Needed a bath, and a change of clothes pronto.

  That was Stephen's immediate thought as he stepped out of the Sheriff's office.

  It was pretty clear the Deputy hadn't exactly given him a royal ride back to the station last night.

  So, Stephen was covered in more than just his own vomit. There was also a generous coating of dried, hardened... well, let's just call it a fecal-urine cocktail.

  The repulsive aroma was almost unbearable.

  He shook his head, still feeling groggy, and headed straight for the town's only general store.

  General stores back then really were *general*. They had food, drinks, and all sorts of oddities, including clothes, of course.

  Stephen pushed the door open. The owner, who was sitting at the counter, immediately pinched his nose and bellowed, "What in the hell smells like a sewer explosion?!"

  "If I told you I was here to spend money, would you treat me any differently?" Stephen pulled a few bills out of his pants pocket and tossed them onto the counter. The owner's attitude changed instantly.

  Stephen knew how those lawmen operated. The first thing they did when they caught a suspect was to empty their pockets and stuff the cash into their own.

  That’s why Stephen wisely stashed his dough down his trousers…

  "What can I get for you, sir? I got just about everything here, name it!" the owner said, sucking up because of the money and reluctantly tolerating the stink.

  "It's pretty obvious. I need clothes. A new set of clothes." Stephen pointed to the ready-made garments hanging on the side. "Just grab me a couple of the right size. I can't stand being in here long enough to pick anything out."

  The owner hastily packed a set of clothes according to Stephen's size and then sent him on his way, like a cursed plague.

  The hotel was right across from the general store. He could bathe there. Stephen hurried inside with his new clothes.

  Even he couldn’t stand his stink.

  The hotel owner gave Stephen the same look the general store owner did, holding his nose and demanding, "Mister, that'll cost extra!"

  "I'll pay double. Just let me get cleaned up!" Stephen shouted back, pinching his own nose.

  "Alright, go on in. Just hope the next customer doesn't complain about the smell," the owner said. The money spoke, so he relented.

  A plump black woman was cleaning the bathroom. She gave Stephen a flirty wink as he barged in. "Hey there, handsome. Want some company?"

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  *You really aren't bothered by the stench…* Stephen mumbled, before swiftly kicking the woman out.

  He slammed the bathroom door shut and locked it tight. He wasn't risking a second chance for that lady.

  That sort was more Micah's type anyway. His taste wasn't *quite* that strong.

  Man, it had been too long since he’d had a hot shower. This was going to be wonderful.

  Stephen quickly rinsed off the worst of it, then sank into the hot water of the nearby tub.

  He felt like he was melting, just wanting to stay there forever without moving a muscle.

  He stayed in the water until it was practically cold before finally getting up, using the free soap to thoroughly wash his body and hair.

  He scrubbed several times, until the owner started knocking on the door, telling him his time was up. Finally, Stephen reluctantly put on his new clothes and emerged.

  The new clothes fit perfectly. Light blue denim jacket paired with a white shirt and dark blue jeans.

  Add a pair of brown tall riding boots and top it off with a black cowboy hat.

  A leather satchel slung across his hip, the gun belt fastened, and the pistol tucked into the holster. A dapper cowboy was born.

  He handed the owner two bills and stepped out of the hotel, feeling refreshed.

  The sun was shining brightly that day. The afternoon sun warmed him to the bone.

  After last night's ruckus, Stephen's stomach was growling.

  But now was hardly the time to eat. The saloon probably didn't have any food. Stephen just headed straight for the stables.

  A worker was washing down Stephen’s white horse outside the stables. The horse got excited when he saw Stephen.

  He looked like he was tired of being in the stables and needed to run around some.

  The owner was buried in his accounting books, then spotted Stephen and hurriedly came out to greet him.

  "Sir, you've come at the perfect time! Your horse is almost ready. The new saddle and horseshoes have been put on. We were just waiting for it to get washed, so you could ride him back home."

  The owner continued wistfully, "Just a question. You still aren’t thinking about selling him? I can offer a very…"

  "Rest assured. I'm not going to sell him." Stephen interrupted, waving a small wad of cash in the air.

  "Alright, if you change your mind, be sure to give me first dibs," the owner sighed, looking heartbroken as he took the money.

  It was probably the first time in the owner's life that making money felt bad.

  Stephen stood at the stables door, smoking while he watched the worker finish washing his white horse.

  It was no wonder the owner was so fond of it. After a good cleaning, it really was a beauty.

  Its gleaming fur practically glowed in the sunlight.

  Its muscular frame was so perfect; the horse seemed full of explosive power.

  The worker trimmed and cleaned its long mane, then gave the horse a little braid.

  The new black saddle contrasted perfectly against the white of the horse.

  All in all, anyone riding this horse would easily get everyone's attention.

  With the last water spot wiped clean, the worker had finished the horse.

  The worker put on the saddle and the reins. Now this majestic white horse was ready for riding.

  Stephen led his horse out of the stables and, ignoring the owner’s melancholy gaze, swung himself into the saddle. A tug on the reins, and they trotted off towards Horseshoe Overlook.

  He needed to go find help.

  That Clinic was too tough to handle solo. He needed a couple of specialists to help out.

  His specialty was capturing targets, not robbery or assassination. These covert ops were a bit out of his range.

  If he met those three head-on, Stephen could make flowers bloom redder than blood in 10 seconds.

  Unfortunately, the Sheriff’s office was right next door. If he alerted the cops, it would be curtains for him.

  He didn't want to have a bounty on his head and have to live in constant fear.

  So, it was best to keep the cops out of it. Even if the police got involved, he would pin the crime on someone else.

  He trusted that Dutch and the gang would be willing to take the fall for a good old run-in with the O'Driscoll gang.