[Moosh da Outlaw]

The town of Fowlsburgh was a small Clakker town about four miles from the outlaw camp. It rested in the heart of a large canyon called The Autumn Pass, which was aptly named for its reddish-brown cliffs and winding rivers. The town itself was peaceful and quaint (as quaint as clakkers came, anyway), and just happened to be Stranger's latest stop.

The bounty hunter looked over the small town quickly; it was just like any other Clakker town he'd been to before, nothing special. No doubt the Clakkers here were just like any other Clakkers. He sighed and walked casually towards the little village and, the moment he entered, the atmosphere seemed to freeze. Clakkers stopped and stared, as still as stone. It was though time itself had stopped running.

A few Clakkers shuffled and muttered to one another without taking their eyes off him, but didn't return to what they were doing. Wondering if he had missed something important Stranger turned and looked around, but all he saw were buildings and cliffs. They were staring at him. Stranger walked forward slowly, their eyes following him with each long stride, until he caught sight of a bounty store sign hanging haphazardly over an old, practically dececript building to his left. He turned towards it and every Clakker within twenty feet of the crumbling development stepped away quickly.
Don't think about it too much, Stranger thought as he pushed open the Bounty Store's waterstained door. those damn featherheads jus' don't know how to mind their own buisness.

He stepped inside.
Stranger had to admit that the bounty store clerk's reaction wasn't the same as the clakkers he'd seen outside. But it wasn't much better.
"HELP! Murder! Oh, oh!" It screamed, diving under its desk. "Don't kill me, please, the moolahs' in the back, don't hurt me---"
"I'm not gonna hurt ya, ya stupid bird! I'm just here for a bounty!" Stranger yelled, obviously taken abak. There was a long pause. Then, finally, the clakker poked its head out from under the desk.
"No kiddin'? Oh, sorry."
The clakker regained his composure and adjusted a few stray feathers around its beak. "Sorry fer' that, its just... aw, never mind."
He reached down and pulled out a huge stack of papers from a drawer. It was at least a foot and a half in height. "Bounties have been real bad lately, you never know who you can trust, y'know..."
"Those are all the bounties?" Stranger asked, suddently looking sick. How could be possibly bag all those outlaws?
"Well..." the clakker began, "these are mostly members of Buckner's gang. Their crime rate is through the roof, almost all his boys are hardened outlaws. I can show you the worst ones first, if you like."
"Who's this 'Buckner' fella you talked about?"
"Buckner is the leader of one of the biggest gangs this side of th' Mongo. They've robbed every wagon train and almost every person around these parts, and they've got a reputation for being some of the worst villans this towns' ever seen. Buckner himself is old now, but his gang's so big that nobody's gotten close to him before."
"What's he pay?" Stranger asked.
The clakker sorted through the mound of papers on his desk and carefully pulled a large bounty poster from the bottom of the pile. Then he carefully set a pair of reading spectacles on his beak and began reading.
"'Wanted. Buckner 'Bleached-Bone' Royalle.' The pay is..." the clakker's eyes widened, "Whoo, alot!"
Stranger snatched the poster from the Clakker's grip and looked it over quickly. That's alot of zeros. He thought, stunned. With this much money he'd be set for life.
"I'll take it."
"Ya sure?" The clakker asked wearily. "His gang's more than a hundred' strong, and you're not the first person who went after him---"
The clakker stared, stunned, at the swinging wooden doors behind where the Stranger was only seconds before.
"Damn fool." The clakker muttered before getting back to his work.