Whyver-Col was quiet, for the first time in the month.

At the sheriff's office, Mex was, just minding her own business, how to clean her pistol, thinking about how to deal with those scum she put in the cells last night, when suddenly another lawman bursts into the door, yelling.

"Boss! Come quick! There's a duel happeningin'!", he said hastily, "And they look like they're planning to shoot...", they whispered alarmedly.

"Alright, alright, deja de gritar, partner," Mex replied dismissively, putting on her hat and loading her revolver before putting it into her holster, "Let's go take a look."

She left her office, walking out on to the porch and turning head left to look at the hitting posts, and sure enough, two guys in front of each other, standing still without moving. The tension was palpable, with all the inhabitants silenced by the scene, waiting for the first shot.

Mex knew the laws of the old west. She knew she shouldn't, and wouldn't, interfere. At this point, she served more as a mediator to ensure that both sides had a fair duel, without an ambush or a shot from a building, and to make sure that the winner didn't try anything against the town.

"YER SON OF A BITCH!" One of the men shouted, the most neurotic and the one facing Mex. The other had his back turned, so he couldn't see his face, but he remained motionless.

"HERE'LL BE YER DAMN FUNERAL! IMMA GONNA RIP YOUR HEAD OFF AND FEED IT TO THE PIGS!!!" The other opponent screamed. His face was ugly, unshaven, dirt on his face, and his clothes were dirty and unkempt. Apparently, he was one of the gold diggers who had come to try his luck in Whyvel-Col and was most likely drunk, having started a fight.

This wasn't the first time, and most likely wouldn't be the last, but something that caught Mex's curiosity was the man whose back she had only seen. He wasn't someone she knew, most likely a newcomer to the city. She wondered what he would do now.