The panels of the door were producing cracks and the cheap door handle flew many ways at once.

An empty whisky keg on the stoop boomed out mournfully at intervals and finally rolled down the steps with a rumbling protest.

Wisps of smoke slowly climbed up the walls and seemed to be waving defiance to the curling wisps in the open.
Pete raised his shoulder to refill the magazine of his smoking rifle and dropped the cartridges all over his lap.

He looked sheepishly at Skinny and began to load with his other hand.
"Yore plum loco, yu are.

Don't yu reckon they kin hit a blue shirt at two hundred ?" Skinny cynically inquired.