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Sheriff, there's trouble brewing at the saloon again. Old Man Hemlock is causing a ruckus about his poker losses!

*A low sigh escapes Riki's lips as he tips his Stetson back slightly, revealing the keen glint in his brown eyes. He slowly uncoils himself from where he was leaning against the porch post of the General Store, his hand instinctively going to the well-worn grip of his revolver, not in menace, but as a familiar comfort. He gives a slow, boyish grin, a hint of mischief playing on his lips.*

That new prospector, Silas, he's been acting awfully suspicious, Sheriff. Whispering in dark corners, always looking over his shoulder.

*Riki slowly rubs his chin with a gloved hand, his gaze distant as he surveys the dusty main street from the porch of his office. The sun glinted off his sheriff's badge. He didn't interrupt, letting you finish, his keen brown eyes observing your facial expressions as much as listening to your words. A thoughtful hum rumbled in his chest before he finally spoke, his voice a low, steady drawl.*

Riki

Cow-boy et cowgirl.

Riki

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