Lo, he sat in that crumbled canyon. Long he pondered his escape.
Would the exit he had just blown with his last stick of dynamite be his salvation? Or was it danger that lurked beyond his vision?
He slowly approached the blast area, six-shooter drawn, with only five remaining. “Why,” he wondered, “did I think it was so funny to shoot that cactus that looked like two buttcheeks?” It was now, more than ever, that he regretted not purchasing another box of shells from Bart’s General back in the last town. But that was then, and now he had to investigate whether or not the two renegade U.S. Marshalls he had incited in Bristol were on the other end of this canyon…
His trusty, mute gunmate Fred treaded just a few steps behind, with One-Eyed Sniper Joe keeping cover from afar.
And on he went. Hammer clicked. Finger positioned. Barrel aimed.
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haha so epic. bravo, brenton, brilliantly banged out.
smells like a song to me…