Don't blame him.  People see those shiny silvery-black guns stickin' in his pockets, and they know it's not wise to mess with him.  People been behaving like quiet little church mice and thinkin' twice 'bout cuttin' up and gettin' into trouble ....

I, for one, respect a feller like Dead Eye.  We need someone 'round these parts like him.  For a while, before he came, our town was known for cattle rustlers, flim flam artists, thievery, debauchery, and only God knows what else.  It wasn't safe for man or beast, not even for your mama or children.  Nobody went outside after dark for fear of being attacked or shot up to pieces.

Now that Dead Eye is here, we can go out after dark and actually enjoy a drink at one of the bars or at one of our fine eatin' places for a tall, cool glass of sasparilla or draft beer or a nice, thick, hot steak and potatoes dinner that sticks to yer ribs long after you've swallered the last bite.  Kids can play their runnin' or shoutin' games and couples can walk, arm in arm, to catch the last rays of sun before night falls.

Even the Injuns think twice afore even thinkin' of saunterin' themselves here.  They know that there's a guy who means business with his guns and they'd be wise enough to stay away, or they are gonna face consequences spelled out in the form of bullets.  Yeah, times are real peaceful here, and we all owe it to the man known only by his nickname: Dead-Eye.

~To be continued.~