and he never went out without his black flat brim hat. Those things only completed the picture for his fans, though. What initially drew the eye were the matching Colt Single Action Army revolvers holstered on either hip, their polished wood handles gleaming in the sun. These irons were just to scare off the shave tails who wanted to test their skills. The real danger came from the Smith & Wesson Baby Russian he kept in his waistband and the Colt Pocket Pistol he kept in his right hand jacket pocket.
Seeing the other four gathered, William gets up from where he was sitting, pushing the girl of the day from his lap, and approaches the group. "Don't get up." he says as the others notice his presence "I wouldn't want anyone to faint away from the shock of meeting me. After all, it's not everyday that one meets the William Skylark, fastest gun in the three territories."
The Padre closes his Bible and keeps his right hand resting on it.
"Gentlemen, what does each of us bring to this endeavor? Doc is surely our leader. Mister Skylark and the soldier look to be hired guns. I expect someone is our railroad inside man, young Scurlock perhaps. I of course bring the Lord's favor to our task."
William stares hard at the Padre then speaks.
"I think you might have some of your facts wrong, Preacher. I don't aim to turn down whatever Doc pays us for this job, but I ain't no "hired gun". I am William Skylark, the fastest draw in these three territories!" William pauses and waits for the look of recognition to appear on the Padre's face. "I expect you might not of heard of me. Most of the men I put in the bone orchard didn't go on to meet your Hey-Sue Krees-Tow. Next time you're talking with Ell D-Ah-Blow, drop my name. I'm sure he appreciates the business."
The Padre smiles but it doesn't reach the cold glint in his eyes.
"No offense intended, Mister Skylark. But you should corral your pride. It was Lucifer's sin too."
Having listened to William speak, Henry chimes in. "I'm no 'hired gun' as well, I have my reasons for being here and they are mine and mine alone. But suffice it to say I've got some things covered that some of you might not have thought of or worried about yet, let's leave it at that for now. If you want my bonafides though, all you have to do is ask. Don't guarantee you'll get an answer, much less one you'll like, but ask. Otherwise, let's see what Doc's two bits are."
Mentally, Henry is still keeping track of time since he set foot in the bar.
"You check'n all our sins, Padre?" Lars asks "Ain't there something in that book o'yours that says something 'bout castin' the first stone? As for me, I go where I get paid, even if I ain't too keen on the overseer."
"I'm casting no stones, just helping folks to see the error of their ways." The Padre responds, "The path of redemption starts with admitting your sins."
"You preachers are all the same, ain't ya?" William snarks, "Always wasting your time trying to save those that are beyond saving." William smiled broadly at the Padre. "Let's put aside talk of our immortal souls for another time, shall we? I think we have some more pressing business to attend to now. Ain't that right, Doc?"
Doc leans forward, talking low. "It ain't easy, but it is simple. Bill's gonna hang if he winds up in Mesilla. I don't intend for him to reach the noose. What's called for is a bit of daring, which I think is sitting ample right here."
He casts an unimpressed eye on Skylark. "Course, our plans can't get too far with you shouting your name every five minutes. You're attractin' attention we don't need, right now. Ya follow me?"
William returns Doc's glare. "If you want to play in a hidey hole, you're the boss, Doc. But don't think me saying my name alerted any of these yokels to anything about me they didn't already know. My reputation tends to proceed me."
Doc nods. "That's why I hired ya. It's my intent that if any o' James Dolan's crew hear you're in cahoots with this felonious escapade of ours, they'll think twice before pullin' iron." He gives Skylark a nod of respect.
"Course, that only applies if'n we actually can stay outta the hoosegow long enough to do what needs doin'. As locales go to settle up a plan, this ain't my favorite. Now what have you boys got for me. Lars?"
"I'm your rails guy. I know trains like the the setting sun. I'll get you the in'fermation you'll need." Lars tilts his head towards his father's, "s'long as payment is made in full."
"You'll get your damn money as long as the job gets done." Doc snarls,"What about you, McSween?"
McSween thinks for a bit. "I've got a few thoughts on how to stop it if need be. Won't be pretty or subtle though. Unless it's done as far from any towns as possible."
William chuckles. ""It doesn't need to be pretty or subtle. I've thought about this long and hard, but then again I do everything long and hard. I don't see any way to avoid this little heist breaking out into a full on shootin' war. Not to worry, though. Once the lead starts a' flying, you'll be glad you're on my side."
Doc nods thoughtfully. He crosses his arms. "Guess it was a fool's hope that this'd go peaceably. Still. Let's not get careless. Long as we all play our parts, you'll get what ya came for."
[He looks towards the saloon's entrance. What does he see?]