"I am giving you until Sunday to get your sorry hide off this land," spoke Greenhill the evil banker.
"This ain't right, Greenhill," spoke the old rancher.
"The bank has the right to demand full consideration any time. It is in the fine print."
"I ain't goin'. There ain't no power under God's green Earth who can force me off my own spread."
The old rancher went for his gun in his holster, but the banker had brought the sheriff with him. The sheriff drew his gun before the rancher could clear leather. The sheriff shot the rancher in the arm, which caused the old man to fall on the ground. The rancher's daughter was looking on and she ran over to her father.
"Greenhill, why don't you take you and your hired killer and clear off our ranch," shouted the daughter.
"You mean my ranch, don't you? I don't intend to go until your old man agrees to leave by Sunday. Besides, he can't work now. There is no way that a crippled old man and a helpless female can run this ranch. Be gone by Sunday or I'll kill you and your father. Come on, Dan let's leave these two worthless souls now. I'm sure they will be more reasonable in a few days."
"How far do think we have to go until we get to Clearwater, Flint?"
"A few days, Sam, but first we are going to see an old friend of my father's."
Flint lit a cigar and continued talking.
"He and my father left Kentucky together to make their fortunes."
"They should have stayed back in Kentucky. The land there is much better for cattle. Why there ain't anything here, but sand, rocks and wells that go dry."
"If you hate the west so bad why don't you leave it?"
"There's too many people back east."
"How do you know have you ever been back east," grinned Flint with the cigar hanging out of his mouth.
"Then how do you know there's too many people back east?"
"I have heard folks talkin' about it and such."
"Didn't your old man tell you that talk was cheap?"
"Sure, Flint. Hey, is that the ranch up ahead?"
Flint and Sam rode their horses closer to the ranch house. A blast from a rifle sent Sam's hat flying off his head.
"That's close enough," shouted a young woman.
"I thought you said that they were friends of yours? Just look what that dang fool female done to my hat," spoke Sam, pointing to the ground where his hat had fallen.
Flint took his cigar out of his mouth and shouted, "Mary! It's me, Flint Anderson."
The young woman lowered her rifle and replied, "Come on down, Flint."
Flint and Sam rode their horses to the house, dismounted and tied their animals to the hitching post.
"What's all the shootin' about are you havin' troubles with Indians or something?"
"No. Just a no good weasel banker called Greenhill and a sheriff called Double Dealin' Dan."
"Where's your pa, Mary?''
The three of them walked around the back of the house and saw a freshly dug grave. Flint swallowed the lump that formed in his throat.
"How did this happen?" asked Flint.
"Double Dealin' Dan shot my pa's arm and he died that night. The doc said that it was blood poison."
"What are you going to do, Mary?"
"I have an aunt back in Kentucky, so I reckon I'll go and live with her."
Flint and Sam placed their hats back on their heads, as they walked away from the grave.
Mary led the two men to the house; she fed them, and told them the whole sad story of how Greenhill wanted the ranch. The banker had reason to believe that the ranch had gold on it.
She explained how they had gunned down the hands and how they had poisoned the cattle.
"I wish had gotten here sooner, Mary. Do you think that Greenhill and the sheriff will ride to the ranch Sunday to throw you off?"
"Yes, but I am scheduled to leave on the stage Friday."
"Don't take the stage out Friday."
"But, Flint, if I don't go...they will come here and kill us. They will kill you and me and Sam over there. I can't bear to see anyone else I love get killed."
"Just stay, Mary. I'll see that Greenhill is paid in full."
"Flint, a woman can't run a ranch by herself. I don't want to stay. I can't stand being here any longer."
"I wasn't talkin' about paying off the mortgage. I was talkin' about squaring things with Greenhill and Dan for how they wronged you."
"Dan has one of the fastest draws I ever saw. I can't let you face him."
Flint stood up and drew his six-shooter.
"Tell me, Mary, was he that quick?"
Mary's eyes were wide with shock and awe.
Greenhill was watching the stagecoach load up. He could not believe his eyes when he didn't see Mary get on board.
"That muleheaded female decided to stay at the ranch," shouted Greenhill in anger.
"What should we do, boss?" asked Dan.
"We will ride to the ranch and I want Mary Baker shot in the belly. She'll die slowly and the people of Clearwater will know that I control this town."
"Sounds good. Can I watch her die? I love hearing a woman scream and beg to the Almighty to die. It's a beautiful sound."
"Sure. We will go out there tomorrow morning."
Greenhill and Dan rode up to the ranch house. They walked up on the front porch and kicked in the front door. The house seemed empty, until they walked into the kitchen. There sitting at the table was a young man smoking on a cigar.
"Who are you and where's Mary," roared Greenhill.
"I had my partner take her to town to catch the stagecoach goin' out this afternoon. I want to make sure you two get what's comin' to you."
The sheriff laughed, "What's your name kid, so I can have it carved on your tombstone."
"My name is Flint Anderson."
Greenhill turned a little pale. He knew that name and he knew by the expression on the face of the man sitting before them that they had met up with the Cigar Kid.
"Come on, Dan let's get out of here."
"No, boss. I ain't leavin'. I'm goin' to bury this kid."
The kid stood up nice and easy with a grin across his face.
"Dan, this is the Cigar Kid. Don't be a fool, let's get out of here."
"I will just as soon as I..." spoke Dan as he started for his gun.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang!
Flint looked down at the two men's lifeless bodies. It was over and once again the Cigar Kid had served justice.