After a few minutes, the weasel managed to get free of the clinging mud and pushed herself to her feet, dusting herself off and growling at the row of hitched-up horses nearby, who were all snickering at her. The weasel grit her teeth and walked up to the door yet again, this time prepared to make her grand entrance.
Inside the bar, things were going rather pleasantly. Despite having to throw out that drunken bull, the patrons were all getting along, playing cards, plotting Texas's demise and, most importantly, drinking lots. Behind the bar, the huge cow girl owner, Annabelle, smirked to herself as she cleaned out another glass with a rag, or at least smeared the dirt around it so it wasn't so obvious. The peace and quiet was immediately obliterated however, as the door was suddenly kicked open at full force, the sheriff standing silhouetted in the doorway. Instantly everything stopped. The piano player struck a bad chord, the card players looked up from cheating each other and the plotters suddenly looked up in surprise, not sure if this was a blessing or a curse. As the weasel swaggered her way into the room, dozens of hands slowly moved to rest on dozens of weapons, but the weasel was unphased, walking up to the bar and glaring up at Annabelle, who was at least twice her height and four times her width.
"Anna."
"Tex."
The two girls stared at each other, until Texas grabbed a leftover glass of whisky on the counter and gulped it down in one fiery mouthful, placing the glass upside-down back on the counter.
"Don't think ah've forgotten your bank-robbing past, just because the mayor gave you this cushy job." The weasel said, glaring back up at her. Annabelle looked completely unphased, but started putting any glasses on the bar under it, preparing for trouble.
"And don't think I've forgotten how you brought me in, Weasel. There's still a spot inside my ass-crack with your name on it." She said, turning around and pretending to tidy up the bottles behind the bar, but really just giving the weasel a good long look at her colossal backside, the widest part of her, trapped behind a tight (for her) pair of jeans, but with a visibly filthy sweat stain running straight down where her crack would be, and a foul odour emanating off it. The cow swatted a few flies absentmindedly with her tail, which also served to waft the stink over to the sheriff, then turned around, disappointed to see that the weasel remained as unphased as she was.
"Well, you cross that line again an' all put you right back inta jail. You an' any o' the rest of these varmints." She said, glaring pointedly at the bar's patrons. A few looked away, one of them actually bolted out the door, but the rest returned the glare. They had the power here. "So luckily for all of us, that's not why I'm here. Smilin' Jacks, ya'll know where she is?"
"Can't say I've ever heard of her." Annabelle blatantly lied. "We would never let dangerous criminals in here, Tex." She said, continuing to lie. "And even if I did know where she was, I'd much rather use your face as an ass-scratcher than give you the smallest bit of help." The cow stated bluntly, finally telling the truth. "So, how exactly are you gonna get me to talk, huh? And more importantly, how did you plan to walk out of here still in the third dimension?"
Behind her, Texas heard chairs scraping across the floor as a few of the larger patrons stood up, heavy footsteps approaching...
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