I am a man with sorrows behind me, and battles, too. i have regrets of which i seldom speak, nor too often think. for me, danger became a way of life--an accepted facet in the natural order of things. there is no bravado in wearing a gun--it was, at the time, a necessity of life. a man could no more survive without a weapon than he could live without a horse or food. i was fourteen years old when they attacked me under cover of darkness and while i was in my own home. the only weapon i owned was a big, double-barreled eight-gauge shotgun that we used for small game and varmints; so, the night they came i killed my first two men with a borrowed pistol. that started my crusade. my search for justice, or maybe it was only for justification, led to more men joining the first two. soon after, i began to acquire an unwanted and i felt, undeserved reputation as a gunman. i did not want to shoot people--except one, i truly wanted to shoot him. but the others kept coming for me and i had wrongs to right. in the end, i hunted them.