...He and I made eye contact at the same time, it was Robert Myers. With one arm he swept the hired lady out of the way, with the other up was coming a pistol. He shouted, "It's him " Those were his last words as I was out with my pistol and just a blazing away. My left hand was reaching for its pistol before the right hand gun clicked an empty chamber. The other two men had also produced pistols and they died for the effort. In less than five seconds three men died, Robert's only round missed, I had no idea where it went. I had emptied both handguns, and from the distance of less than six...

You don't shoot five people, kill four, blind one and beat yet another without someone coming to look for you. It just doesn't happen, yet I did not know what type of pursuit there would be nor by whom. Certainly the US Army was coming, but it was one of its soldiers who started the whole shebang. The Sheriff at this point couldn't see his way clear to head up a posse. Taylor was a bit broken up over the whole affair. Irrespective someone would be looking. There were no doubt warrants for my arrest. Wary we rode.

Many were the hard Western men who blazed the trails. We have all heard their stories. We even believed a few. Few still were the women on those western slopes. Their stories might have some merit. But both factions, men who would lie and did, women who were few and quiet, agreed campfire to campfire, "Lema" did not pack water for any man.

They came as a four headed demon from hell itself. All were brandishing some type of club or blade. No time did I have to take notice. My staff I ripped left to right across in front of me, the tip found the face of the closest savage. Damage was done as the man's hands went for his eyes.

My second move with the staff was a forward thrust which sunk deep into the chest of the second. So sharp was my point that I ran him through. His movement forward had not been slowed, the force of which bowled me back. His falling club found my shoulder but the staff through his chest had lessened its...

The South had Jesse Buxton, but the North had Brewster Daggit. They were both legends up and down the Gray and Blue lines. No man wanted to meet either in battle. Most said that they should just drag up, go home, and let the two of them shoot it out; winner takes all.

It was generally agreed that the Southern boy was lightening fast and deadly accurate. Up against the likes of Brewster, he might draw first blood; just maybe. But to a man, everyone understood it would be suicide to try. No one, but no, one rankled Old Bud.