11.59.35 hours

Boom!
The explosion was much louder than he'd anticipated.

He knew the effect though. The bullet from the Colt six-shooter made a satisfying splash as the sleeping man slumped in the chair in front of him, jerked, and exhaled his last breath.

He had no way of expecting that day would be any different from all the others, the sun was shining over his well-kept estate, such as it was. There was a stand of corn, some fruit bushes, and chickens scratching in the dirt in front of his cabin, searching for the last few grains scattered earlier that morning. His wife hugged him as he picked up his knapsack, which would, if he were lucky contain several rabbits for the pot when he returned in a few hours time. He tousled his son's hair fondly before striding off into the forest to check his snares.

11.59.40 hours

Boom!
Again the Colt leapt in his hand. Another satisfying thunk as the second bullet hit home. Once more a sleeping body jerked. This time it coughed and a trickle of blood ran from the corner of its mouth, to mingle with the few scattered hairs – the start of a blonde beard that would grow no more.

He'd checked several of his snares, but none of them contained game. This puzzled him; usually he would have at least two fine rabbits from these. He saw that one of them had been tripped, and its anchor torn from the ground. The snare was open though, so a very intelligent animal must have escaped from it, but more likely someone had beaten him to the snare.

His growing family needed food though, so he moved deeper into the forest checking his other traps as he went. At the same time he gathered herbs. Some to provide a hot tea-like drink; some to make healing solutions and creams; and some to provide deep relief in cases of severe pain.

His wife was from a family of healers, and the locals came to their cabin in times of need. He had picked up the rudiments of the use of some of the tinctures she made, but he preferred making tea and ale from them.

Disturbing reports had been circulating over the past few days of a gang of vicious criminals on the rampage. It was said that they had escaped, after murdering their guards, from the state prison a hundred miles away.

There was nothing for them round here though he mused. All the homesteaders were barely making a living, not even a decent horse between them in this valley. They'll just pass through to the more lucrative pickings of the townships over the mountains.

11.59.45 hours

Boom!
He managed to control the kick of the revolver better this time. The result was the same though. A man died. Strangely there was no blood this time. Perhaps because the man was over weight, or perhaps it oozed out of the hole in his back. It didn't matter; he'd joined his colleagues in another world.

His puzzlement changed to incredulity, then fear began to tug at him. All of his traps so far were empty. Three hours after he had begun checking them he'd still not had anything to put in his knapsack, apart from the herbs he'd been gathering along the way.

He was bending over one of his last remaining snares, noting that this had also been released, when they struck. Two pairs of strong arms grabbed him and forced him to the ground. He could hear laughter and heard talk of making an example. He could see a couple of rabbits swinging from the belt of one of his assailants before he was knocked unconscious.

He came to lying on a thin scattering of straw. He was in an old barn, in the company of five horses, all feeding on hay placed in racks near where they were tethered.

As he struggled to move he heard a shout, "He's awake!" He twisted his body to peer at his captor. It was an effort, as he was securely bound, but soon he saw a youngish man with a straggling blonde beard staring down at him. A well-aimed kick landed in his groin. A red haze filled his eyes; pain flooded the whole of his body. By the time he had started to recover there were five of them gazing down on him.

11.59.50 hours

Boom!
This time the bullet went straight through and embedded itself in the log wall behind the man, who gasped and reflexively raised his arms, which then fell to hang limply at his side. The sudden movement had masked the sound of any last breath escaping from his lungs.

They had dragged him outside, and tied an arm and a leg to each of four horses. The horses were skittish, and as they jerked trying to rid themselves of their human burden, they alternately tightened and loosened the ropes holding him. He was lifted from the rough ground and then flung back down again several times before the men brought the horses under control. "Now we can have fun!" The fat one cried out, and his companions laughed in agreement. They eased the horses apart until he was spread-eagled as if on a cross, but suspended three feet in the air.

His arms and legs loosened in their sockets, but the men had no intention of pulling him apart. He was to be mutilated yes, but not killed. He was to be used as a warning to the local populace that these criminals' word was law, and anything they demanded was to be given to them. The wreck of a man they dumped in the valley would serve to warn others of their fate if they disobeyed.

Eventually they lowered him and undid the bindings. He couldn't move, it was as if knives were piercing his every muscle, he was screaming with agony – much to the delight of his torturers. They hadn't finished with him yet though, no, he was still almost whole.

He was stripped and moved into the cabin's small room that served as everything except bedroom.

Systematically they broke his bones, in his feet, in one of his hands, one of his legs and in one arm. The right side of his body was left hardly touched – he'd need those to drag himself back to his homestead when they had finished with him.

The 'coupe de grace' as far as they were concerned, was to ruin his manhood. This they did with gusto. A red-hot poker ended any chance he'd have of fathering more children.

The five men stood back and admired their handiwork. In front of them lay a ruined body, impossible to recognise as the handsome young man who had so recently set out cheerfully to check his snares and gather herbs for his lovely wife.

11.59.55 hours

Boom!
The effort of holding the revolver was almost too much for his pain-wracked body, but the fifth man bucked satisfactorily and expired. Almost done, he struggled to take in the results of his handiwork. Five men lay dead and the valley folk, his neighbours, would be able to live in peace raising both family and crops.

They'd left him writhing in terrible agony on the old chair to which they had finally bound him.

The old man had helped. He'd bathed his aching body with cold water, and fed him whiskey to ease some of the pain. All this as the men slept off their drunken stupor, their celebratory drinking session as they smelt victory over the valley's farmers and their families.

The old man had shuffled around, mixing the potion to the exact requirement of the injured man, following blindly the instructions given him. The gang had no need to fear him, since they had taken over his cabin and beaten him, he'd hardly been able to walk. He had cowered before them and seen to their every comfort, hoping to live a little longer.

The potion was made and was simmering gently on the cabin fire, ready to make the coffee for the gang when they finally shook off the effects of their drinking session. It was a clear and almost tasteless liquid, but its potency would achieve the desired results.

As the tortured man had predicted, they all gulped down their coffee greedily after being woken by their leader. The effects didn't take long to work, and soon they were all deeply unconscious, slumped in the chairs around the table.

12 midday

Boom!

The old man stared in horror. He'd thought it was all over. Five criminals lay dead in his cabin. He was grateful beyond measure for that, but the sixth bullet had killed the tortured man.

The agony he'd undergone, and the knowledge that he was no longer a man had convinced him to end it all.