In Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild West 13 is a lucky number.

The Pleasant Valley War, often referred to as the Tonto Basin War, actually took place in Apache County and Navajo County, Arizona. It began as a feud between two families, one cattle ranchers and the other sheep herders, and escalated into a murderously deadly war over land, borders, water rights, grazing rights, power and money. When things got out of hand, someone had the foresight to hire professional help. Everybody knew Colton Lassiter, the stone cold, killer for hire, who plied his trade with two Smith and Wesson 44 Magnum six shooters in this Territory West of the Law. After a grueling eight day ride over the purple sage and desert, Lassiter kicked in the swinging doors of the Silverthorn Saloon in Tombstone, Arizona. Upon entering, he saw a chaotic scene of cattlemen and sheep herders angrily arguing with heated emotions fueled by cheap rye and rot gut whiskey. Not knowing, or even caring, who the key players were and peeved by the fact that they were all drunk on inferior grade alcohol, Lassiter made an executive decision. Drawing his 44 Magnums, he unloaded both into the rabble, indiscriminately. When the deafening repercussions of the guns died down and the smoke cleared, Lassiter saw that no one survived. Not knowing who was who, Lassiter thought to himself, Oh well, I guess God will have to sort out the carnage. Then from the far corner behind his back, he heard a chuckle and the distinctive click of the hammer of a Colt 45 being pulled back. A deep voice was heard to say, "Mr Lassiter, my name is Roy Castleman and I'm the cattleman who hired you to end this range war and it looks like you succeeded. You just killed six of my men and six of my sworn enemy, the no good, thieving sheep herders. That makes a total of twelve, the same number of bullets you had in your two Smith and Wesson 44 Magnum Six Shooters." Chuckling again, he said, "That means you're out of ammunition and since I don't want nobody, nowhere to know I was the one who hired you, I'd like you to drop your guns and slowly turn and face the man who is going to put a bullet between your eyes and silence you for eternity." Lassiter did as he was told but with lightening speed drew with his right hand a Sharps Pepperbox breech loader, 32 caliber pistol from his waist band and unloaded all four barrels into Mr. Castleman's beefy cattle rancher's body forcing him backward through the glass window of the saloon. He was dead before his body landed on the dusty, dirty street of Tombstone face up. Being in no rush, Lassiter walked over to the bar and helped himself to a dram of Bunnahabhain 55.6 %, 111.2 vol. proof, 17 year old cask strength single malt whisky with a silver dollar color, gun smoke nose, charred stick taste and a smoky and gunpowder finish. Stepping over the dead bodies, Lassiter walked out the doors, mounted Blaze and left the Territory of Arizona, population 13 less than when he arrived. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman