“Missy Hatchy,” Gilly Mufft asked with a quavering voice, “what if Broken Eye comes to Dry Gulch?”
“Don’t you worry your little butter biscuit head, Gilly,” Mol replied. “Broken Eye would never dare come to Dry Gulch, and if he did...” Mol said with a stern, determined look, “He’d have to deal with Hatchet Mol! And that fat old coward doesn’t want to do that!” Mol chuckled. The eyes of the Young’ins gathered around her were wide with adoring respect.
Mol was happy to tell stories about her past exploits, without having to actually confront the world’s worst villains anymore. She sighed with contentment…then screams and shouts erupted outside! With Young’ins howling in terror, Mol rushed outside to see what was happening.
The street was in chaos. Creatures were scattering and scurrying in every direction, hollering in panic, and running for cover.
“Bandits! Run for your lives!” a Mouse yelled at Mol as he ran past in the swirling dust.
“If it’s bandits, we must fight!” Mol yelled. “Save the town! Rally here!”
A few creatures that heard her stopped their rush toward the buildings. “What’ll we do?” Gungo Packrat asked.
“I don’t know,” the old Jackrabbit replied. “Let’s see what’s happening.” Then she saw it. Although it was too dark to make it all out, she saw the distinct shape of a shadowy beast swinging toward Dry Gulch on a rope! As it got closer, understanding flooded into her mind. “Cougar!” she yelled. “It’s a Cougar bandit! Grab whatever you can to defend the town!”
WHUMP! SCHREECH! Seeing that he could easily land on the ledge, Broken Eye did a rough, but upright landing on the main street of Dry Gulch.
As the Cougar bandit landed directly in front of her blacksmith shop, Mol quickly ran inside and grabbed several of the hatchets from her collection. Running back out in the street, she rapidly sized up the situation.
“Broken Eye! You old, worthless scoundrel! You came back so I could finish you off, eh?”
Broken Eye stopped short in his tracks. “Well, well, isht an old has been…Fancy mettin’ you here.”
“We’re not meetin’, Broken Eye, no slimy polecats are welcome here!” Mol replied. “You’ll be leavin’ now, or I’ll be fillin’ you full o’ hatchets.” Mol raised a deadly looking hatchet in her paw. Its blade glinted in the torchlight.
Mol looked around. Creatures of every age and size were gathering, brandishing every manner of weapon—torches, lanterns, knives, swords, machetes, scythes, picks, shovels, clubs, slingshots. The sheer numbers of those opposing the bandit, and their determined advance towards him, gave her pride.
The Jackrabbit smiled. “Now, Broken Eye, you have one chance to leave Dry Gulch alive,” she said. “You can swing back out on your rope, and get out of Dry Gulch forever, or—” She paused and looked to the crowd around her. “Or, you can deal with us! It’s your choice.”
Broken Eye hesitated, then in a show of bravado, he snarled, “Ya’s peace’ble ’fraidy beasts oughta go home to ya’s Mamas. We’s can slice you up! We’s can chop you ta bits! We’s can tear ya down ta fur and bones! We’s can...”
Before he could finish his sentence, Mol finished it for him. “You can get out of Dry Gulch!” she roared. “Charge!”
The Dry Gulchers rushed Broken Eye as a single mass, spitting and bellowing threats and curses. Being hit by thrown torches and lanterns, Broken Eye’s fur was smoldering in several places. One direct hit with a torch thrown by Gilly set his tail on fire. ZING! SWISH! ZING! ZING! A barrage of shovels, picks, spades and hammers flew at him from several directions, pelting him like hail. “OUCH! OOOCH! YEOW!” In addition to the crowd advancing on him, some town creatures were also throwing hot frying pans, kettles, irons and pots of coffee at him from windows. The mass attack took its toll. Broken Eye, yelling in pain and fear, jumped off into the night sky clinging to his rope.
“Annie,” he called desperately, “haul up da rope! Haul me up!”
But Mol had other ideas. Impressed with the spontaneous showing of courage from her Dry Gulch friends, Mol had reserved her hatchets, in case they were really needed.
“Well,” she mused, “this is a perfect use for my skills.” As Broken Eye dangled in open space waiting for Annie to haul him up, Mol said, “Would all the Young’ins help me please? I’d like you all to carry torches and lanterns over to the rim of the cliff. Gather all the light you can there, I need to see the rope holding Broken Eye.”
The Young’ins scurried to the rim, carrying every type of torch and lantern they could find. The light bathed Broken Eye. Mol, who could still split a cactus needle at fifty paces, took careful aim on the rope.
“Annie, Annie, hurry up!” he howled piteously. He inched upward as Annie pulled on him with all her might.