He rarely spoke to anyone, and the people he did speak to ended up dead. If he spoke to you, he didn't like you, and you were in trouble. He was a vicious and cruel killer but not even the law could stop him, they were too afraid of him. Rumor had it he couldn't even die. He was a ghost, or a god, or a demon perhaps. The stories always varied as to what he actually was or where he came from. But the west was never the same after he showed up. Yes sir, Dan Samuals had struck the west with fear.
One day in a small town in the south-west, there was a sheriff by the name of Emmett Price who had had enough. He began to round up a posse so that they could have a lynching. They rode north to a town where Samuals had last been seen.
They entered the town's saloon. What happened after that was legend. in the town to this day. The posse surrounded Dan Samuals who was drinking whiskey while playing cards, a hooker sitting on his lap. He paid the posse no mind, but simply kept on playing cards, even though his companions had all frozen and were watching the men.
"Dan Samuals," said Price. "You're comin' with us."
"Oh yeah?" said Samuals finally after minutes of silence. "Naw, I'm fine where I am thank ya much."
"It's not an option," Price spat out drawing his six-shooter from his hip and pointing it at Samuals' head. Still today people remember those last words before Dan Samuals stood up. He was a good head taller than Price...and then two heads taller as Samuals grabbed hold of Price's head and ripped it off. He held the head high and let the blood drip into his mouth before pulling two huge hunting knives from his boots and letting loose on every living person in the bar.
After he was done he was covered in blood and his eyes were filled with rage. It was that day that the west decided what he was. All the stories pointed to it.
A demon.
No comments:
Post a Comment