(AN: Hello Fellow readers. SirRedFox here posting a new installment of "The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde." First off, if you're reading this, YOU'RE AWESOME! And, thank you.

Quick Update: I've been working on several FanFics. I am in the process of starting The Long Hustle, Volume 2. I might, before releasing the new volume going back and better edit volume 1. I am also wondering if you, the reader, would much rather wait a long, long time and have several chapters released at once. Or, if you'd rather have a new chapter come out one at a time, with short waits in-between. Please let me know in the comments.

In the Previous Installment: Judy helped her father prepare for his trip to sell produce in Zootopia. Days go by, in which The Hopps Family Ranch gets a visit from the Warren and Darren of Welson Banking, looking for payment, a payment that Stu will be able to pay when he returns from Zootopia. But, days go by, and Stu has yet to return. Something has gone wrong. Judy sets out to find her father. What she finds is a display of horror and death around her father's wagon. As for her father, we are left unsure.

So enjoy this new chapter of "The Good, The Bad, and The Wilde." And please, fill free to leave a review or comment. Thank you.)

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Ch. 4, No Country for Old Mammals:

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"Call it. Friendo."

- No Country for Old Men, 2007

"For a one-leg rancher... he's one tough Son of a Bitch!"

- 3:10 to Yuma, 2007

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It took five days for Stu to enter the city of Zootopia. Heavy rainfall causing a slight delay in his arrival. So much has changed over the years. The building of the train stations has helped bring mammals from all around the world.

Stu starts his descent into the city. He takes notice of all that has changed. Starting like he always has when coming to Zootopia to sell his produce. First, with Sahara Square, where the least amount of change has affected the area. The buildings have gotten more prominent, and the traffic on the road has grown. But, Still had that simple style approach — the structures built from planks of wood and dirt-covered roads. Though recent activity has shown there to be much action, the Swearengen Inn set on fire. It was severely damaged, but the structure still held together.

Next was Tundratown. In the passing of years, they found a way to make it colder for the mammals living there and using large skyward tents to shield more of the area from the sun. And with fast transport of railroads, allowing large blocks of ice to import into the sector of the city. Stu even buddles up in his coat as he enters the district.

Then it was off to the Rainforest District, where they have built an irrigation system to allow heavy downpours to be more frequent. And last was Savanna Central. The weather always seems to be perfect. Savanna Central can now accommodate large and small mammals. Mammals big and tall giraffes and elephants. A new district was under construction in Savanna Central. It was being called Little Rodentia and would be housing the smallest of the smallest mammals. Still at the center of Savanna Central was the clock tower, looking pristine as always. And Stu's favorite thing about visiting Savanna Central, and always his last stop in Zootopia, was visiting his good old friend's store. Mike's Trading Goods.

"There you go, Stu," said Mike, the old skunk of Savanna Central. "Wish I could give you more Stu," said Mike.

He looks at the old skunk storekeeper with his circular glasses. Stu notices that most of his fur has turned Gray with age and has moved slower throughout the years.

"It's okay, Mike," said Stu, reassuring his old friend and pocketing the money in his billfold and placing it inside his jacket pocket. "As long as I have enough in my pocket to keep the bank to stop harassing my family, a little of what's leftover. There's nothing more that I need."

"Ever since opening this shop, I've only seen the buildings around me become bigger and bigger. Which means more for me to compete with," said Mike.

"It's no problem," Stu said. "I value you as a friend over someone I do business with." Looking down at the money, Stu sees how beneficial to the farm it will be. Hopeful, its enough pay Welson's Banking and keep them off his back for a while.

The bell above the door "chimes" at the sound of a customer coming into the store. Stu and Mike turn to see who their new store companion to be. Standing by the door was a large water buffalo dressed in heavy dark leather. He wore a large Denton style hat. It was black and worn well, and the dusty winds staining the hat. With his hat tucked down, making it hard to see his face. He wore a blue steel large 1951 Navy Conversion pistol with an ivory handle grip. The water buffalo had the revolver strapped and holstered to his right hip. Poking out of his jacket, was the handle of a Howitzer double-barrel shotgun, holstered under his left arm. His boots were big and black, with steel-tips on the front and spurs on the back. Making loud "thud" and "clinking" sounds as he walked.

Though the water buffalo had his hat tuckered down, Stu was able to notice the wrinkles of age on his face and a deep cut that went up the left side of his lip. It made it look as if he had a constant grudge against something. A gold badge pinned to the left side of his thick leather duster. The imprinted on the golden star was the word: "SHERIFF."

The Sheriff makes his way to the coffee pot Mike had on the burner. Without saying hello or asking permission, the Sheriff grabs a tin cup from Mike's shelf and helps himself to the pitcher of coffee.

"Sheriff," said Mike. "How goes your day?"

The Sheriff makes a loud "grunt" noise. "Like a goddamn circus with no Ring Master and every single thing is set on fire," said the Sheriff. He fills his cup with coffee. Stu watches the thick black liquid pour into his tin cup.

"Sheriff," Mike says. "This here is Stu Hopps, from Bunny Borrow. Stu's been helping supply Zootopia with some of the best produce since he was first able to harvest the ripe vegetables from his farm."

"How do you do, sir?" asks Stu, taking a step forward and offering his hand to the large water buffalo. The Sheriff does not take Stu's hand in appreciation, or even bothers looking at Stu. Stu could feel the heavy tension coming from the Sheriff.

"Nice to meet ya," said the Sheriff. He raises his cup and takes a large sip of the black nectar.

"Sorry, Stu. Sheriff Cliff Bogo isn't one for words or greetings. But, he's a damn fine sheriff for Zootopia. And his son makes a great deputy. " Mike reassures Stu. "How is your son doing?" Mike asks. The Sheriff stops and gives a hard glance and a loud annoyed grunt at Stu and Mike. "Like I said, a damn fine Sheriff for Zootopia."

"For now, I'm Sheriff," said Cliff. "It won't be long before the Mayor, and his assistant decides there's no need for me. Let mammals of Zootopia have their self means of justice. Then all of Hell will break loose. They already have these Zoo Rangers intitled to be judge, jury, and executioner. Now my son's actions in Sahara District, the Mayor has become a bigger pain in my ass. Destroying property, hiring Zoo Rangers with money he doesn't have, and causing injuries to one mammal. And for what? For one outlaw, which he failed to capture."

"Is the mammal all right?" Stu asks. "The mammal that got injured?"

"Fortunate for him, and unfortunate for me, yes. Though the medics had to lop off his right arm, too badly damaged, and with only one arm, Assistant Mayor has revoked his title of being a Zoo Ranger. Said, 'what good is a one-armed ranger that can't even shot?' You can see the poor bloke in the Sahara District, drinking away his troubles. Stumbling around all drunk through the streets."

From outside came a loud string of gunfire. Stu and Mike hurry out of Mike's store to see what was all the commotion. Sheriff Cliff Bogo doesn't rush but follows behind. Each massive step of his boots making a loud "thud" noise on the rustic wooden floor.

Outside, the gunfire grew louder and drawing nearer. The loud commotion had Bruce on the fritz, kicking left and right and shaking his head wild in every direction. Stu grabs Bruce's reins in hopes of calming down the old Stallion.

Up ahead, a raccoon came running towards their direction. The raccoon wore no shoes wearing sun-bleached and tattered clothes. Galloping behind frightened raccoon was a posse of mammals on horseback. Leading the ravage group was a hog wearing a blue scarf, riding on the back of a brown horse. The hog raises his six-iron, aiming at the scared and running raccoon, and open fires.

The poor raccoon is hit, stumbles, but does not fall. The coon continues running or, instead, now limping as fast away as he can. His left leg was now drenching blood and leaving wet red footprints on the cobblestone street.

The hog riding the brown horse was quick to catch up. Stu watches as he closes in now, seeming that he would trample the raccoon. Instead, the hog takes aim and fires. This time the shot pierces the raccoon's back and exits out the front of his gut. When the bullet exited out the front and followed by a stream of blood, the raccoon falls, dead, into a pool of his blood. The hog slows his horse and turns back around to watch.

The rest of the posse catches up. Though very unnecessary, except to play at one's blood lust, the posse of mammals shoot down at the already dead raccoon. Their horses circle the body as they continue firing. They must have added another twelve bullets into the raccoon's back. A small cloud of gun powder smoke s over the dead raccoon as the riders circled the corpse.

Carnage was what Stu saw before his eyes. A pure act of carnage. "Aren't you going do, something?" Stu asks Sheriff Bogo in bewilderment. How could he stand there and watch at what was happening, all the while taking sips of his coffee?

"What is it exactly you would like for me to do?" asked Cliff. "Would you like me to save the dead raccoon laying in a pool of his blood? Would like me to stop the maniacs, riding their horses and firing their guns with wild intent?" Would you like me to arrest someone? If so, who should it be?" Sheriff Cliff piped. He took another slug of his coffee. "You see those blue scarfs they wear? Each one has a special badge, given to them by the Assistant Mayor."

Stu looked. What he said was true. Each one of the mammals on horseback, circling and firing down at the raccoon, wore a blue scarf. Each mammal wore the sash differently. Some wore the blue veil as a bandanna, or as a belt, or as a plain scarf.

The hog on his brown horse, trouts up between the dead raccoon and the three spectators at Mike's Trading Goods. The hog dismounts from his steed. He wore brown leather chaps with fray on the sides. A white button-up shirt and a thin brown leather hid vest. He wore a brown floppy hat that looked all but torn to pieces. The hog wore his blue scarf around his neck, which seemed to make the hog sweat even more. Pinned on the blue veil was an individual looking badge reading: "RANGER."

"Sheriff," spouted the hog. "Always good to see you." The Sheriff didn't give any warm, welcoming back to the swine. He kept his tin cup of coffee up to the large scar on his lip.

"Mind explaining what you and your boys are up to?" asks the Sheriff.

"Why. It appears we are doing your job, Sheriff." The hog says, holding his hands to his hips, sticking out his chest and smiling with glee as he spoke.

"Don't seem to recall anywhere in my job description to shoot down defenseless mammals in the middle of a public street."

"Ha," the hog laughs. "Shows what you know. The coon was a thief. One of the boys claims to have seen him swipe a couple of loaves of bread from the baker."

"Did he see proof of this? And where are these loaves of bread now?"

"Dropped them once he saw us coming for him."

"So why even bother?" asked the Sheriff. "You ran down a young bread thief and decided to use a swift justice system, and kill the boy?"

"Principal of the matter," the hog said, spitting his words with annoyance and hatred to the Sheriff. "Needed to be made an example of that one. Don't believe any mammal is going to be stealing bread without a second thought, now. One of the reasons you soon won't have a job anymore, Sheriff. Too soft on the corrupt. That's why the Assistant Mayor has given us, Ranger statuses. Now we can patrol each one of the districts, in and out of Zootopia. To stop crime before it happens."

The hog grabs a coil of rope from the saddle on his horse. The other rangers have had their fun with the dead raccoon. Steadying their horses and holstering their side irons. The hog wraps the rope around one of the legs of the raccoon. He hitched the other end of the lasso to his saddle, which he then mounted. With a swift kick to his horse's hind, the hog gallops off down the cobbled street of Savana Central. He drags behind him, the corpse of the dead raccoon, leaving a blood-soaked trail down the cobbled stone street. Women try covering the eyes of their children and save their innocence. The rest of the hog's horrid gang follows suit.

"Disgrace," said the Sheriff. "Embarrassment to the whole damn city. Zoo Rangers, what a joke. A made-up position from the Assistant Mayor."

"Sheriff," said Stu. "I know there's not much I can do, but I do know some scriptures."

"Rancher and a preacher," the Sheriff says, looking down on the rabbit. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not a preacher," Stu corrected. "But one scripture states: 'And there will be a fierce storm to come. One that will rain and cleanse the city pure. Those who wish to be pure shall be pure, as well. As that which is corrupt will be swept away in the fast flood of rivers.'"

"No offense, Mr. Preaching Rancher."

"Stu."

"Don't care." Sheriff Cliff said. "But, the only type of rain that's going to cleanse this city is a rain of fire and lead." The Sheriff tosses what's left in his cup out on to the street and places the tin cup upside down on a post outside Mike's shop. "Thanks for the coffee Mike," he says before leaving onto the city streets.

Like the Sheriff, Stu heads out of the shop and the city of Zootopia itself. After giving his farewells to Mike. He made all the earnings he could from the city that has grown.

Stu and his workhorse Bruce heading down the roads toward Bunny Burrow. It might be possible to be home before the sun's last light on the third day. A path that Stu and his stead Bruce have been down more than a dozen times.

They made a slow pace throughout the night. He was leading by the gas lamp light that hung on his carriage. When the second day came, Stu stops the wagon for Bruce to rest, and for him to eat something.

From a small burlap bag where Stu keeps his supply of food, he grabs an apple. The apple shinned red and was wet from the morning dew. Stu dries the apple on his jacket shoulder and with his carving knife, slices the apple in two. The first half, Stu offers to Bruce, who gobbles the apple half into his mouth. White foam and saliva splatting everywhere out of the horse's mouth. Stu slices his half, again down the middle, scooping out the core and plops the apple slice in his mouth. He puts the other half back into his pocket.

Stu sheaths his blade back into the center of his belt and bites down into one of his apple halves. Stu took pleasure in biting into the white inners and tasting the white citrus moister the apple contained, which made a loud "chomp" sound as he chewed. Stu stops chewing when he bits down on something hard — not that of rock but one of the apple's seeds. Stu turns his head and spits the seed as far as he can. He watches as the seed flies out his mouth and lands in the soft grass.

Perhaps, Stu thought. If mother nature decides to be kind, then the next time he travels this way, there will be a beautiful apple tree growing. The thought grew depressing, looking back at Bruce, and thinking of himself. He's not that young anymore, and a next time might never come. Stu can't remember the last time he ever was young after Bonnie gave birth to Judy. A mammal that denies the demise of time denies himself the days to dawn back on, and notice the great things life has offered.

He pats Bruce down his long horse neck. The hair tips on Bruce's mane were white with age. Wrinkles on his snout were crusty, wet, and sagging down. The horse's eyes seem to be fading. He could no longer see as well as he once did. Thinking about reminds Stu that his eyesight is not what it use to be. He hates it when trying to read newsletters, and he must first ask one of his daughters for his spectacles actually to see the damn printed words.

"Bruce," said Stu. "My old friend. We are getting too old to do this."

Bruce puts his head against Stu's forehead. Stu always liked believing that he and Bruce had a unique way of communicating with each other. Stu strokes the brown and white spots of fur on Bruce.

Stu climbs back on top of the wagon and settles himself on the wooden seat. As always, his 1860 Henry rifle perched next to him in the carriage. Grabbing the reins harnessed to Bruce, Stu makes a quick whip-like action to get Bruce to start moving forward. They traveled the road throughout the day.

Around noon, when the sun was high in the sky. The area was beautiful to see. Stu takes in all the scenery, the deep treed woods to his right, to his left, a paster of flowers and tall grass that slopes upward to a rocky cliffside. Up ahead was a large pine tree that laid across the road. It wasn't there when he came through this area to get to Zootopia.

Stu had no choice but to bring the carriage to a halt. Stu's eyes the fallen tree, following it down to its base. The tree's base had no broken or cracked splinters of wood that one would see from rot to cause a tree to fall. Instead, the bottom of the tree had been cut clean with strikes from an ax.

"Hello, there!" came a voice from behind one of the trees. A wide smiling jackal steps out behind a tree. The jackal wore a white cotton shirt and black vest. His gray Slouch hat, which matched his pants, concealed his eyes from Stu. His Navy blue jacket draped over himself. "Hello, there." the jackal said again, waving at Stu.

Instead of answering back, Stu lets the reins from Bruce fall and puts a loose grip on his Henry rifle.

"Can you help me?" asked the jackal.

"In what need of help do you seek?"

"Well, see, we've been traveling for quite a while now-"

After saying we, another mammal stepped out into the clearing. The jackal looks over his shoulder. A thin shaking coyote steps out from behind one of the other trees. He wore an old southern military uniform, ragged and torn. The coyote didn't seem too well. Malnourished, and his right eye lost of all sight. Stu could tell by the way it was milk-white, like a marble.

Stu watches the jackal and coyote approach the wagon with small, simple steps. The closer they got, the tighter the grip Stu had on his Henry rifle.

"Howdy, Sir," the coyote said. His voice sounding "crackled" as if he had a loose grip on the English language. He squinted his eyes up at Stu.

"As I was saying," said the jackal. "We've been traveling to Zootopia. The hope of finding work and fine living. But our camp became ransacked by a pack of southern hemisphere lamas. Crazy, it was. So we were hoping you could provide food and some money so we can make it to the city." The two creatures move in closer.

"I'm sorry," Stu says. "Any money I have is to help provide for my family, and what food I have is to help me make it home to them." A snap of a tree branch comes from the thick tree woods. Looking at the woods, Stu could swear that the trees were moving. Turning back, the jackal and coyote were much closer. The coyote stood in front of Bruce, giving the horse a dumbfounded look and a goofy smile like it was a creature he had never laid his left eye on before.

"I understand that, sir. But, the good book tells that those in good grace, offer others what he can."

Stu's rabbit ear twitches at the sound of more branches snapping in the woods and the rustle of fallen leaves on the forest floor.

"The good book also frowns upon those that lie and steal," declares Stu. The jackal does not change his expression. The jackal still looking like he's done no wrong. "I can hear your merry band waiting in the woods. Probably that same pack of southern hemisphere lamas that raided your camp? Were they to scare me into believing you and give in to your demands?"

The jackal stood there for a second before giving a broad smile to Stu. The jackal shows all of his canine fangs, as he smiles. He "chuckles" loud with laughter. The jackal claps his hands together for Stu being smart. The jackal gives a loud howler in excitement.

"You, Sir," said the jackal, pointing up at Stu. "You are the last mammal I would ever hope of playing cards with, my good sir. You saw through my bluff, but kept a strong face on yourself."

"You don't seem to be one to play fair, at anything," said Stu.

"Once again, you have me pegged." The jackal puts two fingers to his mouth and gives a loud high pitch whistle. From the woods emerge a pack of lamps, all wearing thick black fur coats. Four of the lamas rode on horseback and circle Stu and his wagon. Several other lamas walk out of the woods and take position around Stu's carriage. From the back of the jackal's belt, he pulls out an old Colt Walker. Stu could see the horrible upkeep on the revolver, spotting parts of rust.

Looking around, the pack of lamas takes their positions. The lama with the army certified musket stands in line with two other lamas on horseback, both brandishing flintlock pistols. The last lama on horse took the rear of the carriage. He didn't brandish any weapon, or at least Stu didn't see him holding one, but he was close enough to jump on Stu's wagon and make an attack. The rest of the lamas that walked on foot held very simplistic weapons. Such as handling army issued muskets or carrying lumberjack axes, hatches, or Bowie knifes. Scavengers, Stu thought. That's what they are, scavengers — robbing those that cross their path.

They had minimal firepower when it came to robbing a stagecoach. The only one with any firepower was the jackal and the old Colt Walker he held. But, the numbers were in their favor and surrounding his wagon. The situation, looking all too grim and risky to Stu.

"He's a real fine horse you got here," said the coyote with the marble eye. He reaches out to pet Bruce on the forehead. Bruce reacts by pulling his head back and wanting to stay out of the coyote's grasp. The coyote snatches the reins and jerks Bruce's head down. He pats Bruce, from his head to his long neck and mane.

"He's real pretty," coyote says with broken English. The coyote digs into the pocket of his gray ragged military jacket. From his pocket, he pulls out a muddy Dragoon revolver. He cocks back the hammer and puts the barrel point-blank against the side of Bruce's head. "He probably won't look too pretty with a bullet hole on the side of his face, and his brains pushed out one side of his head."

Bruce tries jerking his head away, but can't break the coyote's grasp on him. Jumping to his feet with the rifle in hand, Stu aims down at the scrawny coyote. The three lamas on horseback, raise their black powder weapons and cock the hammers back. The other lamas raise whatever lack of weapons they have as well, ready to climb up and take Stu by force.

"Hold up now," said the jackal. "Let's not let things escalate to a blood bath. My associate was only making a point. No one wants to see you bloody and dead. I have a better option for you. You said you were bringing money home for your family? Let me ask you, won't your family rather see you back home safe and sound? So how about this? You let us keep the money and that nice rifle in your hands, and we let you go on your merry way."

Thinking of the jackal's words hit hard. What the jackal said was true. Stu outnumbered and surrounded. The thought of Bonnie, Judy, and the rest of his children mourning over his dead body being too grim of an image. Stu lowers his rifle. The jackal gives a broad smile at the sight.

The one lama on horseback from behind him hops onto his wagon and approaches Stu. He feels the point of the lama's large knife against his back — the lama's hand patting Stu's body until he found what he wanted. Stu's billfold, holding everything he earned selling to shop keeps in Zootopia. The lama throws the wallet over to his lama comrades. Other lamas were rifling through his belongs, looking for food, clothes, anything.

"I hate relieving you of such a great rifle, but do know it will be in goods hands." the jackal said. Stu loosens his grip on the Henry Rifle. The lama behind him grabs the barrel, to release it from Stu's hands.

The marble eye coyote unhooks Bruce from the wagon and pulls hard on Bruce's reins, wanting to force him forward. Bruce shakes his head with wild disagreement. Bruce stomps his hooves to the ground, refusing to obey any of the coyote's demands.

"You know," the coyote states out loud. "If this colt won't comply to be ridden, the horse will at least make a nice meal for us for the next few nights. I mean, the spic lamas might not be too interested in the taste, but good eating for us."

Hearing those words ignited a fuse in Stu. His earnings and rifle did not hold much value over him. Seeing Bonnie and the kits again were worth more to him. But now they are taking his horse, most likely to be killed, and strand him out in the middle of nowhere. In other words, they were leaving him to die. It was still another good two or three days to get back to Bunny Burrow. But, on foot with no food or water, and everything needs to survive, the harsh elements, reaching his destination, alive or dead, were uncertain. Or kill him on the spot. What difference would it make? Stu could not allow such despicable actions.

Before the Henry rifle slips out of his hands, Stu grabs hold of the gun, strong and firm. Stu rams the rifle backward as hard as he can, hitting the lama square in his chest with the butt of the gun. Stu swings up and aims at the marble eye coyote holding Bruce. With a loud "crackle" of fire erupting from the barrel, Stu fires at the coyote. A nickel-size hole explodes from the coyote's arm, sending a spray of blood towards everything on his right side. The powerful shot knocks the coyote to the ground.

The coyote lets go of Bruce's reins as he's knocked on his back. Bruce, seizing the opportunity gallops off to safety. Stu's action is so sudden; it takes the gang of highway mammal thieves a second or two to react to what had just happened.

Stu cocks the lever of the Henry rifle. The ejected bullet cartridge flys out of the chamber as a new one inserted. Stu does not stop to hesitate. In sequence, Stu turns and aims at the lamas on horseback and open fires. The first one of the lamas to fall was the one closest, holding tight to the army musket. Stu's bullet hits him square in the chest, sending a large spray of blood forward. The powerful shot forces the lama into a back roll off his horse and hitting the ground face down, dead.

Next was the middle lama. The lama raises his flintlock pistol. But, Stu, with his speed, fires two shots. Bullet cartridges were flying out of the rifle like skipping stones. The first piercing right under the lama's lung, and the second piercing through the left side of his chest. Each shot sends a spray of blood out the bullet holes. The lama was able to fire off his pistol, which does not even come near to hitting Stu.

The third lama on horseback decides to take action. Stu watches as he gallops his way out of the range of Stu's rifle. Stu fires off one shot, but only hits the lama's right elbow. A small stream of blood spits out the wound, drenching the horse's hide red.

Out of the corner of his eye, Stu can make out the jackal moving. Stu swings the smoking barrel back at the jackal on the ground. Stu sees that the jackal has his weapon already raised, and fires. Stu, with his rabbit ears, can hear the jackal's bullet whiz through the air. Hot metal piercing Stu's right shoulder with a punch. Warmblood drenching Stu's neck and face. With his left hand, Stu clamps down on the wound.

From behind him comes the feeling of a sharp and heavy blade, swiping across his back. The knife is so severe, Stu feels it slice through not only his jacket and shirt but his flesh as well. Turning around, it was the lama that first took his billfold and that Stu rammed the butt of the rifle into. He almost forgot about him — the lama charges with his knife. Not to hack and slash, but to plunge his blade deep into Stu's belly. Stu raises the rifle's barrel and blind fires at the charging lama. The gun blasts the lama in the face, sending chunks of bone and brain everywhere. Some of the lama's face splatters onto Stu.

The scavengers blessed to be carrying flintlock rifles, fire off in every direction. The bandits became engulfed in a mist of gunpowder smoke, making things hard to aim and shot the Henry rifle. Stu, still clamping onto the bullet wound between his neck and shoulder, with one hand cocks the lever on the gun and blindly fires in the cloud of gun powder. The pellet bullets from the muskets hit and bounce off his wagon. The closet bullet that came to harm him was a stray bullet clipping off a piece of his right ear.

Hot metal pierces The back of Stu's right shoulder and exits out the front. Only after the bullet ejects out the front does Stu hears the sound of the jackal's gunfire. Stu turns back to face his biggest threat, the jackal.

Turning around, and before Stu can raise his rifle, he feels a small projectile fire out and burns through his right leg. Looking down, Stu sees that one of the lamas got lucky and fired a shot piercing one side of his leg and exiting out the other end. The new wound causes Stu to lose his footing and fall off the wagon. Stu's leg, the one with the fresh bullet hole, hits the ground, his foot twists and makes a loud "pop" sound. His foot does not break but instead dislocates. Stu face plants into the ground.

Stu lays there, in pain, and not knowing what to do? His dense and quick breath kicks up small clouds of dust. He can feel the handle of his small carving knife pressing down on his hand. Out the corner of his eye, the one that wasn't against the ground, he could see the jackal's shadow cast over him. The jackal pokes and probes at Stu's body with the barrel of his Walker. He slides the barrel under Stu's hat and flips it off of him. Play dead, Stu Thought. Play dead. It's the only way you'll make it out alive. The slightest movement and the jackal will finish him off with a bullet to the back of his head.

"Goddamn," said the jackal, chuckling. "You poor, dumb, bunny. I will say, you put up a hell of a fight," said the jackal.

The jackal makes a high pitch whistle and shouts out a phrase in Spanish. Everything goes quiet. He does hear the other mammals go back to rummaging his wagon, hoping to find something useful. Stu hears the jackal squat down. His joints "popping" as he crotches over Stu. The shadow of the Jackal is Stu's only way of seeing what was happening.

Out the corner of Stu's eye, he can see the old Colt Walker revolver in the jackal's hand. Stu grabs the handle of his carving knife. The jackal reaches over and grabs the Henry rifle, prying it from Stu's hands. "Damn. That is a fine looking rifle." The jackal raises the rifle to shine into the heavy sunlight above. Trying not to make any sudden moves, and reveal to the jackal he still breathes, Stu slides the small carving knife out of its sheath. Stu stares at the Colt Walker in the jackal's hand. He only had one chance to gain the upper hand on the jackal.

Stu's body, bleeding in several different places; he would not have the strength to fight if he was not careful. Stu will admit he was scared. Never has he been in such a position before. Thoughts of Bonnie, Judy, and the kits flash in his head. He had to make his move.

Not wanting to think on it a second longer, Stu rolls over on his side. His small unsheathed carving knife, shining in the sun, grasping the handle in his hand. Stu plunges the blade through the jackal's hand, holding the revolver. The jackal screams in pain, dropping the Colt Walker, and throwing his hand back as a knee jerk reaction. Seeing the revolver fall to the ground, Stu reaches to swipe it up and turns his body up at the jackal.

The jackal still examining his damaged bleeding hand, now with a knife stabbed through his hand. Stu reaches over, grabbing the gun from the ground. He cocks the hammer back and aims the barrel up at the jackal. When the jackal looks down at Stu, he only sees the barrel of his revolver. Stu fires, blasting the jackal between the eyes, and the back of his head explodes. Chunks of red and pink goo flying outward. The jackal slumps over Stu, dead.

Stu, wishing only for a moment of breath, is denied, as a lama turns the corner of the wagon brandishing a lumberjack's ax. The lama, seeing Stu on the ground, raises his ax and charges toward Stu, ready to bring it down upon the rabbit's head. Still, with the Colt Walker in his hands, Stu aims and fires. It takes three shots to the center mass to take the lama down. The lama's thick black fur coat conceals any spill of blood. As the lama falls to the ground, so does his lumberjack ax. The sharp ax blade lands next to Stu's head.

Flipping the jackal over and grabbing the Henry rifle back into his hands where it belongs. Stu starts crawling away from all the carnage. It felt as though weights chained to his body. Crawling away was his only option at this point.

He crawls up to the field of flowers. He stops crawling when two black boots step in front of him. Stu looks up. Standing over him was the coyote with the marble eye. He holds his right arm with a hard clasp from his left hand. The right sleeve of his faded gray uniform now soaked red with his blood.

"You dumb son of a bitch," said the coyote, looking at him with his white marble eye. "All you had to do was be still, dumb, and cooperative." He raises his revolver at Stu's head. "I hope you made good words last seeing your family because they're the last you ever said to them."

The coyote cocks back the hammer on his Dragoon revolver. The revolver's barrel raises to Stu's head. Stu closes his eyes, ready to accept the bullet to pass through his head and end his time in this world. Bonnie, Judy, and his other kits, please know I love them all and will stay in my heart till its last beat. Stu thinks.

Before the coyote pulls the trigger, a loud horse whine makes his lookup. Out of nowhere, Bruce charges at the coyote with a big headbutt, knocking the coyote onto his back. Bruce raises his massive front hooves high in the air. The coyote, shoots off one shot, hitting Bruce in the neck before Bruce slams his feet down on to the coyote's chest. The coyote's ribs make a loud "crack" sound as he coughs up a large glob of blood. Bruce raises his front hooves again, slamming down on the coyote's stomach. Once more, Bruce raises his front feet into the air. The coyote fires off another shot with his revolver: this time, the bullet piercing into Bruce's abdomen, right under his ribs. Bruce gives a loud whine of pain. Bruce, slamming his hoofs down directly onto the coyote's face. The coyote's skull cracks open and flattens onto the ground.

Bruce badly hurt and bleeding, gallops off. Taking in a breath of air Stu tries to rise off the ground to follow after Bruce. The bandits, busy devouring all that was left of his wagon and escaping into the thick woods.

Stu, with a bullet hole in his back and another in his leg, uses his rifle as a crutch. Hopping, wobbling, and dragging his foot behind him to catch up with Bruce. Looking up passed the field, and next to the rocky uprising to the cliffs was a large object on the ground, not moving.

No, no. Please, no. Thought Stu, staggering to the large object on the ground. Sweat pours down his face, and his mouth was dry with every breath. His tongue felt like sandpaper against his throat. Looking down, wiping sweat from his eyes, he sees Bruce laying on the ground. His breathing was fast and heavy. Stu, watching his horse's chest rise and fall. The pool of blood he laid on, growing larger.

"Aww, God. Bruce," Stu said. "I'm sorry." Tears were rolling down his face as he watches the trusty stead Stu's had for as long as he can remember. Remembering the day he got Bruce, he was the only left in the pin to buy that day. Remembering all the times he gave the kits rides on his back. Bruce, his trusty steed, now dying.

Stu squats down and lays his body across Bruce. He feels the rise and fall of Bruce's chest as he inhales and exhales, making small "whimpering" sounds. Stu props the Henry rifle to his side. There was nothing he could do to save Bruce, but perhaps, if he strokes Bruce's soft fur would help keep him calm and not feel so scared. Stroking Bruce's neck, Stu feels his hand become drenched in blood. Stu's tears, soaked up by Bruce's coat. Bruce's chest rises and slowly lowers for the last time. His eyes were still, and his lungs no longer holding air.

They killed him, thought Stu with tears. The thieving bastards killed him. As if he was nothing. Just a regular stable horse, nothing extraordinary. The thought made Stu cry even more.

Stu stayed with Bruce for a little while longer. Ten minutes at the least. If it were up to him, he would sleep next to Bruce till the following day, but Stu couldn't stay where he was, too exposed. Stu could see up the rocky slope was a solid rock nook to hide him from any of the bandits still lurking around. It would also help keep him out of the sun's rays. But first, he had to tend to the wounds bleeding him dry.

Taking off his jacket and tearing the sleeves of his stained button-up shirt. He tore his sleeves into more strips of cloth. He made a tight bandage around his bullet hole leg. He rolled up one piece of fabric as small and tight as he could. He pushes as much as he can of the bandage into the bullet hole in his back.

The hardest part was next. Stu keeps his leg straight by tying two sturdy tree limbs on each side of his leg. He sticks his dislocated foot between two sturdy rocks. Making sure none of the stones were loose. Biting down hard on the rim of his hat and takes in a deep breath. Stu makes a quick twist with his body as he heard the loud "pop" of his foot setting back into place. Stu cries in pain, and bites down hard into his hat, leaving teeth marks on the rim.

Crawling up and settling into the rocky nook, Stu tries catching his breath. Nothing more to do, but stay put and stay alive.

The days pass. This morning Stu shakes in the cold morning mist. It wasn't the worst morning he's woken up to find.

One morning, Stu woke to a crow peeking at his bullet hole leg. He gave the bird a hefty kick sending it flying back. I'm not dead yet, Stu thought. Is there not enough rotting corpses below to feast upon. Or is he already dead, and only the birds see it, and fresh dead meat is the best.

Since getting stuck in the rocky nook, Stu did everything he could do to survive. The apple slice was the only food he had and tried savoring it as much as he can, sucking the sweet crispy nectar out of the apple's inners, and chewing each bite as long as he could.

Stu also reverted to sucking the wet dew on the grass leaves close to him. The hot sun has caused his lips and face to blister and crack. The inside of his ears burns red. He paces his breathing in the heat, hoping to not pass out from dehydration so quick. Trying hard to keep his wounds clean as best he can. And yet, the nights, with no fire, felt freezing, leaving Stu to shudder and shake in his jacket.

This morning was as cold, and the mist was thick. It blankets the sun, making it look like a silver dollar in the sky. It was a small comfort.

The loud blast of a shotgun jerks Stu up, not knowing who it was or what they wanted. Could they be more highway thieves? Or, could they be his saving grace. Staying here would mean certain death. He had to see and hope for the best.

Stu hears another loud blast from the shotgun, closer this time. Stu tries to cry out for them to hear. His voice was too dry and scratchy to shout anything. From his mouth came a painful moan.

He could hear footsteps in the mist. They seem to be coming his way. He heard a familiar voice cry out, "Pa!" Judy? Is that the angel voice of his daughter? Has she traveled so far to find him? Stu hears her call out again. He lets another painfull moan scream out. From the thick mist, he saw a dark shadowy figure. Stu, gripping his Henry rifle tight as his vision was fading.

He could feel himself about to pass out. Stu closes his eyes and whimpers out through his cracked and blistered lips. "Judy..."

.

(AN: Thank you for reading, and Thank you for reading this. Again, YOU'RE AWESOME! I hope you enjoyed this new installment. Leaving you to wonder if Judy will be able to save her father in time? The next chapter will reveal all. The Sheriff's revolver described in this chapter is a particular model revolver used by a famous legendary Western icon.

To be honest, I don't know if I can keep this up. My writing is terrible, very few seem to be interested, and everything I write is typical. People don't seem to be engaged in what I write, and I don't know if I can keep spending months on a chapter that no one will read. It's like a preacher, preaching to an empty church where no can hear or care to listen — not even God himself.

As I said before, please leave a commit on how you'd rather have future chapters come out. Thank you!

- SirRedFox.)