1911, Montana
Mayor Horace Baxter stormed into his office and slammed the door shut. His hitman was dead! Why the old fool hadn't checked his barrel for bullets before the gunfight, he didn't know. But he was going to find out. Maybe old Long Johnson, the mediator of the duel, had something to do with it. That geezer could never be trusted anyway.
"Why howdy, Mayor."
Baxter spun around with a yelp. There, lounging in his chair with shiny booted feet on his desk and sipping coffee from his mug, was his hitman's opponent. A lanky young man he was, with black hair, eyes as green as his jacket, and an outlandish set of gold horns in addition to his hat.
The newcomer stood up. "It's a real honor to meet you. Name's Bub," he drawled pleasantly. There was something about his smile that the mayor didn't like.
"YOU! How did you get in here?!" Baxter scanned the office for signs of a break-in, but there were none. "Get out of here, or I'll call the sheriff!" he threatened.
Bub held up his hands disarmingly. "Now hold a minute, will ya? I just wanna talk."
"Then start talking, and make it quick."
"Wal, I was wonderin' if you could give me my horse back."
"Whaddaya mean your horse? I bought it with my own money."
"Now, now, we both know that's a lie. You got your man to pilfer it from me 'bout two weeks ago. Terribly sorry about him, by the way." Bub flashed him another smile as if he was not at all sorry about the hitman's death.
For a moment, Baxter was at a loss for words. He decided to change the subject. "You took the bullets out of my man's gun." He accused.
"Maybe I did, maybe I didn't. Maybe it was all an illusion and there weren't no bullets in the first place. But I reckon it was for the best, considerin' that you've sent him out to do away with your rivals many a time."
"What?"
A crafty gleam twinkled in Bub's eye. "Mayor Coon. Your last sheriff. Young Jack. I know what happened to all of them. Matter of fact, everyone does. They're just too chicken-hearted to squeal about it, 'cause they know you'll come for them next if they do. And that's the real reason why I'm here." He chuckled, the sound soft and sinister. "I've been trackin' you for a long time, Mayor Baxter."
"You measly sneakthief!" shouted the mayor. He drew his revolver and lunged forward, but Bub had vanished. The door was wide open now, and he could see a small group of townspeople outside. They began booing him as he stepped out.
"Down with Baxter!"
"Confound the old cheat!"
"Hang 'im!"
Bub pushed his way through the crowd. "Your game's up, Mayor," he called to him, "You can quit this town or face up to your crimes like a man. The choice is yours. Either way, I suggest you go quietly if you know what's good for you."
"Not until you pay for this!" roared Baxter. Almost blindly, he fired his revolver until it was empty. The townspeople scattered as Bub dropped to the ground, clutching his chest. He twitched for a few minutes and went completely still.
He didn't stay there for long though. No sooner had Baxter gone to examine him, he sprang back up. He was now holding a knife.
"I would really appreciate it if y'all stopped firing at me," he griped, casually dusting off his jacket, "Last time, someone tried to put a bullet through my brain. It's getting to be mighty tiresome, even for a guy like me."
Baxter could only stare in shock. It was beginning to dawn on him who this upstart was, and he didn't like it. Before he could move, Bub knocked him flat and pinned him down. He was surprisingly strong despite his lean build.
He grinned maniacally as he held his knife to the mayor's throat. His voice lowered to a venomous hiss. "No one tangles with the Man from Up North."