Greendale: Meet the gang

Cowboys were the first organized crime group in recorded American History. They could usually be identified by their red bandannas they wore. However, like an animal in the wild, there is always something hunting the Cowboys. The law isn't enough anymore, never has been. The cowboys do have something hunting them. The people they hurt, the people that survive their attacks, are hunting them. Like predators over prey, in the end, it is futile.

My name is Charlie, and as I lay back on my cot I go back to that night my childhood ended. The fires all over town, the yipping cowboys as they rode out of town.

They came right in to show that this was their territory. We were peaceful people, nothing ever happened in this town of ours, there were no criminals here. They killed everyone, the only reason they didn't kill us was because I was playing in a pasture with my sister and horsing around with my buddies. We came back because we saw the smoke towering over the land. We went over there and saw the last of the bandits running out of the town. There was a body in the road, ounce we examined it we saw the red bandanna on him. There was nothing we could do except get the horses and wait for the fires to die. Ounce they did, we went in and got whatever we could find, we left town as well. We vowed revenge on those hell riders. We would take on the name of our town so that it may never be forgotten. Greendale. May it burn within every history book, I want the world to know, Who we are. We look like children, but we bring HELL to those who so much as dare to tie that red bandanna.

I woke with a start, to only realize that I was in the middle of a valley, as always. I looked over to Bell. I reckon she's bout twelve. I'd camp out in Hell if it meant keep her out of harms way. She's good with horses, and sortta good with a gun. I looked at the rest of our little group.

Doc, his dad was a blacksmith, his mom was a teacher. He was the result. He was bout fouteen. He's all smart and that stuff. He made his own gun. It looked like a shotgun, with a long muzzle, it used revolver bullets. It had on of those telescopes welded on the top. He's our triumph card in any poker game, by the time the one guy figures out where he is being shot at from, the devil is tapping his shoulder and shaking his hand to welcome him.

Butch, the only kid in the country who can kill a Grizzly with his bare hands. He was bout sixteen; I am too. He always had that lucky huntin knife of his. He was our strong offensive, and our usual intimidater. He was like a brother to me.

Antonio, the only mexican kid in the group. I don't reckon he had a family before the cowboys came in. He was a thief, but he was our best friend. Greendale was his home, and its flames struck him as deep as rest of us. He's bout thirteen. I looked around. The sun was peaking just above the horizon.

I grabbed my gun. Time to get some breakfast. Maybe if I'm lucky, I'll find another set of rattle snake eggs. Those were the best ounce you roasted them just right.