Even with the saddle providing cushion, I never felt comfortable with the constant bumps caused when riding. My hands were gripped tightly on the reins, rubbing up and down frequently. Thankfully, I always wore leather gloves that prevented my already callused hands from being sore and tender due to the constant burning of the ropes. The horse galloped with a strong determination to the destination only I knew. I bounced up and down, my rear coming returning to the saddle with every gallop in an unpleasant fashion. To avert my thoughts from the irritable tension caused by the bouncing, I continued to jab my spurs into the horse's side. It seemed if I showed the horse just how much pain it was causing me, I could bring some retribution. The repeated burring into its sides only maintained its speed; it was going as fast as it could.

Despite how often I had repeated this routine; it never ceased to be exhilarating. My heart pounded with such vigor it seemed alive. It was as if it were a prisoner and my chest were the cell it was trapped in. It bounced and hammered against the walls of my chest in a determined effort to free itself from the limitations of its current capacity. But alas, despite its efforts it would never have the facility to escape my chest. It would only continue to pound against my chest with a certain excitement that would only astound me. I admired the persistence of my heart to be free. If only its freedom did not coincide with the event of my death, I would certainly aid it. To have that passion for life and freedom is a desire and aspiration that few maintain. Perhaps this is exemplified in my duty to exterminate others.

I have little knowledge of textbooks and other sources found through education. Criminals and delinquents raised me. My education was of how people work, but not the biological, philosophical, psychological or any other type of "ical" reasons for why they work how they do. As such, perhaps I am not credible in my conclusions and implications. But credibility means little to me. I believe me, and those who don't believe me will learn to fear me. Among the few bits of education I have received, I have learnt of Darwin's theory of evolution and the relevant idea; survival of the fittest.

This idea of survival of the fittest has been interesting to me. If others lack the passion for life and freedom that I admire and feel is necessary, is it my duty to rid them of their privilege to live? Shall I play the judge in who deserves to live? I don't know if this is morally appropriate, but I care little. I act as I see fit. If I am more fit to survive than others, I will demonstrate this ability frequently. I will also use this ability to impose my beliefs and standards. I will rid society of those who cannot adapt to these beliefs and standards. I am truly a revolutionary. I am bringing the change that is needed for America.

The Old West is a land of opportunity, a land of change. The eastern folk often preach of this idea of Manifest Destiny. If this is the same land that they advertise, perhaps there is hope for society. I am here doing my best to bring this hope to fruition. My weapons remain my most useful tools in pursuing hope for others and myself.

My thoughts came to a conclusion with a halt at my horse's sudden stop. I was so caught up in thought that I did not realize the strange warning that lay a mere fifty or so yards ahead of me. A half built wall of skulls lay stretched from side to side of the canyon, with an opening in the middle to pass through. The opening was there as if it was leaving the option to enter through it, but hardly recommending it.

Without even realizing Ren was behind me on his horse, he stated solemnly, "Spooky stuff, partner."

I countered sarcastically, "Spooky my ass. Damn reds thinkin' a bunch of skulls will scare us is admirable, but just stupid."

I spurred my horse and pulled the reins again, commanding my horse to move once again. But almost in synchronized timing, as my horse stepped, an arrow flew down from an unknown source to stick in the ground right in front of my horse's step.

To make it apparent I was not flustered, I yelled to no one in particular, "I think you missed!" I laughed loudly to mock my assailant. I began hastily scanning the entire canyon, spinning in circles several times in a panic. I was under assault for reasons unknown to me, by an individual I could not see. It was a nightmare.

"Show yourself!" I shouted as I swiftly popped my holster and drew my gun. Allowing the opportunity for the attackers to show themselves, I waited moments with my dry fingers still clenched around the cold iron. I raised my companion with a fierce anger, shooting into the air three times.

Following my emotional outburst, I saw an arrow flying towards me from the corner of my eye. Processing little other than survival, I dived towards the ground; rolling onto my rear to glance around. Seeing no more arrows darting towards me, I pushed myself up with one hand, the other preoccupied with holding the gun. I spun 360 degrees to look where the arrow had arrived. I saw it was just below my footprint, just as it had been just below my horse's footprint. I was now realizing they were not missing. They were teasing me. They had me in the palm of their hand, but were merely playing out the situation to watch me crumple up into a fetal position and die in shame. Well, that's what they expected me to do. I had no such intentions.

Before I could enter into survival mode, and release my fury through my trusty six shooter, I was interrupted by a soft voice that spoke a distance behind me. However, I realized this stranger was addressing me.