The new diminutive occidental municipality’s law-enforcement officer and sheriff ambulated out of the disreputable gin-mill saloon, shrugging aside the lady of the evening who sought to impede his progress by clinging to his forearm.
“Fill your hands, you low-life, utterly deplorable, mannerless scum-sucking scion of a female dog!” he yawped in stentorian tones to the cocksure, self-important, braggadocious chief bandito of the scoff-law, wrongfully-misdoing, malice-aforethoughtful loosely-affiliated confederation of bad eggs, rotten apples, and sociopathic, villainous malefactors who had been intimidating, terrorizing, and cowing the amiable, unthreatening burghers and townspeople ever since they rode their cow-ponies, mustangs, and cayuses into the hamlet the preceding crepuscule.
The thuggish bully-boy reached for his holstered .45 calibre Colt’s repeating hog-leg revolver, but the peace officer beat him to the unlimbering, and delivered a projectile to his ebon-black, malevolent, ill-wishing cardiac organ, which caused him to reel staggeringly in a reverse direction and descend rapidly to a supine position, where he gargled out a final imprecation, and became immoblile.
“Things are going to be altered for the better in this locality from this point in time into the foreseeable future,” the lawman promised serenely, in an ingratiating voice. “And your quotidian circumstances will be markedly ameliorated, or my parental units did not style, dub and entitle me Wyatt Earp.”
