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He went and lived in Sandy Bar, selling the mules and buying a small house from which he ran a business brewing his own special brand of alcohol. Three years passed. One day he heard a knock on the shabby door of his cabin. He opened it. There stood the haggard form of Tom Simson. He had come to take revenge for the death of his true love. Slowly pulling out his revolver, he pressed the barrel into Uncle Billy's chest. "Well, Billy, in the crime of your murder, looks like..." Here he paused, and donned a pair of Ray-Bans. "...they're gonna have to start calling me 'The Guilty'." Six shots rang out.

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12y ago

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