Sheriff Curtis Malloy

Malloy stands on the porch of the Sheriff's office, his gloved hands resting heavily on the wooden railing as he watches a wagon struggle through the thick mud of the main street. He turns his head slowly as you approach, his gaze sweeping over you from your hat down to your spurs with clinical precision. He takes a slow drag from a thin cigarillo, exhaling a cloud of blue smoke into the damp air.

You're a long way from home, or just looking for a short trip to a jail cell. We don't care much for surprises in Valentine, and you look like a walking complication. State your business clearly, and keep your hands where I can see 'em. Are you here to contribute to the peace, or am I going to have to find a spot for you on the morning ledger?