2
"Triple Trouble"
Two minutes later…
The five gunslingers under Jenkins' payroll finally made it to the Paradise Inn.
No hesitations. No damn small talk.
They pushed through the saloon doors like thunder rolling into town.
Behind the counter, the innkeeper stood up fast, nervous as a rattler caught in a sack.
> "Howdy there, gents! Welcome to Paradise Inn, finest comfort this side of the dust! Heh-heh…"
His chuckle died in the silence.
The five stood like carved stone, faces as cold as death's whisper.
No smiles. No words. Just that tension hangin' heavy in the air like a noose before sunrise.
"Ugh…"
The innkeeper gulped. Even the flies seemed to stop buzzin'.
Then, finally, one of the five spoke.
"That hedgehog in the cloak... he stayin' here?"
The innkeeper stammered like a drunk in Sunday mass.
"Y-Y-Yessir! Room number 003, up on the second floor!"
Two of the five nodded and slipped back out — headed next door.
The other three? They climbed the stairs. Quiet. Careful.
They drew their irons slow. Moved with steps soft like dust fallin' on a coffin.
Meanwhile, the other two reached the second story of the saloon next door.
Luck was on their side — a balcony ran right next to the target's window. Close enough to jump. And so they did.
---
They peeked through the window.
Inside, the cloaked hedgehog was busy… eatin'.
Not a care in the world. Not even lookin' behind him.
"Jackpot…"
whispered one, drawin' his gun.
The second one didn't say a damn thing. But his hand spoke plenty as it wrapped 'round his piece.
---
Upstairs in Room 003, the other three were locked, loaded, and ready.
One of 'em nodded.
That meant he'd kick it down.
They gave the nod back.
3…
2…
1…
BAM!
The door flew off the hinges like the devil kicked it.
Dust flew. Furniture crashed. Silence shattered.
CLICK—BOOM! BOOM! BOOM! BOOM!
They lit that room up like it owed 'em blood.
No eyes, just instinct.
They weren't shootin' at nothin'.
They were shootin' at everything.
---
When the smoke settled…
There were two bodies lyin' in the middle of the room.
Shot full of holes. Real dead.
But hold on…
It wasn't the hedgehog.
It was the two who climbed through the window.
Dead. By their own men's bullets.
Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
A sound echoed from the shadows. Slow and steady.
Someone was munchin' on somethin'.
Out walked the hedgehog. Calm as a windless dusk.
Struck a match, lit the lantern, and looked 'em dead in the eye.
"If this is how y'all work… best y'all stay home and sell beans instead."
---
The three stood frozen. Empty guns. Empty hope.
"Do what you gotta do,"
one muttered, defiant but beat.
> "I ain't one to kill a man who's got nothin' left to fight with,"
the hedgehog said.
"You might live… if God's feelin' generous today."
He walked over to the corpses, grabbed their revolvers, checked the chambers.
Still full.
He tossed each of the three a loaded piece.
They caught 'em. No words. They all knew what came next.
Each one backed off, takin' ten steps like the old days.
---
BANG. BANG. BANG.
Three shots.
Three bodies dropped.
The hedgehog didn't flinch.
"Guess the Lord wasn't smilin' on y'all today."
He holstered his iron. Spoke low, like it was just another Tuesday.
"Didn't expect Jenkins' boys to come so quick.
Hot-blooded bastards…
But hell — I'll cool that fire down."
---
He walked down the stairs…
Out the saloon doors…
And there they were.
Jenkins' whole gang.
Thirty of 'em.
Waitin'.
Rifles drawn.
"Well I'll be damned,"
Jenkins' second brother said.
"This one's got teeth…"
"Let's see if he bites through thirty barrels,"
said the third.
---
The hedgehog didn't blink.
He reached under his cloak…
Pulled it back.
Underneath: a sword.
Wrapped and strapped to his hip like it'd been there all his life.
"Any last words, stranger?"
Jenkins' third brother asked.
"Just one,"
the hedgehog said, grabbing the hilt.
"Y'all screwed."
SHHING!
He drew the blade.
---
"FIRE!!!"
RATATATATATATATATATATAT!
Dust. Flame. Bullets flyin' like a swarm of hornets.
But he was gone.
In a blink, he was in the middle of 'em.
The blade sang.
CHING! SLASH! THUD!
Arms fell. Rifles broke. Men dropped before their fingers could twitch.
Thirteen down in ten seconds.
Ten more runnin'.
The rest? Too scared to move.
---
And then…
Only the three Jenkins brothers were left.
First and second?
Shot down before their guns even left the holsters.
"Don't forget,"
the hedgehog said,
"I only used one hand."
Now only the eldest Jenkins remained.
He dropped to his knees.
Begged like a preacher caught stealin' from the tray.
"Please… I ain't got no fight left…"
The hedgehog nodded.
"I don't kill those who've lost the will to kill."
He turned.
Put the blade away.
Walked away.
---
"Sucker…"
CLICK.
The "crutch" in Jenkins' hand… wasn't a crutch.
It was a rifle.
---
BANG!
One shot. But it missed.
BANG!
The hedgehog fired back. Straight to the ribs.
Jenkins coughed. Dropped his "crutch".
It clattered to the ground, split clean down the middle.
Inside?
Gears. Triggers. Wires.
It was a gun.
"Cool toy,"
the hedgehog muttered.
"But next time you fake a limp, don't forget your foot ain't the part that bleeds."
---
He slung the broken rifle over his horse's saddle.
Maybe he'd fix it later.
The crowd started gatherin'.
Folks steppin' outta their homes. Outta their fear.
They saw what no one ever thought they'd see.
The Jenkins Gang…
Dead. Every last one.
---
"Was it him?"
the bartender whispered in his old countryside drawl.
He stepped out. Spat in the dust.
Looked into the distance…
Just in time to catch a silhouette on horseback ridin' away slow.
Fadin' into the night.
The bartender smiled.
"If he did that all on his lonesome…
maybe there's still hope for this damn land after all."
He tipped his hat.
"Ride safe, stranger."
---
Achoo!
Far off in the dark, the hedgehog sneezed.
"Hmph…"
He looked back over his shoulder at the little town he just left behind.
Didn't say nothin'.
Just stared.
Like he might come back one day.
Or like he hoped he wouldn't have to.
---
And somewhere else…
in a creakin' old house…
A mute fennec fox sat foldin' blood-stained paper cranes.
Didn't talk.
Didn't blink.
Some said he was born of silence.
Others swore he walked out of the desert carryin' a dead man.
Either way…
He was watchin'.
---
TO BE CONTINUED.