Central to the myth and the reality of the West is the American cowboy. The cowboy has for over a century been an iconic American image both in the country and abroad; recognized worldwide and revered by Americans. To protect their herd from wild animals, rogue Indians and rustlers, cowboys carried with them their iconic weaponry such as knives, pistols, rifles and shotguns. And on the trail, they also have to endure bad weather and unforgiving environments
Many of the cowboys were veterans of the Civil War; a diverse group, they included Blacks, Hispanics, Native Americans and immigrants from Europe, Asia, Australia, South America and the Middle East. Although always synonymous with gunslingers in today’s pop culture, there were a number of cowboys in history who became known as gunfighters, some siding with the law or being outlaws like John Wesley Hardin, Luke Short, Tom Horn and others. Other cowboys participated in various range wars throughout the frontier, and many even joined the Rough Riders lead by fellow cowboy Theodore Roosevelt. They were known for their prowess, speed and skill with their pistols and other firearms and their violent escapades and reputations morphed over time into the stereotypical image of violence endured by the "cowboy hero".
Battle vs Leopard Society (by 123chaseyoung)
Five cowboys ride in the wilderness, happy and conversing because they have just received their pay, and are now heading to the town. Unknown to them are five other leopard man hidden in the foliage, who were sent to gather people for their ritual sacrifice.
As the cowboys got closer, the leopard men opened fire. A rifle bullet from a spencer rifle hit a cowboy in the head, and he fell down with his guns undrawn. The cowboys were startled, and their horses jolted and panicked as hell broke loose. One leopard man charged at the confused posse, and he grabs one cowboy off his horse and ripped his ribcage open with his metal claws, before devouring on his organs. Horrified, his fellow cowboys opened fire with their rifles and pistols, killing the leopard man on the spot.
The cowboys then managed to regroup and retaliated. A cowboy lassos one leopard man from a tree and drags him to the ground, before killing him with his pistol. One leopard man manages to get under the cowboy's horse and again attempted to drag him down, but the cowboy quickly grabs his bowie knife and stabs the leopard man in the neck.
A leopard man manages to shoot a cowboy in the head with his howdah pistol, but another cowboy kills him with two shots to the chest with his shotgun. The cowboy then grabs his winchester rifle and fired, killing a leopard man hidden in the trees. Another leopard man however, manages to unload his webley at the cowboy's head.
The remaining cowboy charged his horse at the leopard man, but the latter just jumped and hid in the trees. The cowboy tried to draw him out with his revolver, but the leopard man manages to crept under him and lunged. Both fell on the ground hard, with the leopard man landed on top of the cowboy. As the leopard man chants his battle cry and prepares for a finishing blow, the cowboy managed to draw his other revolver and fired, hitting the leopard man in the gut. The leopard man fell over and cried with pain, before the cowboys empties his pistol at his head.
The exhausted cowboy manages to get back to his horse, tilts his hat on his fallen comrade, and rides off into the sunset shouting "Yee-haaaaaaaw!"
The cowboy won because he had the better mid range and long range weapons. He was also more experienced, prepared, and hardened in the wilderness than the leopard man.
The sun was in its highest peak, but the place remained cold. The senior cowboy takes off his hat as he looks up in the sky, hoping that there would be a change in the weather. His five other cowboy companions in the back are exhausted; their horses dragging their burden like a heavy cross. Things are not going well for them as planned. They were tasked to herd 450 heads of cattle to Alaska, so it can be delivered by ship to those hungry Russians fighting the Orientals. Their journey is already a month late. It was a task already doomed for disaster, and yet these bunch of useless relic in the new century still did it. What else can they do, besides riding their horses, the elder cowboy thought.
The elder cowboy takes a look at their herd, and just like them they were as battered as a chewed-up beef jerky. Cows aren't supposed to be in this type of climate, let alone in this snowy environment. It's supposed to be summer, and yet the temperature still blistering. They have to move quickly, or else the night would come again, and night in Alaska is a death trap. The senior cowboy can't take any chances to get caught in darkness again. With a quick yank of his horse and waving his hat, he encircles the scattered group to double their pacing. The men then followed through, and they regain their game faces on.
Fortunately for them, they finally arrived at the dry port. The cows rested on a rocky hill, as the overjoyed cowboys waved their hats and made their horses jump. They cheered and praised each other, knowing they are at the end of their journey. The elder cowboy on the other hand, felt disgusted, and he then charged his horse; angry at how they celebrated something not yet assured. "Quit your yapping you twelve your olds, it ain't over until I say its over," the elder cowboy scolded.
The rest of the cow-uns titled their heads in silence. Though embarrassed, the old man was right. Spurring their horses, they approach the port together as one. "You think they've got something to eat there Sarge?" one of the young ones asked. "Hopefully. To be honest, I'm tired of them pork and beans we've been eating. I'm sick of 'em," the elder cowboy replied.
"Who knows, maybe they oblige us to some fish and beans instead," one of the jokers said. The rest of them laughed, and it let them forget about their hardships. Since their journey began, they've all ran out of food, wood, and coffee; and it's a nightmare for an American to run out of coffee. Approaching the port town, all of them notice how silent the place was. Like a ghost town there were no signs of life; the lamps were all turned off, the windows bolted shut, the beach was frozen and the ships were trapped like concrete. With still no signs of anyone, they all agreed to visit the port's office. If there's no people well at lease there should be a telegraph to get help. And hopefully there might be food to be scavenged as well.
Suddenly, their horses yanked in surprise. They all hear the sound of marching hoofs from afar, coming their way. Soon, they all see six other men approaching them, all wielding lamps tied to their poles or lances. "See em boys, their Russians," the elder cowboy said. "Cossacks to be exact Sarge," one of the young wiseguys said. "I've been reading books about them. Their tough, like bear brutality-type of tough. They don't go down that easily."
The cossacks encircled them, unstrapping their rifles and lances. They all have large beards covering their chins. They aimed their predatory glare, and the cowboys backed away in threat. The commanding officer of the squad came up, holding a big Mosin Nagant rifle with a strapped on dagger bayonet on one hand. With a big booming voice he yelled, "You there old man, these people yours?"
Humbly separating from the others, the elder cowboy presented himself. He removed his hat in respect. "My boys here were sent to deliver some cows to feed your soldiers. We've came as promised," he said.
The cossacks, whose faces were worn out from the battles they have fought overseas, quickly turned towards the old man with weary eyes. The cossack officer smiled at the old man, before letting out in his booming voice, "Da zdravstvuet Matushka Russia !!! The war was lost. The slit-eyes have already won, and our own government can't even give us our wages."
One of the cowboys, in an obvious smirk, remarked, "So you people have deserted instead huh?" The snarky comment was taken by the cossacks seriously who returned the favor by glaring menacingly at the cowboys. "Svoloch!!" One of the cossacks said in disgust. "We would never do such a thing. We only left because we know that it was lost. We still love our country."
The cossack officer signaled his men to be silent. "Now you see, we are refugees of war. The only thing we have now is our lives and our dignities." The rest of the cossacks suddenly bolted their rifles and readied their pistols. The cowboys were startled at what they were doing, and they keep their hand near their pistols as well. It seems for them, violence would soon erupt. "We'll be needing your horses and cows. Please, we need them to get back to our homes and families."
"You can't do this, the cows aren't yours unless you give us what we came here --"
"Very well then," the cossack officer said before pulling his Nagant and shooting the elder cowboy in the shoulder. The wounded cowboy yelled in pain before riding back to his men. The rest of the cossacks pointed their rifles at them, but the cowboys quickly drew their pistols and fired, killing two of the cossacks and wounding several others, before riding out into the opposite direction of the port town. "Zakhvatit' ikh!!" the cossack officer yelled.
"Dammit. What the hell is happening?!" one of the cowboys said in despair.
"Forget it son, just ride out! All of you!!" the elder cowboy said to reassure his men. The cossacks were following from behind, one of them aimed his Mosin-Nagant rifle and fired, killing one cowboy and sending his corpse tumbling on the snow. As he slowly rechamber his cumbersome rifle, one cowboy took aim and fired his winchester rifle, killing the cossack's horse. The cossack crashed into the snow, but his fellow man took him by the hand and got him unto his own horse. The cossacks continued firing at the fleeing cowboys. One of the cowboys took a bullet from a Cossack's berdan in the neck, killing him.
Unfortunately for the Americans, they got caught in a hard turn, and one of them clumsily stumbled and fell from his horse. As the cossacks came upon him, the now trapped cowboy drew his pistols and fired with blind rage, killing one of the cossacks in a hail of pistol bullets. One cossack then tackled the cowboy to the ground and wrestled his pistols off of him. As the poor cowboy struggled and yelled, the cossack grabbed his kindjal and stabbed him in the abdomen multiple times with brutality, killing him. The cossack quickly gets on his horse to rejoin the others in the chase.
The two group of horsemen were now in an intense chase around the port town, exchanging foreign words and bullets flying everywhere. The cossack officer took a careful aim with his Mosin-Nagant and fired, hitting one of the cowboy on the back. As the cowboy fell of his horse, the other cossacks focused their fire at him, dismembering his body into shreds from rifle fire. The remaining two cowboys watched as they lose another man from the Russians. Desperate, the elder cowboy turns his horse straight towards the Alaskan frontier they've been before. The other remaining cowboy didn't know what he was planning, but he followed as the the two group continued exchanging fire. The cowboys took a sharp turn and lost the cossacks in an alleyway, before continuing out of the port and back to the frontier they were previously at.
After gaining some distance from the Russians, the two cowboys finally arrived at rocky hill where their cows rested. The elder cowboy orders the other to unmount from his horse, saying, "Listen here kid. We don't have much time. Take this sharps and hide yourself on this hill. I'll cover the front, and you shoot any sonuvabitch coming out from that town. We're gonna send these bastards back to Siberia."
The other cowboy nodded, confused but ready for action. He trusts his fellow cowboy that he'll get them out of this mess. Sooner as the elder cowboy spoke, the Russians came out and were approaching fast. The cowboy gets unto prone position and readies his sharps. The elder cowboy rides his horse and fires his pistol at the cows, surpiring the animals and stampeding them straight towards the charging cossacks. The thundering clapping of cattle hooves paralyzed the cossacks' horses as the cows came upon them like a tsunami of muscle and bone. Swallowed in an ocean of cows, the cossacks got separated from each other.
The elder cowboy came upon them like Hell, firing both his pistol and winchester rifle at the confused cossacks. Though his shoulder was shot, the elder cowboy's aim was true. As the cossacks were attempting to get away from the stampede, the elder cowboy fired his weapons, killing one cosssack. The other cowboy on the hill soon followed, shooting another cossack in the head with his sharps, blowing it like a watermelon.
A minute has passed and the cows finally dispersed, dissolving the stampede. The elder cowboy sees two trampled corpse on the ground. Seeing no signs of any Cossacks left, he sighed as the battle he thought was over. He yanks his horse towards his sniper, still stationed on top of the hill. "Great shooting kid!!" He waved his hat at him as he approached.
The cowboy tearfully greeted the elder cowboy on his feet, smiling, with a blade sticking on his throat. "No..." the elder cowboy said as he sees the cossack officer holding the other cowboy at knife point.
The elder cowboy stops his horse, holding his arms to calm the cossack officer down. But the latter wasn't thinking of letting anyone alive after this. The cossack officer had seen death, he had escaped war, and he killed anyone standing his way, even his own country men. He was tired, wanting to end all of this and survive. With a quick grin, he slits the cowboy's throat, and a fountain of blood squirted, turning the snow and rock bright red.
The dead cowboy fell on the ground, his eyes still open with shock. Tears flow from the elder cowboy's eyes. With rage, he charges his horse to destroy the Russian. The Cossack played it tactically, and as soon as the horse came to him, he rolled out of the way and stabbed it with his kindjal bayonet in the lung. The horse screeched in pain and the cowboy fell face first into the rocks. The cossack shot the wounded horse in the chest, finally killing the struggling beast. As he looks for the elder cowboy, the latter aimed his pistol and shot the cossack in the pelvic, making him kneel to the ground. He approaches the downed cossack and fired his pistol continuously, but the cossack quickly crawls out of the way and took only minor gashes. The cowboy tried to fire another shot, but his pistol was empty. The cossack officer took this as his chance so he punches the cowboy in the gut. The cowboy fell on his knees, but he quickly counters by tackling the cossack on the ground. He started throwing punches at the cossack's face, but the cossack just spat off the blood off his mouth and laughed, before pushing the cowboy away. The cowboy grabbed his bowie knife and attacks, but the cossack grabbed hold of his arm and shattered both his radius and ulna with a loud snap. The cowboy yelled in pain as the cossack lifted him up in the air afterwards and threw him furiously towards the corpse of his dead comrade.
The cowboy landed hard, his already bleeding face meeting the sharp rocks. Tired and laying on the ground hopeless, he turns his head on the dead cowboy laying beside him. Their eyes meet; his was still alive, but the other was staring blankly at his soul. The cossack officer smiled at what he perceived as an agonizing psychological warfare. He took his broken Mosin-Nagant and snaps the kindjal off of it as he approach the downed cowboy. As his mind shifted to and fro, the elder cowboy sees the pistol still holstered on his fallen cowboy's belt. He reached to it, like Adam reaching the index of God, using every bit of his strength to wrap his fingers on the grip.
The cossack, confident of his victory, picks up the elder cowboy from the hair. He readies his dagger to cut the old man open like a pig. "Nikto ne budet kogda-libo pobedit nas," he said.
But suddenly the elder cowboy kicked him in the chest, and as both men fall down on their backs, the elder cowboy took a pot shot and hit the cossack officer in the chest. Landing hard on the rocky surface, the cossack sees his chest bleeding quickly. Paralyzed with shock from his mortal wound, he looks up and sees the elder cowboy on top of him.
"You should have died in that war you ugly son of a bitch," the cowboy said. Like the fury of the devil, the elder cowboy grins at the cossack officer and empties his magazine with fury, and the latter did nothing but watched and yelled as his chest was opened with lead.
The elder cowboy takes a seat on a small rock overlooking the whole Alaskan frontier. The small rocky hill where the duel took place, was now covered with blood from the carnage. He slowly wiped what remained of the cossack from his face, and he observes the dead cowboy in front of him, and the cows staring with silent dread. Lost and broken, the elder cowboy gets up and mounts his friend's horse. The Alaskan darkness was upon him, but he didn't cared. His body maybe alive, but his mind was dead. He pressed his spurs hard on the horse's flesh and the animal quickly jolted towards the horizon. No idea where he's going, the elder cowboy had lost his soul after that bloody event. So he lets the darkness decide his fate, as the movement of the winds got rough and a blizzard awakens. Summer has finally ended...
The experts believed that the cowboys won because of their superior firearms and x-factors. Although the cossacks have the advantage of a better rifle and experience fighting as a military unit, the cowboys were more disciplined in a fire fight and carried the more balanced arsenal.
Battle vs Gauchos (by 123chaseyoung)
It was in the year 1899 in the arid Mexican plains where a herd of cattle can be seen grazing in the yellow meadows. Their gaucho masters was camped on top of a small hill overlooking the plains, and keeping a watchful eye of their fold. It was a peaceful afternoon at that time, with the white clouds covering the sky like puffs of cotton and cold wind blowing through the plains to cool them down.
The gauchos were sitting down relaxed in their camp, passing food and drinks, laughing at some jokes and singing lovely Argentinian tunes. They were hired to drive cattle from Argentina all the way to Mexico City. It was a long and hard ride, and it didn’t help that the country is currently being ravaged by revolution and bandits. So far they haven’t met any trouble yet, and they even found some time to take the load off and enjoy the outdoors. But even so, all of them know that they still need to keep vigilant till they get to their destination.
Suddenly, a group of cowboy appeared from the grasslands and rode towards the gaucho camp. These cowboys were armed to the teeth with pistols and rifles, and the startled gauchos quickly got up and grabbed their own guns just in case. “Can I help you gentlemen?” One of the Argentinians asked while clutching his rifle.
The cowboys looked and nodded at each other, before one of them gets off his horse and approaches the gaucho. These cowboys were dirty and grizzled, showing signs that they have just been through a fight not long ago. “You probably can hombre,” the cowboy said. “Some Mexicans came out and attacked and stole our cattle yesterday. We’ve been looking for them ever since. You runts aren’t Mexicans now are you?”
“No we’re not. We’re Argentinians. You know… from South America.”
The cowboy just smirked at the gaucho before spitting his chewed tobacco on the ground. He then got out of his horse, his pistol shining right in front of the gauchos’ eyes, and said, “Well dear sir. Can I see them cows just too make sure that it ain’t ours? You don’t mind now do you?”
“Help yourself gringo,” the gaucho replied.
The cowboy then went towards the herd and started to inspect each and every one. While he does so, the cowboys and the gauchos back at the camp glared at each other with contempt. No one trusted the other, but the gauchos were just hoping that these people can just finish their business, ride off and leave them alone. The cowboys on the other hand aren’t going to take it easy on the gauchos. They’re gonna do everything that they can to get their cattle back, especially that it is their very own livelihood that was at stake.
As the cowboy inspects a cow, he discovers that this one was branded with a lone star. These cowboys were Texans, and that brand was evident that the cow belongs to them. Being impatient, the gaucho approached the cowboy and asked, “Are you finished now compadre?”
But the cowboy only glared at him and said, “You mind telling me what the hell does a cow with our brand doing here in your own herd?”
The gaucho was both surprised and confused at what the cowboy said, and he tried to reassure him that there must have been a misunderstanding. “Friend. These cows belong to us. Yes we might have made some business with Mexicans along the way, but we paid for each and everyone one of our herd. If you want maybe we can – “ But before the gaucho can finish, the cowboy suddenly drew his revolver and fired a bullet straight at his gut. The gaucho fell with a loud cry as he fell down to the ground holding his bleeding stomach. Seeing this, the cowboys and the gauchos suddenly aimed and fired their weapons at each other, and another gaucho fell from a hailstorm of Winchester rifle fire.
But both sides fired, the Gaucho’s mausers started to take a heavy toll on the cowboys. Many of their horses fell dead or bolted away from the battle. One gaucho manages to shoot a cowboy through the head with his rifle, and another manages to blow one off his horse with his blunderbuss. With the cowboys grounded and their horses either being dead or have left them, they were forced to retreat down the hill as the Argentinian rifles tear them apart.
One cowboy grabbed his whip and slashes at one gaucho in the face, ripping flesh from his skull. As the held his bleeding face in pain, another cowboy shoots him multiple times in the chest. A gaucho retaliates by throwing a bola at that cowboy that wraps around his legs and makes him fall to the ground squirming. Before the cowboy can get his knife to cut the bolas, the gaucho comes up to him, aims his rifle at his head and shot him. Another cowboy tried to shoot at that gaucho to avenge his friend, but the gaucho managed to turn around, chamber another round and fire a shot straight at the cowboy’s chest. However, he didn’t saw the other cowboy who aimed his pistol and shot him straight in the chest. As the gaucho laid down crying in the floor, the cowboy finally empties his whole cylinder at his head.
Seeing this, the remaining gaucho tried to shoot the cowboy with his rifle but it was empty. As the cowboy drew and aimed his other pistol, the gaucho ran up to him and swings his rifle at the cowboy, knocking the pistol off his hand. The cowboy then grabs his bowie knife and stabs the gaucho in the shoulder in return. Shouting in pain, the gaucho grabs his own facon knife and slashes at the cowboy’s chest, drawing large spurts of blood. The cowboy tried to slash back at the gaucho, but the gaucho dodges his attack and slashes his blade on the cowboy’s stomach. With an open abdomen and bleeding profusely, the cowboy tries to run away as the gaucho chases him in rage.
Panicking and with nowhere else to run, the cowboy then throws his bowie knife at the gaucho in impulse. The knife flew from his hand and lands straight at the gaucho’s surprised face, embedding deep into an eye socket and killing him. When the cowboy sees the gaucho fall dead and finding out that he has won this battle, he raises his hand and yells in victory: “YEEE – HAAAAAAAW”
The cowboys won because of their better close range and rapid-firing weapons. While the gauchos were more skilled up close and had the superior rifle, the cowboys had more experience in gunfights and had better skills with firearms that won them the day.
The Utah Territory, 1875
A roaring cloud of smoke can be seen ploughing through the dusty Western landscape. It’s path and course seemed unstoppable as the little critters dash away to safety. It moved on a clear linear path towards a small city in the horizon, leaving red hot dust and dried vegetation debris in its wake. That thing dashing along the landscape was a large train, the so-called Iron Horse as the Indians called it. And its tracks carved a mighty path all across the frontier.
Inside the train were 5 Japanese noblemen, a small bunch who stood out from the other passengers with their mix of Western and Oriental clothing. They were bureaucrats sent by the Japanese Imperial Government to further strengthened the US-Japan relationship. They were talking to each other in an alien language that was getting the other passengers anxious. But what’s more alien are their assortment of swords they brought with them in their journey. These men were former samurai. Ever since the Boshin War, these ex-warriors have taken other jobs in this day and age. While their warrior code obsolete, they were nonetheless learned men who were perfect for this task. But these warriors still yearned those heroic battles that they were trained solely to fight for in their whole lives.
Suddenly, the train abruptly stopped, rattling the passengers and disrupting the luggage with its sudden force. The passengers were shocked and angered by this, and as they looked outside they found out what made the engineer stopped the crate. A herd of cows have accidentally blocked the trail, sluggishly moving along in front of the train. With them where 5 hardworking cowboys who were trying their best to get the cows moving. The passengers angrily shouted at the cowboys for the delay, and the ranch hands tried their best to stay stoic and silent. The Iron Horse it seems, was not unstoppable.
But none was so enraged with this delay than the samurai, who by virtue of their Japanese culture, valued time more than anything. They stepped from the vehicle and approached the cowboys on horseback. One of them shouted at the yank to get move along, but his foreign language only left the cowboy confused. This confusion was misinterpreted by the samurai as insolence and feeling that they have been rudely disrespected by these middle-classmen, one of the drew his sword and cut the cowboy off his horse.
The cowboys were stunned by this, and the samurai managed to get some of their horses that they can use. The rest of the passengers took cover in the ensuing violence. One of the cowboys quickly drew his gun and shot at one of the samurai, and the other samurai retaliated by drawing their rifles and pistols and shooting back at the cowboys, killing one of them through a shot to the heart. Being at a disadvantage, the cowboys turned their horses and attempted to flee. The samurai got on their horses and gave chase.
A running gun battle ensued between the two parties. The cowboys knew that with fresh horses, it won’t take long before the samurais can finally reach them. So they set a course towards a dusty hill where they quickly dismounted and took positions. The samurai saw the cowboys take the high-ground, but not giving up yet, they make a bold frontal assault with their katanas and rifles drawn. The cowboys take out their Winchester rifles and made a shooting gallery of the approaching samurais. Two quickly died in the barrage of bullets, but another samurai managed to get a lucky hit on a cowboy with a headshot from his Smith and Wesson revolver. The cowboys continued raining hot lead on the samurais with their Peacemakers and Winchesters.
One of the samurai made a hard turn to the left in an attempt to flank the cowboys. The other samurai still boldly charging at the entrenched cowboys took several bullets to the chest, abdomen, limbs and neck. But through sheer bushido determination, the dying samurai still pushed forward, and as he neared the cowboys positioned, dropped himself off unto one of the cowboys and stabbed him right in the shoulder with a katana before dying himself.
The last remaining cowboy managed to flank the distracted cowboy and shot one of them in the eye with his Spencer rifle. The remaining cowboy, in a fit of rage, grabbed the samurai off his horse and wrestled him to the ground. The cowboy then start to beat the living shit out of the cowboy, but the samurai the turned the tides by hooking his leg on the cowboy's neck and used a triangular choke on him. Knowing that his wrestling and hard pounding was no match against the samurai's craftier jujitsu, the cowboy grabbed his knife and plunged it right at the samurais leg. The samurai yelled in pain before letting go of the cowboy and rolling away to grab his katana. The cowboy himself got up and readied his hand on his Colt pistol.
Both were eyeing each other for a time. The samurai with his hand on hos katana and the cowboy with his hand on his pistol. The two then qucikly drew their weaposn and attacked. However, the cowboy's bullet manage to take out the samurai befor ehe can get close, finally ending the battle.
The cowboy waved his hat in the air and yelled "YEEEE-HAW!!!!!"
The experts believed that the cowboy won because of their better skill at firearms and better tactics. The samurais might be tried and tested but their weapons and firearms were outdated compared to the more modern cowboys.