Carl and I got together these weekend with the intent to put on our spurs, don our ten gallon hats, and head out into the West with a couple games of Fistful of Lead.
The first game was fairly simple - a head-on clash between our two gangs of roughs. While I had an advantage in numbers, Carl's bandidos were equipped with rifles, out-ranging my pistol-wielding men.
After all the cards had fell on the first turn, both gangs had advanced towards the center of town.
The air was soon filled with lead. Brazenly, my gang attempted to surround the bandidos, who were hoping to get into the cover of the barn after their leader had kicked the door open.
Both sides took casualties, as a pinned rough in my gang ran for the hills, while a bandido fell, blood staining the front of his shirt.
Led by an Army officer gone rogue, the roughs continued to poor lead into the barn, with the bandido leader falling to the ground.
Two of the roughs tried rushing the barn door, hoping to get at the remaining bandido. One caught a bullet in the stomach and was killed. The other took advantage of the situation to unload his pistol into the prone enemy.
The last remaining bandido was dispatched from a distance.
As it turned out, the rifles weren't much help when the fighting was so close against the weight of fire and advantage in numbers of the roughs,
It was only after the dirt and blood had settled, however, that the roughs realized that the bandido leader was still alive. They recognized her from a wanted poster in the nearby saloon, and after securing her with some rope, the gang retreated to the abandoned fort to decide on what to do next...