In Tommy Maaltman's Wild, Wild West, Lassiter seeks revenge.

It was time to head back home to the dusty, dirty forgotten town of.......Forgotten and Lassiter broke camp early. Feeling somewhat spiritual and reminiscing about the past, a thought occurred to him. Wouldn't it be nice to look up Ole Whitey, his Confederate Army buddy, on his way home. Whitey, after narrowly escaping death trying to stop Sherman's March to the Sea, deserted before the Confederate Army surrendered and headed west in hopes of striking it rich as a gold miner. It was known that Whitey panned for gold in the small tributaries of the Colorado River for many years after the War of Northern Aggression not knowing that the Army Corps of Engineers had thoroughly studied the region and determined that there wasn't enough gold there to spit on. Sigh, if only Ole Whitey knew how to read. Never the less, he continued panning and working his sluice despite the recent Injun uprising. After several hours on the trail Lassiter came over an embankment leading down to Whitey's camp and smelled rotten flesh and cheap rot gut whiskey. Something was wrong. Whitey wouldn't drink cheap rot gut whiskey. He was a cask strength single malt Scotch whisky man like Lassiter. Approaching the stream he saw Whitey's body face down in the water, absent one scalp. Lassiter knew exactly what had happened and after giving Whitey a decent Christian burial set off to find the no good savages who done his friend in. Lassiter knew how to read sign and it didn't take him long to follow the trail leading to their camp. As night settled in, he saw seven half naked, crazed Injun braves whooping it up around the campfire fueled on by cheap rot gut whiskey. Lassiter thought to himself, them Injuns never could hold their fire water. Not speaking Hopi, the native language of the Pueblo, Lassiter let the distinctive clicks of the two hammers of his six shooters being pulled back, do the talking. The Injuns were momentarily silent, as they looked around in terror. Seconds later, they were permanently silenced as Lassiter unloaded his two Smith and Wesson 44 Magnum revolvers into their heathen bodies. Kicking each of their bodies to make sure they were dead, Lassiter came across one with Whitey's scalp on his belt and unloaded the rest of his rounds directly into the Injun's pagan black heart. Burying Whitey's scalp he left the Injun's bodies for the hot desert sun and the vultures. He then poured himself a dram of Tobermory 10 year old, 40 vol., with a light amber color, nutty nose, dry delicate peat, malt, and nuts taste and slightly citric tangy finish. He lifted his glass in honor of his good friend and Confederate Army buddy, Whitey. R.I.P. Slainte, Tommy Maaltman