So we’re riding along near Tall Trees, hunting deer, and generally keeping out of sight.  We’d killed a whole bunch of guys way worse than us, and figured it might be safe to pop over to Armadillo to collect some bounties and clear our names.

Turns out it’s a banner day for C. A. Jones and the Kill ‘Em All Kid.  By that, I mean the whole town had banners up with our names, crudely drawn pictures, and dollar signs on ’em.  “Might not be quite safe, yet.”

“Why’s it only say $40?  That ain’t hardly seem worth bothering.”

“Standard rate for shooting a guy in the face, I guess.  Same bounty they put on me when I had that argument that time.”  I look around and see some guy eyeing me.  POP POP.  I turn and A. J. is digging his spurs in.  The whole place is a panic of running and  shouting and shooting.

I should say I fired in defense.  ‘Course it started in defense of itchy finger Jones, but after that I mostly only returned bullets headed my way.  That is until that stick ‘a dynamite found its way into my hand.  I’m not exactly sure how it got lit–might have been that lantern on the saloon hitch post I was next to.

If you have ever had lit stick of dynamite in your hand you know what a moral imperative it is to not have it in your hand for very long, else you wouldn’t be reading this.  The explosion and bits of glass flying outward from the saloon did make for a fair distraction. 

Yeah, “outward.”  Moral imperative means chuck it to put something at least half solid between you and it.  In this case I hastily selected the saloon.

Distraction obtained, we ride out of town for a bit. 

A little laying low later, we’re riding back that way.  Sure enough, they updated the poster; “Kill ‘Em All Kid, $140”

“A hundred dollars?!”

“You threw a stick of dynamite into a saloon.”

“I KNOW, should be at least two fifty!”