Jeremiah Boone leveled the Winchester rifle on the dusty old windowsill. The vacant, abandoned barn had not seen the company of another human being in a long time. Jeremiah hoped that it wouldn't soon be in the company of the flesh and blood of a human, either; or at least not his. Jeremiah had good aim, though, and the Bollard Twins were starting to reach the point in their infamous criminal endeavors where they were taking anyone and anything they could get their hands on. Most of their esteemed gunfighters were dead, and the chances that one of them would be hiding out in Tumbleweed were pretty low.
Jeremiah slowly rotated his rifle around the edge of the window so that he could see the right side of the combat zone. Sweat began to drip from the scruff on his long, skinny face. As he slowly revolved, he barely spotted the side of one of the criminals. Exhaling a deep breath, Jeremiah squeezed the trigger, sending the bullet directly into the felon's shoulder. With a yelp, the criminal plummeted to the rocky ground. Jeremiah slammed the lever on the rifle forward and back again, then quickly fired another round at the man grasping his shoulder, producing a sort of silence, save for the echo of the rifle that remained in the air.
Out of nowhere, an outlaw burst out of the ghost town's saloon fanning the hammer of his six-shooter. Jeremiah climbed down the ladder down as bullets struck his former position. As he bashed through the door, Jeremiah had no time to take carefully aimed shots. He fired a quick shot at the outlaw who attempted to reload his pistol as he ran away. The bullet barely missed. Jeremiah cocked the rifle again and fired. A spurt of blood shot into the air as the outlaw sailed into the worn-down General Store.
"Alright, Marshall!" said a voice that cut through the air from the old mansion on the hill behind the town. "We're givin' up, ya here? We're throwin' our guns out now!"
"I see 'em, Gus! Now why don't you and your friends there just step on out?" yelled Jeremiah as he trudged up the hill, rifle pointed at the entrance of the ancient mansion that had so long been an icon of the ghost town.
"We're heading out now, Marshall!" yelled Gus Ballard before opening the door. Gus ambled out, two of his cronies behind him.
Jeremiah slipped his rifle into the holster on his back and made his way up to the three men who stood with their hands behind their heads. He stood and smirked, getting a good look at each of the felons. Suddenly, he drew his Colt, pointed it at the man on Gus' left, and fanned the hammer, shooting him directly in the heart. He then swiftly aimed at the man on Gus' left, who barely had time to be shocked as Jeremiah fanned the hammer of his pistol three times, each bullet striking the outlaw in the torso, causing him to drop backward, lifeless. Jeremiah, then sent a bullet into each of Gus' knees, causing him to collapse in pain. Jeremiah did all of this in a matter of three seconds.
"You're the only one I really want alive, Ballard," said Jeremiah, throwing Gus over his back.
"What kinda justice is this supposed to be, Marshal?" said Gus in anger as he sobbed.
Flinging Gus onto the back of his horse, Jeremiah said: "Well, I guess it's my own special brand of Justice, Gus." Gus climbed onto his horse. "I suppose that if you wanted, you could call it creative justice. Huh. I like the sound of that. Thanks for the idea, Gus,"
"Don't mention it, Marshall," muttered Gus with a great sense of sarcasm as Jeremiah rode off into the sunset.