Oscar the Ghost, Dead

Shot dead in the Silver Dollar saloon after a card game went sour. Oscar had a habit of picking at the scabs on his face when he was nervous—a tell that cost him. A man across the table saw him do it mid-hand, read him like a dime novel, and called his bluff. Oscar reached for his piece, but his fingers were still dirty from his own blood. He never cleared leather.

October 14th, 1873. Oscar lay slumped against the bar's brass rail, his card hand still fanned in his left palm—three queens and a busted straight. The bartender hadn't bothered to move the glass of whiskey that sat two feet from his outstretched right arm, half-spilled across the scarred wood. Blood pooled slow and dark under the oil lamps, and upstairs, somebody's fiddle kept playing like nothing had happened at all.

Survived by

A brother who runs a freight outfit two valleys over, and a sister who tends a trading post. They won't come for the body.

“Never play cards when your nerves are showing. Oscar forgot that lesson, and it killed him.”

— The bartender, who will wipe down that rail and pour the next drink without comment.

Services Body to be rolled into a pine box and left at the claim office. If nobody claims him by week's end, he goes to the ravine with the others.

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Oscar the Ghost, Dead

You can have this whole adventureinside Guns at Dusk.

You can have this whole adventure
inside Guns at Dusk.