In honor of Maelstrom, busy wreaking havoc out West right this very minute, let's write a good old-fashioned, rootin'-tootin' Western!
Put on your spurs, grab your hat, and saddle up that bronco, Pardner! This here story will run for two whole days, so come around often and channel your inner Zane Grey, y' hear?
The sun cast a golden glow over the distant mesas. Clive "Cactus" Hoskins watched in silence, then swung himself into the saddle. He patted the neck of his horse, Trumpet, and scanned the horizon. Finally he saw it--a faint cloud rising from the dry earth into the morning sky. Was it the drovers, bringing the cattle he had won from Blackheart Bartholomew in an all-night poker game? Or was it just a dust devil?
He was about to find out...