• Once, when the west was young, there was the sleepy town of Lost Bull, Montana. The land was ravaged by sandstorms and stampedes as well as…how shall I put it…Less than savory characters. That’s right, outlaws, and the big boss himself, Wild-Eye Buck was considered the meanest and baddest of them all. He was wild, vicious and always drunk off his a**. He stole everything, and if anybody got in his way…they weren’t for very long. Then on on a peculiarly cool day, a stranger came into town, dressed in a wide brimmed hat, a bandanna and a large poncho. The stranger walked through the town, not a soul in sight. His spurs were like chimes in the wind. He went to the local saloon and when he went in, he found the people hiding behind whatever they could get, tables overturned, people peeking from behind the player piano and bar. The stranger walked up to the bar. He pulled out a nickel and said, “One glass of water please,” and he pulls out a fiver, “and this should cover the trouble I’ve caused you.”
    Just then Buck came in and said, “Did ah hear som’one order’n wahtah in dis hur saloon?”
    “Yes,” the stranger said, “And I do believe that “wahtah” is pronounced water and “hur” does not exist in modern vocabulary.”
    “You a smaht-a** boah?”
    “Definitely not a dumb-a** like yourself.”
    “Only cocky kids lahk yu’selves drink wahtah. That stuff ain’t good fer nutt’n but horses.”
    “And alchahol dulls the mind, and turns violent people into murderous asses.”
    “I don’ unner’stand what yah jus’ said, but I bet iss perty insult’n.”
    “Good job,” the stranger said, giving him a rock candy, “Here’s your prize for being such a genius.”
    “That’s IT!” Wild-Eye said, “town square! High Noon! Bring yah guns!”

    High Noon

    The road was completely empty. The only living souls on it were Buck and the stranger. The staredown was intense, lasting for what seemed like forever. Wild-Eye Buck wasn’t called that for nothing, his stare could turn the most sane man into a gibbering lunatic. Buck was giving the stranger the biggest Wild-Eye stare he could muster but the stranger just stood there staring right back with his icy-cold blue eyes. Buck whas stunned, there wasn’t a man alive that didn’t run for the hills from his stare, so he tried harder, but the man was standing there, still and with the most emotionless eyes anyone ever saw. Second to being a professional at the “Psych-out stare,” Buck was as quick as a whip when it came to gunplay, just as accurate too. Buck pulled out his gun and fired one into the man, the shots rang in the trough to the right and the saloon window to the left. Buck was stunned as the dust settled to find the man holding a uniquely ornate sword long as his arm but two hundred percent more deadly.
    “You see,” the stranger said as he ran toward Buck, “That’s the problem with guns.” Buck let off the last of his bullets as the stranger pulled out a second blade and twisted like a dust devil, never losing momentum as his spinning blades deflected the remaining five shots. Suddenly the blades were at Buck’s throat and the stranger said,
    “They eventually run out.”
    Buck’s eyes rolled to the back of his head and his mouth frothed as he fainted in fear. The inhabitants cheered as they took Buck to jail.
    “Thank you for ridding our town of the menace of Wild-Eye Buck,” the mayor said. “A few things before you go, five hundred dollars and a medal of courage.”
    “Keep your money and the medal,” The man said, “I won’t need those.”
    “But sir,” the mayor said, “At least tell us your name.”
    “They call me Ryu.” The stranger said as he walked off into the sunset, never to be seen by the residents of Lost Bull again.