Dear Mr. Steele,

My names Tom...Tom Logan but everyone calls me Scat...ain't sure why but they do. I kinda like da name.

I'm writin' to ya about them there 7 peacekeepers that watch over this here town of Four Corners. Now they ain't no giants, certainly ain't no Angels, and sure as Hell ain't no Heroes....but them sons of bitc...guns have got luck on their side.

Yes siree they got luck on their side. That 'n Nitro.

Now 'fore I give ya all the details about what happened da other night, I want ta make dang sure I git my 'monetary renumerat'n.' Now I know that means money. I ain't stupid...in fact I's a genius of sorts. But Royalties' and the such, I don't want to be no king or nuthin' don't want the headaches...just da money. I's try and keep the story clean and keep them cuss words down. I know that good mommas and Papas don't want their kids readin' trash...so I keep this clean as I can...want people readin' my story. I want them to know what its really like out here....the injustice and blind eye people have when it comes to them Seven lawmen.

I's written to ya Jock Steele cuz ya said ya'd pay. Iffen ya don't I'll hunt ya down and eat ya liver out.

Don't think I won't either. My's teeth a dam...darn sharp...Yes siree, can gnaw through bone and suck the marrow out 'fore da critter's heart stops beaten...yes siree...ya best send me my money. Either here at Four Corners or Yuma, don't care which but I best git it.

Now ya'll jist put your feet up and listen to what happened....

Ya see it was two nights ago...me and my pardner Ed Finny and his cuzon Mike Sticks, and his brother Joe Haskel (don't ask about their last names...makes no sense to me neither) anyhow it was decided we's gonna make a night withdrawal from the bank in Four Corners. Heard tell people make withdrawals of money all da time. Don't see how its no crime in the dead of night. So what iffen no one is there and ya got to use some dynamite. Hell, I don't think we done anythin' to warrant what happened that night in that little back water town.

We'd done heard of them Seven regulators. Ain't a sheriff or a town we couldn't beat. No siree. And we's woulda beat this one too except'n for the Nitro. Who ever did hear tell of a gambler carryin' Nitro and some crazy mustache man with an affinity for dynamite. Hell them two alone shoulda bin locked up well before we ever got to town. They're a risk to the dam...dang public.

Ain't like they's were the only ones we had to watch out for. No way no how. There was that there kid with the long locks that kept shootin' his guns and his mouth. Kept tellin' us to give up, fore he put us all in jail. That kind of cock sure attitude jist makes ya want to put up a fight. He shoulda asked a little nicer I'm thinkin'.

I ain't plannin' on spending much time in no jail. I might be sittin' in one now....but it sure don't mean I'm stayin' in one. Even if they do got that Hell spawned gorilla jawed Preacher watchin' my cell door. That man sure does hold a grudge. Jist cuz Finny shot that there pesky gambler, ya'd think I skinned a critter alive. Dang that preacher ain't the forgivin' kind no way. Whatever happened to not holdin' the brother to blame or some odd bull shi....malarkey like that, ain't that in the bible somewheres?

Let go back 'n start at the beginning.

We had the bank vault empty. Hell all we had to do was make it to our horses. Nothin' to it. 'Cept some have Comanche lookin' white man, their tracker and sharpshooter from the sounds of it...he start'd layin' waste to our plans. Hell he snuck up on us at the bank. What kind of fool thing is that too do? I tell ya, sometimes I think I's the only one with half a brain.

Old Finny shut 'im right up, slapped a gun stock off his smug jaw. Comanche fella crumbled to the ground like a felled tree. Funny as sin. Yes siree. Dang he had long hair. Nice guns to boot. We's gonna take them but I figur'd that jist piss the injun lover off and he'd be trackin' us 'fore mornin' light. Don't need those kind of headaches. We woulda made clean our escape...but I'm thinkin' hitting that tracker fella might have been the wrong thin' to do. Finny don't always think things through, not like me, anyways. Cuz as we headed outa the bank with all the cash we could carry and started toward the livery...we run ourselves into a big problem....

That black devil of Larabee. He show'd up, jist slinks out of the saloon with his spurs jingling and jist starts shootin' shit. Yes siree he just starts shootin' at everythin' in sight. That there boy has himself a temper. WooWeee...he was mad. It made getting' to the horses a might more difficult.

You bein' an Eastern'r an' all Mr. Steele, ya might not know that horses don't like gun shots none. Now some of um don't mind ya shootin' from the saddle...that's ok.. but when ya 's start shoot'n from the ground...well horses don't take too kindly to bein' in the middle.

Dumb Sons of Bit...Guns. Horses ain't too bright no how...dang they forget who feeds'em half the time. I wonder how they survive without our help.

But that dang Larabee just strolls out of the saloon, that black coat of his circling his legs, onto the board walk with 'is gun already out. How the hell he know that dang White Comanche of his was already down? Ain't no way in Hell we made any noise.

But he knew...he sure did. I think'n maybe there's some mystical Injun mojo goin' on there, between him and that injun type fella.

Larabee he's starts shoot'n at us. Well Hell, Mr. Steele, we's innocent. Ain't no one knows we done robbed the bank yet. Sure we mighta blown the vault but we did that real quiet like. Ya innocent until proven guilty...Ya know'd that don't ya?

I'm figurin' that Comanche fella felt the vibrations through his dang feet more than he heard the explosion. I hear tell that long haired fella is more in tune with the dam..dang critters of this here land than he is with 'is own people....Comanche or not.

So I's thinkin' Larabee didn't hear no robbery...he jist kind of knew somethin' was wrong. That ain't exactly fair to us folks jist trying to make a livin' ya know.

Joe, now he got plumb riled up. Dang fool nearly blew it for all us. He got so riled he pulled a stick of dynamite from his pocket and lights it.

Whhoooeee. You should have seen ole Larabee run then. His black coat flappin' behind him as he turned tailed and run for safer ground. Does a heart good to see Larabee run that like that...Good thing he did too. Cuz that ole stick of dynamite blew a hole in the street big enough to swallow a stage, right there in front of the saloon.

Hell, I nearly doubled over laughing. Ain't no one expectin' that...not even me....I was wonderin' iffen them seven regulators knew how to deal with someone who knew how to use dynamite. Joe sure was full of tricks.

Guess that there dark healer don't like dynamite, though. That dark skinned Son a bitc...gun just melted out of the shadows and tossed something at Joey. Haskel hit the ground deader than a wedge. The knife handled quivered in his chest for just a bit and then stopped 'bout the same time Joe's heart did. Don't seem rightly fair. That second lit stick of dynamite rolled from his hand and toward me.

I done the only reasonable thing and picked it up and tossed it over toward Larabee. I's wanted to see'im run again. Ain't nuthin' dignified or heroic about runnin' from dynamite.

Mike, now he got right angry at seeing his brother Joey go down like a sack of grain. Stick just started firing at that black heathen. Firing like a mad man. Now I's sure Mikey nailed the Bast...bugger, but he must a missed cuz the next thing we knows is that blacky healer is being hauled outa the way by that crazy gambler. And shoved back into the side door of the saloon. What devil is that all about? Blacky Healer killed one of us, he should be fair game. Ain't that right? Seems only fair to me.

That's where the Nitro came in....ain't no reason for a some greedy, fancy dressed gambler to be carryin' Nitro. Well, Hell, I can't think of no reason, none at all.

And then that gunslinger with the mustache he throws open a window and hops down from the second story of the saloon; slides off the awning down to the ground carryin' his britches in one hand and his guns in another all the while firing from the hip. Did I mention he had dynamite too? Does any one regulate the use of explosives in this here territory? I still ain't too sure about where'd Hell he got dynamite.

But damn if he and that slimy gambler didn't put together some kind of concoction. We all knew we's in trouble.

We had Larabee shootin' at us. I's could tell he was upset about that injun friend of his. Still ain't sure how he knew what happened to his friend. But he knew...cuz his bullets jist felt more angry. You'd know what I mean iffen you ever had Larabee shoot'n at ya cuz ya mess'd with one of his men.

That mighta bin our first mistake. Larabee's a might peculiar about stuff like that from what I've seen.

Now ya gut to understand, my attention was drawn from tryin' to put a new 'breath'n hole' in that there kid sheriff and shootin' at Larabee... So I nearly missed them too other yahoos behind them crates jist outside the saloon mixin' stuff together.

I know it was Nitro. Nitro comes in special bottles...jist in case you bein' an Easterner n'all ya might not know'd that little bit of info.

So that fancy gambler and his big ole friend, who's jist in his red union suit, (and that's jist ain't right...no lawman should be runnin' around in his scivvies) well they're laughin' 'n mixin' stuff like two old bitties at a cookin' fare. They don't even give no care that people are shootin' at'em. That's crazy...and crazy people should be locked up...ain't that right?

Finny, me and Mikey decide we need more distance. Away from those two idiots. They's not all there iffen ya know what I mean.

We started retreatin'. But not really retreatin' no way....we ain't yella. Fact is sometimes I think I's to smart for my own good. Got m' own special brand of genius. Yes sirree. My ma even teld me so once, right after I's burnt down the outhouse around my pa. He didn't appreciate my genius though...dang old fool.

Me and Finny were's gunna swing around and take out Larabee from behind. We nail Larabee and we's be hero's. Ya'll 'd be writing stories about me.. Tom 'Scat' Logan. I'd be famous and be rich. Yup. Maybe even git me some Royalties...be a King (with none of that extra crap that comes with bein' a King, though)

Me and Finny planned on swinging behind ol' Larabee and gunnin' his sorry ass down for good.

Mikey was too intent on goin' after that darky healer. Mikey weren't to bright. His momma dropped 'im a bunch a times on his head when he was a baby. His momma told me so when we's was kids. He ain't no genius not like me anyhows.

Mikey stay'd where he was and he kept shootin' off his knew repeatin' rifle. He done stole it off some fella in a stage coach robbery a few weeks back. It worked just fine. Was a real fast gun and Mikey made it real accurate too. We didn't really steal it neither, the people on the stage coaches jist tend to give us stuff....ya might say, we kinda bring out the best in people. Any hows, Mikey kept shootin' at the saloon tryin' to hit anyone dumb enough to git in his way.

Well, it was all for naught. Cuz when that first stick of new dynamite flew from behind the crates over to where me and Finny had just left behind...well...hot dam...dang that stick went off and just about blew the front of the livery away. Hell, the ground shook so hard it tossed us to the street...Heard nuthin' but ringing in my ears....even now they still kind of ring and its been over a day....

Ain't nuthin' left of ol Mikey but some bits and pieces maybe on the roof of the livery. Buzzards gonna git their fill for a few days.

Me and Finny jist climbed to our feet and ran faster. We's gonna git ourselves hid right good before that crazy gambler or mustached man lobbed another stick of their special dynamite.

Guessin' we needn't worry though....Cuz that crazy preacher came haulin' out of the ally pay'n no mind to any bullets or where we might be...and he jist hauled that fancy dressed grambler up on his tip toes.

Funniest thing I seen. That preacher takin' that gambler to task right there out in the open. Damn preacher look'd like some Fire 'N Brimstone demon from Hell. He's covered in dirt and junks of crap...and there he stood, shakin' that there gambler 'til I swore I heard his brain raddlin' around in that thick skull of his. Didn't eve try to wipe that cocky dimple smile off 'is face. He jist seemed pleased as peaches that 'is concoction worked so well. I 'spect that made the preacher even madder. I's thinkin' he wanted to teach that gambler a lesson or two.

Well Finny did that for 'im.

Finny was down right riled someone boosted dynamite to dang near blow up a whole town. So he took aim and fired.

'Cept that dang sheriff fired too. Hit Finny right in the chest. Spun the dumb Mick around like a top and shoved him backward into the dirt. I's know old Finny was dead the second he hit the ground. Too much blood on his chest.

Finny hit his mark though. Well kind of. Cuz that dam...dang Gambler was holdin' his leg and cursin' like a riverboat lineman. Dang that boy could weave some words together. Taught me a thing or two. (Ya'll best not interview 'im, Mr. Steele, that Gambler ain't got a vocabulary fit for women or children....its ugly...real ugly.)

That made the preacher even angrier. Yes sir. Him hearin' that foul language really set him off. He dropped the gambler down next to the mustache man and just started marching is big old colossal self right at me.

He's a big man. I'd tell you. As big as a buildin' when he's breath'n Hell fire. That man does have a temper. Yes sir. Let me tell you, Devil ain't got nuthin' on that man.

I's took to bein' a bit ruffled. Here was this bear of a man just stomping his way toward me, no gun nuthin', jist his bare hands.

Well, like I said, I's a genius. A special kind of genius...my momma told me too. So I knew jist what to do.

I's started firin' at that mad son of a bit...gun. I aimed and I fired. Emptied my gun even. Not one bullet found its mark. No siree. Not one.

That preacher man musta bin protected by the Almighty hisself....either that or Larabee was jist so pissed his bad attitude contaminated my aim. That'd be cuz I'm a sensitive fella. Yes sir.

Could feel that man's anger even from the shadows. Larabee really shouldn't be allowed to carry a gun. No sir. He's a might dangerous when his dander is up.

But it ain't nuthin' compared to that ill tempered Holy Man.

That preacher nearly made it to me too. Thought fer sure I was a goner. Almost was 'cept that there Healer saved my life.

He had shouted from behind me that 'Vin was alive'...and then added 'Ezra jist got a scratch ain't nuthin' to be killin over'....

Vin musta bin that no good long haired Comanche white man layin' all sprawled out in the bank bleedin' from his jaw and Ezra musta bin that gambler with the Nitro and new hole in his leg.

When that Preacher got a hold of me, I knew'd I'd be dead iffen I fought. Not just cuz the Preacher grabbed me by the neck. Heck No. Preachers don't kill people...well not on a regular basis. Though this one might be one that don't read the rules.

It was Larabee, I's worried about. That boy was in a right foul mood.

Larabee was behind the preacher. He looked down right feral. I'd seen a wounded, hungry Mountain Lion with a more understandin' disposition.

Larabee, he just stared at me as if he could wilt my very soul with his gaze. Well he couldn't; not even a little.

Cuz I'm Tom 'Scat' Logan, and I's got a special type of Genius.

They hauled me off to the jail. The Livery man had come out of the saloon. He stood in front of his place and jist shook his head. He then got real angry like and started to say somethin' to the mustached man...but he jist pointed his finger at the prone gambler....

The gambler jist smiled real sweet like and pointed his finger right back at the mustached man.

The preacher shouted at both of them to 'Shut up!' Preachers don't have much patience for squabblin' I guess.

The kid sheriff gave me a sad look as if to say he didn't understand my kind. Gotta say I don't see what has that kid so confused. He must jist be young...and kind of slow. Ain't no genius like me.

Larabee nudged Finny in the ribs, test to see if he was dead. Any half wit could see he was all the way across the Jordan, even in the dark. Dang was everyone in this town dumb fools.

I was lead down the street passed the gambler, who still held his leg and argued with the preacher that tried to look at the wound. The big man in the red union suit jist kept on laughin'...holdin' his gut n' laughin'... The street fires lit up the whole scene.

Don't see much fun in me havin' to go to jail. I followed the kid, didn't give'im no lip cuz Larabee still had a gun full of bullets and that mustached man still had more dynamite and Nitro. Though right now his hands were busy holding the gambler still while that monster of a preacher checked the wound.

Larabee headed for the bank where the black Healer and Comanche white man were still holed up. Figure maybe seein' the Comanche half breed still alive be good for that rank tempered son of bit...gun. I sure hoped he was still alive.

Anyhow's I followed the kid peaceful like cuz ain't no use in stirring the bees nest.

That's how I came to be here. Four Corner's Jail. Jist a guest...ain't had no trial yet...and I's innocent until proven guilty. I read that in a book. They say I's goin' to Yuma Prison.

That fancy dressed man, ya can hear him belly achin' from here. He's cornered up above the livery with the long haired Comanche white fella. Every once in a while ya can hear that mustached man laughin' his brains out at somethin'. The preacher, he jist came in here a few minutes ago, cussin' gamblers and trackers. He's got a powerfully bad vocabulary too. He done told that Sheriff to go tell Ezra to shut'is trap or he'd nail it closed for him. The kid jist chuckled and left.

Larabee jist sits outside on the board walk nursin' a drink. He's looked in on me only once...its like he don't have the time or the concern to make sure I's locked up tight.

Least ways that kid makes sure the door is always locked. Kid knows his job.

Don't believe what ya hear about them Seven, though.

I tell ya this Mr. Steele. I know ya gonna use my story cuz it's the facts. The plain, bare facts...ain't nuthin' I did wrong, nor any of my gang....we's been killed and jailed unjustly.

You write this here story jist as I told ya. Maybe people will see jist how tough the law is out here. Ain't no reason to think them Seven are Heroes. No way.

Now me....yeah I'm Hero material. Yes sirree...and I's a genius, a special kind of genius. Did I tell you? Its true too cuz my ma told me so at one time.

Well that there is the bare rotten facts of what happened.

I spect ya'll be sendin' my money soon. Ya can send it either here at Four Corners or to Yuma...but I best be gittin' it.

I knows where ya live.

Sincerily,

Tom 'Scat' Logan

The end.

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