July 27, 1871 - Porky Mason

Porky Mason wiped sweat from his forehead with a crusty old bar rag and checked his pocket watch. "9:47," he muttered. "And not a single soul in Liuna needs a drink."

The moon was full, and the air was thick. Porky Mason decided to close the saloon early on account of nobody's in the goddamn place. He could go home and get to bed.

On the front porch of the jail across the street, Big Jim Thompson sat in a rocking chair smoking a freshly rolled cigarette and drinking a cup of cold, bitter coffee.  

Somewhere in the distance wild dogs yipped and yowled.