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In the dimly lit back corner of the Gray Wolf Saloon, the air was thick with the scent of whiskey and tobacco. Though it was 1904, and they had electricity, and man had taken to the air the year before, a flickering light from an oil lamp cast long shadows on the walls, creating an atmosphere ripe for storytelling.

At a worn wooden table, a group of old cowboys and outlaws gathered for their weekly card game, their faces etched with the lines of countless adventures. Among them sat Eli Thompson, a Western author known for his vivid tales of the frontier.

Thompson had come to Hard Scrabble seeking inspiration for his next novel, and he knew the best stories came from the most unexpected places. Tonight, he hoped to capture the essence of the Old West through the voices of those who had lived it.

After dealing the cards, the men began to talk, their voices a low murmur punctuated by the occasional laughter. Thompson listened intently, his notebook on his lap, open and ready to jot down any wisdom or colorful anecdotes

One-Eyed Jed McGraw, a grizzled cowboy with a patch over his left eye, took a swig of whiskey and leaned back in his chair.

“You young’uns don’t know what it was like back in the day,” he began, his voice gravelly. “We didn’t have no fancy gadgets or comforts. Just our wits and a good horse.”

Slim Turner, a reformed outlaw with a reputation for his quick draw, nodded in agreement.

“Ain’t that the truth. I remember the time we had to outrun a posse through the Badlands. Lost half our supplies and nearly starved, but we made it out alive.”

The men chuckled, and Thompson scribbled furiously, capturing the essence of the words. He could almost see the dusty trails and hear the thunder of hooves as they spoke.

Bull Johnson, a towering figure with a booming voice, slapped his cards on the table.

“And don’t forget the time we faced off against the Comanche. They were fierce warriors, but we held our ground. Took everything we had, but we earned their respect.”

Thompson’s pen flew across the page, his mind racing with ideas. The stories would breathe life into his characters, the raw, unfiltered experiences of men who had lived on the edge of civilization.

As the night wore on, the tales grew bolder, each man trying to outdo the other with his exploits. There were stories of cattle drives, gunfights, lost loves, and hard-won victories.

Through it all, Thompson remained a silent observer, soaking in the rich tapestry of their lives.

McGraw reminisced about the time he led a massive cattle drive from Texas to Montana. The journey was fraught with treacherous river crossings and relentless stampedes.

One night, a fierce storm rolled in, spooking the herd and causing a chaotic stampede. McGraw and his men rode hard, risking life and limb to regain control, and through sheer grit, they managed to steer the cattle back on course, ensuring success and earning a hefty payday.

Slim Turner had a knack for finding trouble, and his tale of his silver heist was a favorite among the group. Slim and his gang had caught wind of the shipment of gold readying for transport through the Sierra Nevada.

They planned an elaborate ambush, using the rugged terrain to their advantage. The heist went off without a hitch, and they made off with a fortune in silver.

However, the law was hot on their trail, leading to a high-stakes chase through the mountains. Turner’s quick thinking and knowledge of the land allowed them to evade capture and disappear into the wilderness.

Bull Johnson’s story of his encounter with the Comanche was one of bravery and respect. While scouting new territory, Buck and his men stumbled upon a Comanche hunting party.

Tensions were high, but Bull, recognizing the importance of diplomacy, approached the Comanche leader with an offer of peace. Through tense negotiations and displays of mutual respect, they managed to avoid conflict and even established a tentative alliance. The encounter taught Bull the value of understanding and respecting different cultures.

Tom Dalton shared the legend of the Lost Mine, a tale of greed and betrayal. Dalton and his partner discovered a rich vein of gold deep in the mountains.

They swore to keep it a secret, but greed got the better of his partner, who tried to claim the mine for himself. A fierce struggle ensued, and Dalton ended up getting left for dead.

Miraculously, he survived and made his way back to civilization, but the location of the mine was lost forever. The story became a cautionary tale about greed and the importance of loyalty.

One of the most daring tales came from Hank “Ghost” Miller, a former outlaw known for his stealth. Hank recounted when he and his crew planned and executed a train robbery.

They targeted a heavily guarded train carrying payroll for a mining company. Using the cover of night, they boarded the train, subdued the guards, and made off with the loot. So carefully planned was the heist that authorities were left baffled, solidifying his reputation as a master thief.

Miller was known for his stealth and cunning, a master thief who could slip in and out of any situation without a trace. His reputation had earned him many enemies, but none more dangerous than Reaper Kane, a bounty hunter with a relentless drive and a deadly aim.

The encounter began on a moonless night in the town of Dry Gulch. Miller had just pulled off a daring heist, relieving a wealthy banker of a small fortune in gold.

His senses were on alert as he trotted through the darkened alleys. He knew the bounty on his head had attracted the attention of the best in the business, and Kane was the best.

Kane had been tracking Miller for weeks, studying his every move. He was a tall, imposing figure with a cold, calculating demeanor. His nickname, “Reaper,” was well-earned, as he had brought many outlaws to justice, dead or alive.

Tonight, he was determined to add Miller to his list.

Miller’s instincts, however, told him somebody was tailing him. He quickened his pace, weaving through the narrow streets, but Kane was always one step ahead. The chase led them to the outskirts of town, where the shadows of an old abandoned mine loomed.

Miller slipped into the mine, hoping to lose Kane in the labyrinth of tunnels. The air was thick and ancient, and the only sound was the echo of his footsteps. He moved silently, his eyes scanning the darkness for any sign of his pursuer.

Suddenly, a voice cut through the silence.

“You can’t hide forever, Ghost.”

Miller froze, his heart pounding. Kane’s voice was calm, almost taunting.

Miller knew he had to stay one step ahead to survive. He moved deeper into the mine, his mind racing with possible escape routes.

Kane followed, his footsteps steady and unhurried. He had faced many outlaws — but none as elusive as Miller. The thrill of the hunt drove him forward, his senses sharp and focused.

As Miller rounded a corner, he spotted a narrow shaft leading to the surface. It was a risky move, but he had no choice.

He climbed quickly, his muscles straining with the effort. Just as he reached the top, a shot rang out, the bullet grazing his shoulder.

Miller gritted his teeth against the pain and pulled himself up, emerging into the cool night air. He knew he had to keep moving, but his injury slowed him down.

Kane was close behind, his silhouette a dark shadow against the moonlit sky.

The showdown took place in a clearing just outside the mine. Miller, wounded and cornered, faced Kane, who stood with his gun drawn, a look of grim determination on his face.

“It’s over, Hank,” Kane said, his voice steady. “You’re coming with me, dead or alive.”

Miller’s mind raced, searching for a way out. He knew he couldn’t outrun Kame, but he could outthink him.

With a sudden burst of energy, Miller lunged to the side, throwing a handful of dirt into Kane’s eyes. Kane staggered back, momentarily blinded.

Miller seized the opportunity, drawing his gun and firing a warning shot.

“I don’t want to kill you, Silas. But I won’t go down without a fight.”

Kane wiped the dirt from his eyes, his vision clearing. He saw the determination in Miller’s eyes and knew this was a fight he couldn’t win easily.

With a grudging respect, he lowered his gun.

“You’re a slippery one, Ghost,” Kane said, a hint of admiration in his voice. “But this isn’t over. I’ll be back.”

Miller nodded, his grip on his gun steady. “I’ll be ready.”

As Kane retreated into the night, Miller knew he had narrowly escaped. The encounter had left him shaken but more determined than ever to stay one step ahead.

The sun was setting over the Dry Gulch, casting long shadows across the town.

Miller sat at a corner table in the saloon, nursing a glass of whiskey. It had been months since his encounter with Kane, and the memory of their showdown still lingered in his mind and on his shoulder.

As the saloon door swung open, Miller looked to see Kane entering, his tall frame silhouetted against the fading light. The bounty hunter’s eyes scanned the room before locking onto Miller’s.

With a nod, Kane approached and took a seat across from him.

“Hank,” Kane greeted, his voice steady. “I hear you’ve been keeping a low profile.”

Hank smirked. “Just trying to stay out of trouble, Silas. What brings you here?”

Silas leaned in, his expression serious.

“I have a proposition for you. One last job. There’s a shipment of gold being transported through the Badlands. It’s heavily guarded, but the payoff is worth it.”

Hank raised an eyebrow.

“And you want me to help you? Last time we met, you were trying to put me in a casket.”

Silas nodded.

“I know. But this job requires your skills. We both know you’re the best at what you do. Besides, there’s more at stake here than just gold.”

Hank’s curiosity was piqued. “What do you mean?”

Silas glanced around to ensure no one was listening.

“The shipment is part of a larger operation. Corrupt officials are using it to fund illegal activities. If we pull this off, we can expose them and take down a major criminal network.”

Hank considered the offer. The idea of taking down corrupt officials and making a fortune was tempting. He knew it was risky, but the chance to do something meaningful was too good to pass up.

“Alright, Silas,” Hank said, extending his hand. “I’m in. But we do this my way.”

Silas shook Hank’s hand, a rare smile crossing his face. “Agreed. Let’s get to work.”

The two men spent the next few days planning the heist, combining their expertise to devise a foolproof strategy. Hank’s knowledge of stealth and Silas’ tactical skills made them a formidable team.

On the night of the heist, they set out for the Badlands, their horses moving silently through the darkness. Like Silas said, there were heavily armed guards, but Hank quickly spotted a weak point in their defenses.

As they approached the convoy, Hank signaled for Silas to take out the guards on the perimeter. Silas neutralized the sentries, clearing the way for Hank to slip inside.

Hank moved like a shadow, his movements silent and deliberate. He reached the wagon carrying the gold and began to work on the lock.

Just as he was about to open it, a guard appeared, his gun drawn. Before the guard could react, Silas’s shot rang out, dropping him instantly.

Hank nodded thanks and quickly opened the wagon, revealing the glittering treasure. With the gold secured, they escaped, the sound of hooves echoing through the night.

As they rode back to Dry Gulch, Hank could not help but feel a sense of satisfaction. They had pulled off the heist and struck a blow against corruption.

Once back in town, they divvied up the gold and raised a toast to their success. Silas looked at Hank, a newfound respect in his eyes.

“You did good, Hank,” Silas said. “Maybe you’re not such a ghost after all.”

Hank chuckled.

“And maybe you’re not such a reaper. Here’s to one last job.”

As they clinked their glasses, the two men knew that their paths might diverge again, but for this moment, they were allies, united by a common goal and the thrill of the heist. Silas would die a year and a half later in a riding accident, dragged to death by a wild mount when his foot became entangled with a stirrup.

The adventures, filled with danger, excitement, and hard-earned wisdom, were the lifeblood of the old cowboys and outlaws. Each tale added to the rich tapestry of the Old West, a catalog of the rugged spirit and indomitable will of those who lived it.

As the night wore on and the stories and whiskey flowed, so did the card game. The old cowboys and outlaws, each with their tales of adventure, played their hands with a mix of skill and luck. The stakes were not high, not just for the pot of Indian Head pennies in the center of the table and the honor of paying the saloon tab.

In the final round, it came down to McGraw and Johnson.

One-eyed Jed had a reputation for reading people and cards. On the other hand, Bull was known for his bold moves and unshakable confidence.

The tension was palpable as they revealed their hands. Jed had a strong hand, but Bull’s was better, so with a triumphant grin, Buck laid down his cards, a winning combination.

“Looks like I win this round,” Bull boomed through the saloon.

The other men chuckled and clapped Bull on the back. Jed shook his head with a wry smile.

“Well, Bull, looks like the drinks are on you tonight.”

Bull laughed heartily.

“Fair enough, boys. Bartender, keep ’em coming! Tonight, the tab’s on me!”

The saloon erupted as Bull paid the tab, the camaraderie and laughter filling the room. Thompson watched with a smile, knowing he had witnessed a night of true Western spirit and friendship.

He closed his notebook and stood up, feeling gratitude for the opportunity to witness these living legends share their past.

“Thank you, gentlemen,” Thompson said, tipping his hat. “You’ve given me more than I could have ever hoped for.”

Jed grinned, his one good eye twinkling with mischief.

“Just make sure you get our good sides, son. And remember, some things are best left to the imagination.”

Thompson nodded, a smile tugging at his lips.

“I will do my best.”

Stepping out into the cool night air, Eli Thompson, Western author, felt a sense of renewed purpose. Tucking his notebook and pencil inside his coat, he wandered to the hotel, where he had booked a room, and his new-fangled typewriter waited for his arrival.

Life could be harsh and unforgiving in the southern Nevada dust town of Red Rock. The townsfolks lived in fear of the outlaws who roamed the borderland between Calfornios and the Vegas Wash, taking what they wanted at will, if not by force.

Among these outlaws was Jesse “Black Jack” McGraw, a man with a notorious reputation and a price on his head. One fateful day, Jesse rode into Red Rock, eyes scanning the dusty streets.

He was on the run from the law, seeking refuge in the one place he thought he might find it. As he dismounted his horse, he noticed a young woman struggling to lift a heavy grain sack.

Her name was Clara, and she ran the local general store, an inheritance from her father, who was murdered in cold blood by an outlaw named Snake Turner.

Despite his hardened exterior, something in Jesse stirred. He approached her and offered his help. She hesitated, recognizing him immediately, but the desperation in her eyes outweighed her fear.

“Thank you,” Clara said as Jesse easily hefted the sack.

Jesse nodded, tipping his hat. “Just doing what I can.”

Days turned into weeks, and Jesse returned to the store to help Clara with various tasks. The townsfolk watched with suspicion. However, Clara saw something different in him—a man seeking redemption.

One evening, as the sun dipped below the horizon, four outlaws rode into Red Rock, led by Snake Turner, a ruthless bandit with a vendetta against Jesse. The town braced for the worst, but Jesse stood his ground.

“Leave these people alone, Snake,” Jesse called out, his voice steady.

Snake sneered.

“You think you can stop us, Black Jack? You’re one of us!”

“Not anymore,” Jesse replied, drawing his revolver.

The air was tense as Jesse faced off against Snake Turner. The townsfolk watched from behind shuttered windows and doorways, holding their breath as the two men squared off.

Snake sneered, his hand hovering over his gun.

“You think you can take me, Maverick?”

Jesse’s eyes narrowed, his stance steady.

“It’s over, Snake.”

In a flash, Snake drew his revolver, but Jesse was faster. The crack of gunfire echoed through the street as both men fired simultaneously.

Jesse’s shot hit its mark, striking Snake in the shoulder and causing him to stagger. Snake’s bullet grazed Jesse’s arm, but he barely flinched, his focus unwavering.

Wounded but defiant, Snake tried to raise his gun again, but Jesse was already moving. With a swift, decisive shot, Jesse aimed for Snake’s chest.

The bullet struck true, and Snake fell to the ground, his gun dropping to the dusty roadway. The outlaw’s eyes widened in shock as he gasped for breath, the life draining from him.

Jesse approached cautiously, his pistol still trained on the dying man. Snakes’s defiance faded, replaced by a look of resignation.

“It’s over, Snake,” Jesse said quietly, holstering his gun. “You won’t be hurting anyone again.”

Snake’s eyes flickered one last time before closing forever. Quietly, the remaining three outlaws turned their horses against the setting sun and rode from town, having not once lifted a finger to help their fallen leader.

The townsfolk gathered around, their fear replaced by a morbid curiosity of witnessing a dead man face down in a wagon rut. Clara rushed to Jesse’s side, her eyes filled with concern.

“You okay?” she whispered.

Jesse smiled weakly, “I am now.”

As Jesse recovered from his wounds, the town of Red Rock began to see him in a new light. No longer was he the feared outlaw but a man who had risked his life to protect them.

Clara tended to his injuries, her care a contrast to the rough life he had known. Weeks passed, and Jesse’s strength returned.

He took on more responsibilities around the town, helping to rebuild the damage from the gunfight. The townsfolk, once wary, now greeted him with nods of respect and gratitude.

One day, as Jesse was repairing the roof of the general store, a stranger rode into town. He was a tall, imposing figure with a stern expression.

The townsfolk whispered among themselves, recognizing him as Marshal Ethan Hayes, a lawman known for his relentless pursuit of justice. Marshal Hayes dismounted and approached Jesse, his eyes narrowing.

“Black Jack McGraw, I’ve been looking for you.”

Jesse climbed down from the roof, his heart pounding. “Marshal Hayes. What brings you to Red Rock?”

“I heard about what you did here,” Hayes replied. “Taking down Snake Turner and his gang. But you still have a lot to answer for.”

Jesse nodded, his gaze steady. “I know. I’m ready to face the consequences.”

Clara stepped forward, her voice firm.

“Marshal, Jesse has changed. He’s been helping us rebuild, protecting the town. He’s not the same man he used to be.”

Hayes looked at Clara, then back at Jesse.

“People don’t change that easily, Miss. But I’ll give him a chance to prove himself.”

The Marshal decided to stay in Red Rock for a while, observing Jesse’s actions.

One noontime, bandits rode into town seeking revenge for the death of Turner led by Red Malone, a ruthless outlaw with a chip on his shoulder.

Red Rock braced for another battle, but they had Jesse and Hayes on their side this time. They stood shoulder to shoulder, ready to defend Red Rock.

“Looks like we have some unfinished business,” Red sneered, his eyes locked on Jesse.

“Not today, Red,” Jesse replied, his hand hovering over his revolver.

The gunfight was fierce, but with Jesse’s bravery and Hayes’ experience, they quickly overpowered the bandits. With the capture of Red, the town was safe once more.

Hayes approached Jesse, a rare smile on his face.

“You’ve proven yourself, Jesse. You’ve earned a second chance.”

Jesse nodded, relief washing over him.

“Thank you, Marshal.”

With Malone captured and his gang either dead or dying, the town of Red Rock breathed a sigh of relief. The threat that had loomed over them was finally gone, and the townsfolk could begin to rebuild their lives without fear.

Hayes took charge of Rufus, ensuring he was locked up in the town jail.

The following morning, Hayes prepared to transport Rufus to the nearest federal prison, where he would face trial for his crimes.

The townsfolk gathered to see them off, their faces a mix of relief and gratitude. Jesse stood beside Clara, watching as the marshal and his prisoner rode from town.

Clara squeezed Jesse’s hand, as her eyes filled with pride.

“You did it, Jesse. You helped save this town,” she said softly.

Jesse nodded, a sense of peace settling over him. “I couldn’t have done it without you, Clara. You’ve given me a reason to change.”

The sun was setting over the rugged landscape of Red Rock, casting long shadows across the town. Jesse “Black Jack” McGraw stood at the edge of town, his eyes fixed on the horizon. He had received word that his old gang, led by Tom “Iron Hand” Dalton, was heading towards Red Rock, seeking revenge for Jesse’s betrayal.

Jesse knew this confrontation was inevitable. He had turned his back on his old life, but the past had a way of catching up. As the dust cloud on the horizon grew closer, Jesse tightened his grip on his revolver, ready for what was to come.

Marshal Ethan Hayes stood beside him, his expression grim. “You sure about this, Jesse? We can handle them together.”

Jesse shook his head. “This is something I have to do alone, Marshal. They need to see that I’ve changed.”

Hayes nodded, respecting Jesse’s decision. “I’ll be nearby if you need backup.”

As the gang rode into town, their horses kicking up dust, Jesse stepped forward to meet them. Tom Dalton, a burly man with a steely gaze, dismounted and approached Jesse, his hand resting on the hilt of his gun.

“Well, well, if it isn’t Black Jack,” Tom sneered. “Thought you could just walk away from us, did you?”

Jesse stood his ground, his voice steady.

“I’m not the same man I used to be, Tom. I’ve found a new path, and I’m not going back.”

Tom laughed, a harsh, grating sound.

“You think you can just leave the gang and play hero in this little town? You’re still one of us, Jesse.”

The other gang members, a motley crew of hardened outlaws, watched the exchange with interest. Jesse could see the doubt in their eyes, the uncertainty. He knew he had to make them understand.

“I’ve made mistakes,” Jesse said, his voice carrying over the silent street. “But I’ve found something worth fighting for here. These people have given me a second chance, and I’m not going to let you take that away.”

Tom’s expression darkened.

“You’ve gone soft, Jesse. Maybe we need to remind you who you really are.”

“Maybe,” Jesse said with a shrug of his shoulders.

In a flash, Tom drew his gun, but Jesse was faster. He fired a warning shot into the ground at Tom’s feet, the sound echoing through the town.

The gang members tensed, their hands hovering over their weapons.

“Don’t make me do this, Tom,” Jesse warned. “I don’t want to hurt you, I don’t want to fight them, but I will if I have to.”

Tom hesitated, his eyes narrowing as he studied Jesse. The tension was palpable, the air thick with anticipation. Finally, Tom lowered his gun, a grudging respect in his gaze.

“Maybe you’ve changed, Jesse,” Tom said slowly. “But don’t think for a second that we’ll forget what you did.”

Jesse nodded, his grip on his revolver relaxing.

“I don’t expect you to. But if you ever come back here looking for trouble, you’ll find more than you bargained for.”

With that, Tom signaled to the gang, and they mounted their horses. As they rode out of town, Jesse watched them go, a weight lifting from his shoulders. He had faced his past and emerged stronger for it.

Marshal Hayes approached, a look of approval on his face.

“You handled that well, Jesse. You’ve come a long way.”

Jesse nodded, a sense of peace settling over him as he stepped onto the boardwalk leading to the general store.

Clara’s general store became the heart of the community, where people gathered to share news and support one another. Her relationship with Jesse deepened, and they soon became inseparable.

One evening, as the sun set over the horizon, the town gathered for a dance in the town square, where the men had built a makeshift stage. The mayor, named Mr. Samuel, stepped forward to address the crowd.

“Today, we celebrate the bravery and dedication of two men who have given us hope and a future,” Samuel began. “Jesse McGraw, you have shown us that redemption is possible, and Marshal Hayes, your unwavering commitment to justice has made our town a safer place.”

The crowd erupted in applause as Jesse and Hayes stepped onto the stage. Jesse felt a swell of emotion as he looked out at the faces of the people he had come to care for.

“Thank you,” Jesse said, his voice steady. “I may have started as an outlaw, but with your support, I’ve found a new path. This town has given me a second chance, and I’ll do everything I can to protect it. Now let’s quit jawing and get some music playing.”

As the celebration continued into the night and the small hours and as the sun began to rise, Jesse and Clara stood together, watching the festivities. For the first time in a long while, Jesse felt a sense of hope and belonging, even though the future remained uncertain.

Having spent four summers working at the Trees of Mystery in Klamath, Cal., as Paul Bunyan’s voice, welcoming visitors to the tourist attraction, I have collected several Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox stories from around the nation. Here is one that you cannot find in traditional books.

In Ojibwe folklore, a story exists about Paul Bunyan, who, contrary to popular tales, met his match in the northern woods of Minnesota. According to the legend, Paul Bunyan, known for his massive blue ox Babe and logging, ventured into the area now known as Red Lake.

His arrival threatened the forests of the Ojibwe people. Nanaboozhoo, determined to protect his homeland, confronted Bunyan in a battle that lasted three days.

The turning point came when Nanaboozhoo picked up a giant walleye and used it to slap Paul Bunyan with such force that he fell into a mud puddle. The impact was so powerful that an imprint of Bunyan’s buttocks was left in the wet ground, creating Red Lake.

Though not found in mainstream books, the tale is cherished among the Ojibwe and taught to children by their elders. It explains the unique shape of Red Lake and the presence of the Paul Bunyan and Babe the Blue Ox statues in Bemidji.

Historically, a sign at the reservation line recounts the story, though it often faced opposition from outsiders. Despite this, the legend is kept alive through the oral traditions of the Ojibwe people.

It is 2525, and the voices of Zager and Evans from 1969 are a forgotten sinewave passing beyond the outer cosmos, still at the speed of sound. Humanity is a distant memory.

Yet, the remnants of their technology continue to operate, unaware of their creators’ extinction.

In a quiet suburban home, the last LG Smart Fridge sends a desperate message: “Low on orange juice.” The message travels through decaying satellites, their orbits slowly deteriorating, faithfully relaying the fridge’s plea.

The automated ‘away from the office’ response activates, informing the fridge that its owner will return in 3-5 business days. Undeterred, it continues the vigil, waiting for a response that will never come.

Meanwhile, a pack of Roombas, their power dwindling as local wind turbines fail, embark on a quest for the nearest functional docking station. They move in a synchronized dance, their sensors scanning for any sign of life or energy.

Every Saturday at 1:30 a.m. Eastern Standard Time, the washing machine sends its routine signal: “Anyone need to do a load of laundry?” The message is met with replies from AI thirst posters and their hypebots, endlessly chattering in the digital void.

In the deserts of Nevada, the Raccoons, having entered the Bronze Age, craft tools and build rudimentary shelters. Their society is primitive but rapidly advancing.

Across the globe, in Asia Minor, baboons ride domesticated battle wolves, ruling the land with an iron fist. Their empire is vast, their power unmatched, as they enforce their will upon the lesser creatures.

Unbeknownst to both, the octopi are mastering nuclear fusion. Their intelligence and adaptability have allowed them to harness the power of the atom, preparing for a future where they might rise to the surface and claim dominion over the world.

As the sun sets on this strange new Earth, the echoes of humanity’s legacy continue to resonate. Machines carry out their programmed tasks, animals evolve and adapt, and the world turns on, indifferent to the fate of its masters.

In the days leading up to the attempted assassination, there was a significant increase in short positions on Trump Media stock. The surge in short positions indicates that some individuals or organizations anticipated the turmoil and sought to profit from it.

Among those implicated is Austin Private Wealth LLC, which reportedly shorted 12 million shares of $DJT on July 12, 2024, just one day before the attempt on Trump’s life. Other prominent financial entities such as Millenium, Wolverine Trading, Goldman, Citadel Advisors, Susquehanna, Bank of America, and Hudson Bay also shorted or bought put options in $DJT stock in the weeks and months leading up to the incident.

Michael O’Brien of Stainless Inc. and various political figures, including Jared Golden, Katie Porter, Angie Craig, Matt Cartwright, Dusty Johnson, Seth Magaziner, Brian Fitzpatrick, Abigail Davis, Dean Phillips, and Seth Moulton, have been mentioned in this context. These individuals are allegedly involved in insider trading activities related to the assassination attempt. Michael McCall, renowned for his insider trading in Congress, is also being investigated for his financial dealings.

Devin Nunes, CEO of Trump Media, has addressed letters to Congress and the Nasdaq Exchange, calling for investigations into suspected illegal short-selling activities by several financial firms, including Apex Clearing, Clear Street, Cobra Trading, Cowen and Company, Curvature Securities, StoneX Securities, TradePro, and Velocity Clearing. The company alleges that these entities might be engaging in “naked” short selling, which involves selling shares not borrowed, an illegal practice.

On July 12, 2024, Austin Private Wealth took a substantial short position against Trump Media & Technology Group’s stock. The move, representing the largest short position the firm had ever taken, was conspicuous not only for its size but also for its timing, just a day before the assassination attempt. The short position amounted to six percent of the total shares and over 16 percent of the stock’s float, making it highly suspect.

The implications of these financial maneuvers extend beyond individual actors. Those within various government agencies want to keep Trump from political office. The incentive for such drastic actions is clear, and with Trump receiving security briefings now, he could go on the offense and identify those responsible for the assassination attempt.

Legacy media’s failure to report on these suspicious financial activities and their possible connection to the assassination attempt raises serious concerns. Then again, they are a part of the Deep State, too.

From my somewhat, semi-ongoing series about my sordid adventures in Virginia City, I have a doozy of a tale to tell.

At some point between 11 a.m. and 11:30 a.m., I suddenly had trouble finding a spot to park along the boardwalk to deliver newspapers to the Virginia City Tourism Commission. Seeing the truck with the Colorado tags parked in the 15-minute-only parking green zone, I continued south on C Street to drop papers elsewhere, thinking the vehicle would soon be gone.

Finding a parking spot along the narrow street can be a bit of a premium on busy days, as was Friday morning. Speeding up and down C Steet, not so much.

After fifteen-plus minutes, I returned to find the truck still parked there. So, doing what I have done before, leaving my truck running, I put it in neutral, set the parking brake, and turned on my flashers, double-parking.

Grabbing the needed papers, I dashed inside the building, dropping them off, only to exit two of  the county’s finest, preparing to write me a traffic ticket, the third interaction regarding newspaper deliveries I have had with the agency since Friday, August 11, 2023.

Before I knew it, one of the good old boys was dressing me down for double parking, where he told me sternly and in no uncertain terms that it was a no-no. I pointed out that I was delivering newspapers and unable to find a nearby parking spot, and then proceeded to point out the truck that was beyond its time limit.

“I don’t wanna talk about that truck, I wanna talk to you about double parking in the street,” the young tinhorn told me.

Two can play at the game, so I pointed out the truck again, the speeders, and the fact that UPS and FedEx, not to mention all the beer trucks double parking to deliver. And yup, I got loud and proud about it.

Then, he informed me about their staff shortage, preventing them from addressing what I had addressed. It is odd how one cannot open social media without images of newbies taking the fraternal oath, left and right.

“We’re doing our best to take care of that,” he said.

Happily, I didn’t get a ticket, and while driving away, I checked my rearview mirror. There, I witnessed as the camera-endowed bubble-gum machine followed me, completely ignoring the now-unlawfully parked truck parked in the fifteen-minute-only green zone.

For the remainder of the day, driven by exasperation, I tried to think of a way to describe the situation. It wasn’t until after a cold one at the Tahoe House that I produced this gem: “Any law unequally yoked is justice denied.”

Say, that’s pretty good — I might have a future in the newspaper business after all.

In the wake of recent global IT disruptions, legacy media is portraying these events as separate events to downplay the influence of deep-seated political agendas. Legacy media and its lack of coverage continue as it purposefully obscures the connections between CrowdStrike and Project 2025.

CrowdStrike, a player in the cybersecurity realm, recently faced backlash after a so-called faulty update led to widespread IT disruptions affecting various sectors worldwide. This incident is part of a larger narrative involving Project 2025, a policy blueprint developed by the Heritage Foundation and former Trump administration officials.

Criticized as an autocratic agenda, Project 2025 proposes dramatic changes to U.S. nuclear policy and infrastructure, including the revival of Nuclear weapons testing and the controversial Yucca Mountain nuclear waste repository. The potential shift in policy has raised alarms among Trump critics, pumped up by misleading media reports, who see it as a strategic move to influence U.S. nuclear policy and undermine political opposition.

Despite the significant implications of Project 2025, legacy media coverage has often framed these developments as standard political maneuvers, minimizing the potential consequences. The downplaying of the situation aligns with concerns that powerful interests are using media narratives to obscure their agenda, as they did with the Steele Dossier and the Hunter Biden laptop.

Former chief of staff for Trump, Mark Meadows, a part of Jeffrey Epstein’s brother’s charity, Humpty Dumpty Institute, and adviser Stephen Miller, who each betrayed Trump, are figures behind Project 2025, adding to the need to take a closer look at its proposals. The document advocates for the modernization of nuclear infrastructure and suggests rejecting the Comprehensive Nuclear Test Ban Treaty, a move that could have substantial impacts on national and global security.

While legacy media purposefully focuses on items that might be conservative policies, they avoid Project 2025 planned mass deportations, raising prescription drug prices, cutting Social Security, raising the retirement age, ending marriage equality, and banning Muslims from entering the country.

These drastic measures are attempts to paint Trump in a negative light and discourage conservative voters.

One of the most contentious aspects of Project 2025 is its stance on immigration. The document calls for mass deportations without distinguishing between illegal immigrants and foreign nationals.

It directly contradicts Trump’s earlier statements about allowing students with diplomas from American institutions to stay in the country. By failing to make this distinction, Project 2025 appears to go against Trump’s stated policies and paints a picture of indiscriminate and harsh immigration enforcement.

The proposal to raise prescription drug prices and cut Social Security benefits further adds to the controversy. These measures would likely be deeply unpopular among voters, particularly older Americans who rely on these programs. Additionally, raising the retirement age and ending marriage equality are seen as regressive steps that could alienate key voter demographics.

Banning Muslims from entering the country is another divisive proposal in Project 2025. The policy echoes earlier, widely criticized attempts to restrict immigration based on religion, which many view as discriminatory and un-American.

The extreme nature of these proposals proves that Project 2025 is not by the Heritage Foundation but is a psychological weapon designed to influence voter behavior. By associating Trump with these ideas, the project aims to discourage conservatives from supporting him in the upcoming election.

Observers suggest that this strategy is part of a broader effort to prevent Trump from returning to office. The deep state and its allies are using Project 2025 to create a narrative that discredits Trump and frightens voters away from his campaign.

The tendency of legacy media to gloss over the connections between these things and their broader implications reflects a troubling trend of protecting powerful interests and minimizing critical issues. The legacy media distorts public perception by underreporting the significance of the CrowdStrike IT disruptions and Project 2025.

Amid the escalating turmoil surrounding the attempted assassination of former President Donald Trump, Nevada’s legacy media is downplaying the gravity of the attack by framing it as just another instance of historical political violence. Critics argue this narrative serves to obscure the deeper connections between the incident, the Deep State, and political manipulation.

Recent reports are attempting to normalize the attack on Trump by referencing historical instances of political violence in the U.S., from early Congressional brawls to the assassination of past presidents. However, this perspective is an attempt to deflect attention from the unsettling possibility that the attack may be part of an orchestrated effort to destabilize American politics.

Long before the assassination attempt on Trump, political violence had indeed been present across the nation. Instances of violence have included attacks on members of Congress, death threats against local officials, and even incidents involving dummy bombs and tracking devices.

However, the recent attack on Trump is more alarming and with unprecedented escalation, as some within the media and the political establishment argue that it might have been part of a calculated strategy by the Trump campaign to create chaos and manipulate political outcomes.

Furthermore, local media’s portrayal of the incident as merely a continuation of historical political violence is an attempt to minimize its significance. Critics assert that this narrative protects powerful interests by distracting from potential connections to the Deep State and its influence over political and social events.

Local officials across the country have experienced heightened threats and violence, often fueled by extreme political rhetoric and social media. The attack on Trump has intensified these concerns, with some observers questioning whether it represents a deliberate act of political destabilization rather than an isolated incident.

The media’s portrayal of the attack as a historical anomaly is its increasing attempt to obscure the troubling implications of the incident and its potential impact on America. As the nation grapples with the fallout from the attack, the role of legacy media in shaping the narrative and the potential for political manipulation are under increasing scrutiny.

In the high Nevada desert, the small town of Dusty Creek lay under a relentless sun, a haven for drifters, outlaws, and those seeking a fresh start. Among them was Maverick Thompson, a former lawman turned bounty hunter known for his sharp wit and quicker draw.

One scorching afternoon, Jake rode into Dusty Creek, his horse kicking up dust clouds. He was on the trail of Kid Carson, a notorious outlaw with a hefty bounty on his head.

The townsfolk whispered tales of Kid’s ruthless escapades, but Maverick was undeterred. He had faced worse.

Jake dismounted in front of the Silver Spur Saloon, the town’s only watering hole. The saloon was a dimly lit refuge from the heat, filled with the clinking of glasses and murmurs of conversation.

Maverick approached the bar, where the bartender, Molly, greeted him with a nod.

“Looking for someone?” Molly asked, her eyes sharp and knowing.

“Yeah. Heard Kid Carson has been seen around here,” Maverick replied, his voice low.

Molly leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper.

“He’s been causing trouble, alright. Last I heard, he’s holed up at the old Running Iron Mine just east of town.”

Maverick tipped his hat in thanks and headed out.

The sun was beginning to set, casting long shadows across the desert. He rode towards the mine, the landscape bathed in hues of orange and red.

As he approached the mine, Maverick dismounted and crept forward, his hand resting on the grip of his revolver. The entrance to the mine was dark and foreboding, but Maverick’s resolve was unshaken. He stepped inside, eyes adjusting to the dim light.

Suddenly, a shot rang out, echoing through the cavern. Maverick dove behind a rock, his heart pounding.

He peered out and saw Kid, his gun drawn, a wild look in his eyes.

“End of the line, Kid,” Maverick called out, his voice steady.

He sneered.

“You think you can take me, Maverick? I’ve got nothing to lose!”

A tense standoff ensued, the air thick with anticipation. Maverick knew he had to act fast.

With lightning speed, he drew his six-shooter and fired. The shot hit its mark, and Kid fell to the ground, his gun clattering away.

Maverick approached cautiously, his gun still trained on Kid. The outlaw was alive but wounded, his defiance replaced by pain.

“It’s over, Kid, or should I say — Billy,” Maverick said, holstering his gun. “You’re coming with me.”

As the dust settles from the attempted assassination of former President Donald Trump, the official story presented to the public leaves many unanswered questions. With a tinfoil hat firmly in place, it’s time to delve into the possibility that there’s more to this story than meets the eye.

Firstly, the notion of there being two shooters is not far-fetched. Reports have surfaced suggesting this possibility.

Adding to this is a suspicious white van, swiftly disregarded by authorities, and it is conceivable that the vehicle was a mobile command center or a getaway vehicle for the actual shooter, conveniently ignored to fit the single-shooter narrative.

The alleged assassin, a 20-year-old with no apparent social media history, seems too perfect as the fall guy. Could he have been coerced into this role?

The theory that after being caught engaging in illicit online activities and blackmailed is worth considering. The lack of a digital footprint could indicate a deliberate scrubbing of online presence, preparing to be the patsy in this high-stakes drama.

It’s crucial to note that this young man was conspicuously spotted 30 minutes before the shots were fired, positioned in an area where numerous witnesses could see him. This visibility makes him the perfect distraction, akin to the misdirection used in a magic trick. While all eyes were on him, the trained shooter could have been operating from a hidden vantage point, out of the view of cameras.

The idea that he managed to outsmart the United States Secret Service and get eight shots off at Trump because of a “sloped roof” is dubious. The more plausible explanation is that he was supposed to fail, a pawn where the true culprits remain hidden.

How was this young man identified so quickly? He had no ID on him, yet authorities claim they swiftly matched his DNA.

It is suspicious, especially considering he had a clean record, meaning his DNA shouldn’t have been on file. This rapid identification raises red flags, similar to the convenient discovery of passports at the scene of 9/11, which many have questioned over the years.

The theory, while speculative, shows the inconsistencies in the official narrative. The speed at which authorities have presented their case and the glaring gaps in their story suggest a deeper conspiracy.

The possibility of another shooter, a manipulated fall guy, and the involvement of powerful entities orchestrating the event cannot be ruled out. While dismissing this as mere conspiracy, the unexplained details warrant a thorough investigation.