“You’re not getting out of here, Bounty Hunter! Not getting out of here alive!” the filthy, sweat-covered, large man shouted as he dumped all the bullet casings out of his revolver.
“Ginger Hamrick; you are wanted for the robbing of a train, the stealing of government gold and silver, and the killing of the 30-man crew who were aboard the train. I can either take you in dead or alive; it’s up to you.” Said a southerner’s voice from outside the wooden shack.
The large man wiped sweat from his brow, then from his beard, then loaded his pistol and turned.
“Ginger, this isn’t something that you want to push any further than you already…”
“I’ll get you!” the large man shouted as he emptied his revolver in the voice’s direction.
There was silence for a while, then Ginger smiled as he began to laugh with relief.
“I got him… I got him!”
“Frost: Attrape-le.” The southerner spoke calmly but in a commanding tone that was firm enough it echoed through the valley.
“What?” Ginger spoke under his breath.
But before he could even think, or reason to himself, what the command might have meant, a large white wolf leaped through the side window of the shack and latched its jaws around his face, planted its paws firmly into his chest, and took him to the ground, as Ginger screamed and cried for help.
Then, the front door of the shack was kicked open and a man appeared, grabbing Ginger by the hands and dragging him outside and to his horse, Ginger peering up at him as the man hog-tied him with rope.
The man had medium-length dark brown hair on top, with the back and sides cut close, his hair swept back. He wore a black tailcoat, black leather gloves, black trousers, a black dress shirt, and a red waistcoat. He carried two .45 caliber Colt Peacemakers at each side (butts rearward), and he had a .42 LeMat Revolver fixed to the right, just under his gut, the butt of the pistol pointing to the right. He also had rifle holsters on each side of his horse. The holster on the right was a .44 magnum Henry Repeater rifle, and in the holster on the left was a Double barrel .500 nitro express elephant gun. Unseen to the two men on the ground or anyone else that ever looked at him, the man also carried a snub-nose Colt Navy “Avenger” inside his left boot, because he was ambidextrous and could shoot with either hand.
“Now, Ginger, I hear that you didn’t do this on your own: where is Brock Green and Peter Ludlow?”
“Forget you Warloh!” Ginger shouted.
Suddenly, the southerner Bounty Hunter looked up and saw two men running through the valley.
“The little skinny guy on the left; that’s Peter isn’t it? I hear that he slaughtered a whole family in their sleep.”
“That’s right.” Said Ginger, laughing as he spoke.
The Bounty Hunter pointed towards the man and looked down at a large black wolf that sat at his side.
“Anubis, va le tuer.”
The large black wolf took off in a flash faster than lightning as the man turned and pulled his .500 nitro express elephant gun out of its holster and loaded both barrels.
“What are you gonna do with that?” asked Ginger.
“Well, I just told Anubis to kill Peter, and I reckon I’m gonna shoot Green in the butt so he can’t run away no more.”
“What? There’s no reward for Peter if you bring him in dead.” Ginger snapped.
“Yeah, well…’ Warloh (the Bounty Hunter) pressed his elephant rifle against his shoulder and aimed it at Brock Green, seeing Anubis (the large black wolf) mauling Peter Green’s lifeless body on the ground. “money’s not everything.”
He fired; the large .500 nitro express bullet whizzing through the air until it finally found its home in the back of Green’s right thigh, just below his buttocks.
“They’re paying me triple for bringing you in alive anyway.”
Appalachian Post 
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