Ben Thompson runs the website badassoftheweek.com and is the author of the forthcoming book BADASS: A Relentless Onslaught of the Toughest Warlords, Vikings, Samurai, Pirates, Gunfighters, and Military Commanders to Ever Live. An irreverent, no-frills, occasionally-hilarious look at forty of the toughest and most colorful heroes and villains who ever punched someone in the throat and pulled out a crushed larynx, BADASS spans all eras of human history, from the grim Pharaoh Ramses II to U.S. Marine Corps super-sniper Carlos Hathcock, and is illustrated by talented artists who have worked with companies such as DC Comics and Wizards of the Coast. You can find more info about the book here.
A lone rider came to a leisurely halt along the side of the dusty trail. Standing in his path were three of the deadliest outlaws in the Indian Territory – the notorious Brunter brothers. These infamous murderers and thieves were the sort of cop-killing fugitive bastards who would just as soon have immolated you with a blowtorch as urinated on your burning corpse. These men, all looking like they’d just stepped off the set of the movie Tombstone, pointed a multi-flavored assortment of shotguns and revolvers at the interloper, gesturing for him to dismount from his horse. The rider complied.
Bass Reeves calmly took three steps towards the Brunter brothers, his grim face registering neither fear nor respect for these punk-ass bitches. He was an intimidating, serious-looking man, standing over six feet tall and solidly built. His clothes and equipment were nondescript, covered with the dust from several thousand miles of hard riding, hard fighting, and hard drinking. His beaten-up black hat and long black coat sported a variety of bullet holes and blood stains. The brass star proudly displayed on his lapel was tarnished with age.
“What the hell are you doing out here, lawman?” the elder Brunter brother demanded.
Bass spat. “Well, I’ve come to arrest you,” he said in the sort of nonchalant, matter-of-fact way that an evil mechanic tells you that you need a new transmission. “Got the warrant right here.” He reached into his coat pocket, produced a worn, folded up piece of paper, and casually handed it to the elder brother.
The Brunters all looked at each other in disbelief. They couldn’t believe the stupidity of the man standing before them to have admitted this fact as plainly as he had. Sure, they respected the fact he possessed what obviously must have been solid brass balls, but they were still definitely going to have to kill his ass.
The eldest brother unfolded the warrant, and jokingly showed his brothers the lengthy list of serious charges leveled against them. The moment their collective eyes looked down towards the page, Reeves’ right hand twitched ever so slightly. Then, in a flash, he closed his fingers around the handle of the .45-caliber Colt Peacemaker strapped to his thigh, drew his weapon and fired two shots from the hip in rapid succession. Both bullets hit home, sending two Brunters spinning into a dance of death. The eldest brother pointed his gun at the lawman’s head, but before he could fire it Bass Reeves was on him. Reeves grabbed the man’s revolver with one hand, redirected the weapon so it was pointing up into the air, and then proceeded to pistol-whip the dude unconscious with his free hand. In the span of about twenty seconds, the toughest U.S. Marshal west of the Mississippi had just taken out three of the Indian Territory’s deadliest criminals.About the Author: New Book! is a special feature of GreatHistory.com. We invite authors of new books on historical topics to share their discoveries with GreatHistory readers.