Back to the story about the hat

The Jango James Gang rode into town in a cloud of dust and gunfire. Jango James herself was sitting comfortably in her jail cell. The townsfolk fought back as well as they could, but they were outclassed by the outlaws riding atop their robotic steeds.

I fired and missed at Diablo Lobo as he rode past me. I turned and fired at the steed of Boris Angus with my other pistol. The machine hauled up and then tumbled to the ground, pinning Boris underneath.

“Yeehaw! I haven’t had so much fun since I don’t know when!” hollered Yooper T. Flintlock.

“I wouldn’t call this fun,” Marshal Hawks gritted through his teeth. “We’re doin’ OK, though. Keep it up!”

A commotion heated up at the building next to the Marshal’s office. One of the outlaws set it on fire and when one of the townspeople confronted him, he was winged in the arm for his trouble.

“Hey!” I yelled trying to distract the villain before he finished the old man off. I ran across the street firing my pistols at him.

When my shots knocked the gun out of his hand, he sprinted for cover in the Marshal’s office.

I cursed under my breath. Meanwhile, Lobo dove off his horse at me.

“I’ve been waiting a long time for this, law dog,” Lobo growled. “I’m gonna pull out yer guts and hang ‘em on my wall!”

“Not on your best day, Hobo,” I brought up my fists and beckoned to him. “Come on!”

He howled and swung at me. I dodged his swing and returned with my fist into his gut. He doubled over from the blow, but quickly recovered and drove his elbow into my stomach.

It was a sharp pain, but I was lucky that he didn’t get me with his clawed fist. I was bent over in pain and he tried to bring his elbow down on my neck, but I drove my shoulder into him, then lifted him up and dropped him to the ground with a fireman’s carry.

He picked himself up and swung wildly at me. I dodged him again and punched him low, then dropped him to the ground with a devastating uppercut.

“It’s over,” I looked down at him. “Consider the gang disbanded.”

I looked over at the Marshal and Yooper, they had Boris hogtied and the old prospector was beating him with his hat.

“Heh heh!” he howled. “Don’t think of nuthin’ smart, you son of a buck toothed mule.”

“I saw that one run into the jail,” Hawks pointed to his office. “He can hole himself up there for quite a while with Jango. It’s pretty well protected.”

“Any suggestions?” I asked.

“Yeah, I got one.”