After a short ride across the Arizona landscape from his camp in the early hours of the morning, Judge made his way into the stagecoach town of Fairbank. The dusty dirt road was lined with a few buildings and homes. Most folk stayed in what little shade the awnings had to offer as the sun made its way into the sky.
The town numbered about 100 people, but recently a few had turned up dead along with some of the local ranchers’ cattle. Judge was called into town to find whatever creature was killing them off and put an end to it…for a reasonable fee.
Judge tied his horse at the trough in front of the Fairbank saloon. He tugged the kerchief around his face down to his neck, and removed the goggles protecting his eyes from the dusty wind. Helsing shook off the filth that was caked in his fur from the ride across the sandy landscape. Judge could feel his lips starting to crack from being parched, so he took the few steps up to the porch of the local saloon.
Just before his hands could swing the doors open, a man in a well tailored suit exited the saloon and addressed Judge directly by tipping his hat.
“You must be Judge. George Kendall’s the name. I’m the mayor of Fairbank. I sent you the telegram about our little problem.”
“George, I got a dry throat that needs a quenchin’. Let’s say we talk this over after I’ve had a drink.”
Judge tried to push his way past the mayor, turning his head down and walking to the side. Kendall raised a hand and pressed it against Judge’s shoulder.
“Then let’s retreat to my office. We can talk in private and your thirst can be quenched, Mr. Judge.”