...and I proceeded to shoot him in the knee, and he falls off. I then chase him down, hogtie him, and lift him onto my noble steed.
This is where I am stumped. How do I punish this no-good thief? At first, I contemplate slitting his throat.
Then, I figure I'll just leave him on the train tracks.
Then I try to think outside the box, and I'm about to leave him to the wolves, and watch as the buzzards feasted on his flesh.
So what did I do with this poor man? I'll tell you what I did.
I took this dirty, unshaven man clothed a pair of dirty brown pants and low cut shirt across the border. He dripped blood behind us. Wolves chased us, and more than once I was tempted to leave him there for their meal. But no, this man would pay in a more violent way. I bandaged his wounds and carried on.
As he shouted curses at me in Spanish, I rode across New Austin, ignoring the potshots that criminals took at me in Theives Landing and along the dusty trails. I had a mission. That mission was to make this man suffer.
We arrived in Tall Trees in the late afternoon, and I found a nice clearing in the snow. It would be a nice place for this man to spend his final moments, amidst the freshly fallen snow and great pines. He didn't deserve such a fine place for his grave, but alas, it is the only place the deed could be done.
I dismounted and retrieved the man, hogtied and exasperated from the long journey, and laid him in the powder. I turned away, and readied myself. Knife in one hand, and a vial of pig blood in the other. I turned and looked at the man, dazed from blood-loss but still furious, and pitied him for a moment. A fleeting moment. I knew what had to be done.
Uncorking the bottle, I took a deep breath, and then pored it's contents across the man's back and trim head of hair. With this, he must have realized what I planned for him. He went from cursing my family to pleading for his life, a fear-stricken expression across his face. He was alert now. "Good," I thought. "he will need to keep his wits about him."
I took to one knee, and carefully placed a cigarette in his front pocket. I figured he deserved a final smoke. Every man, regardless of his sins, deserves that final pleasure. I then cut his restraints. He rose, and stumbled with a cry and he shifted his weight, sand and grit caked to the bandaging on the other. Tears ran down his face, either from pain or fear I cannot say. He did not even attempt to attack me, a wise move. He ran on borrowed time. He limped through the snowy terrain for about 100 yards before hearing the distant, yet unmistakable, grunts and snorts of a grizzly. However, to this Mexican native who had never stepped across the border, let alone into the forests, did not know what manner of beast these vocalizations came from. Still, while foreign to him, instinct told him whatever the noises came from was fearsome and most likely violent and on the hunt. Hunting for him.
The man increased his pace, wincing from pain, and began to draw short breaths. I watched him from afar, as the mighty grizzly emerged from the brush and pursued him, irritated by his transgression into its territory. As it gained, the man was overcome with fear and collapsed. The grizzly closed the distance. The man accepted his fate as he saw the grizzly approach, and glanced at the cigarette I placed in his front pocket. He grasped it with his numb digits and removed a lighter from his back pocket.
With this motion, the bear's eyes widened. With one swift motion, he snatched the lighter from the man and in a booming voice said, "Only you can prevent forest fires." He then proceeded to disembowel the man for his transgression.
This message brought to you by the United States Forest Service.