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Chris Larabee stepped onto the deserted street, flexed his fingers, flipped his coat back to reveal the gun on his hip and silently scanned the area for his enemy; the notorious outlaw, Trigger Pete. The only sound to be heard was the creaking of a door, the only sign of any animation were the branches swaying in the breeze. Chris sniffed the air and with a smile called out into the emptiness. "Step out you mangy dog, I know you're there, I can smell ya!"


"I'm calling you out, Pete, or are you too much of a coward to face a real man?"


Larabee saw a flicker in the distance. He smiled as he saw the telling shadow darkening the ground from the side of a house... gotcha!

"Pete, I'm gonna give you one more chance to give yourself up."

Still no answer.

"In that case I'm coming to get ya." He paused and looked around the deserted street once more.

"It's a shame there aren't any witnesses to see just what a low down, filthy, stinkin' cowardly dog you really are!"

Larabee suddenly jumped to the side as he heard the sound of a gun being cocked, followed by rapid gunfire.

More shots followed.

A female voice cried out "Chris!"

A blonde woman wearing an apron over a pale blue dress suddenly appeared on the doorstep of the house Trigger Pete was hiding behind.

Chris yelled out a warning, "Get back inside!"

Trigger Pete took the opportunity and jumped out from his cover and aimed his gun at the woman. "Put your gun down, lawman or she dies!"

Chris didn't waver, he just took aim and fired. Pete's gun dropped to the floor and with an anguished cry, grabbed his chest and collapsed into a puddle of mud.

Chris walked towards the lady, tipped his hat and asked, "Are you alright, ma'am?"

The lady put her hands on her hips and sighed, "Of course I'm alright darling, but your dinner's getting cold and I'm sick of calling you. And Peter, I hope you don't expect me to wash your clothes after that stunt!"

The mean desperado previously known as Trigger Pete opened one eye and smiled at his wife and son. He held his hand out for Chris "I need some help getting up here, son. Were you using real bullets?"

"No!" Nine year old Chris Larabee giggled as he 'helped' his father to his feet. "That was fun, dad, one day I'm going to be a real lawman".

Peter Larabee ruffled his little boy's hair and as they all walked through the door told his son that one day he would make a magnificent lawman.

The End