The Tragic Tale of the Gun-Shooter.

The Tragic Tale of the Gun Shooter:

The Gun Shooter sauntered into Gulch's Gulch, home of tumbleweeds, hayseeds, and hot leads... for the Gun Shooter was a'searchin for a Bad Man with a hard face and a trail of dead bodies behind him. That trail lead here.

"Who's you, freakish stranger?" queried the local dirtsmith, goat boots kicked up 'pon the saddlebustle of the constabulary.

"I'm the Gun Shooter, and I'm the rootinest tootinest gun shootenist sonofabitch you'll surely ever meet. I'm searchin' for a Bad Man with a hard face and a trail of dead bodies behind him. You espied such a man here in Gulch's Gulch?"

The local dirtsmith drawled chaw water all into the sand for a few minutes, thinking hard. "Anope," finally chuffed the dirtsmith.

"Just like something the Bad Man would say," sneered the Gun Shooter, freeing his ha'cock pistols and blasting the dirtsmith into bloody straw.

"Crap-ass!" yelped the very surprised sheriff from across the street.

So the Gun Shooter turned and blasted the sheriff into bloody straw too. Then a couple of dogs and a baker's wife. The doc got blasted into bloody straw by the Gun Shooter also. Then three deputies. Also, the telegraph man and his box of kittens and the banker as well. All the children attendin Gulch's Gulch school, and the schoolmarm Ms. Piper. Four husbands got blasted into bloody straw. Also some others what I cain't remember.

The Gun Shooter looked at his reflection in the syrupish pool of crimson spreadin at his boottips. The face that looked back was that of a Bad Man with a hard face and a trail of dead bodies behind him.

"Someday I'll catch that louse-head sumbitch," grumbled the Gun Shooter, and moseyed on.