THE KILLER IBD

Sinopse

I want to state right at the start that I am writing this story twenty years after it happened solely because my wife and Senor Buck Johnson insist on it. Myself, I don?t think it a good yarn. It hasn?t any love story in it, and there isn?t any plot. Things just happened, one thing after the other. There ought to be a yarn in it somehow, and I suppose if a fellow wanted to lie a little he could make a tail-twister out of it. Anyway, here goes, and if you don?t like it, you know you can quit at any stage of the game. It happened when I was a kid and didn?t know any better than to do such things. They dared me to go up to Hooper?s ranch and stay all night, and as I had no information on either the ranch or its owner, I saddled up and went. It was only twelve miles from our Box Springs ranch-a nice easy ride. I should explain that heretofore I had ridden the Gila end of our range, which is so far away that only vague rumours of Hooper had ever reached me at all. He was reputed a tough old devil with horrid habits, but that meant little to me. The tougher and horrider they came, the better they suited me-so I thought. Just to make everything entirely clear I will add that this was in the year of 1897 and the Soda Springs valley in Arizona.