I was born in the Wild Wild West.
My dad owned a small ranch.
My parents managed the ranch
with the help of a couple of cowboys.
Our neighbor was a big rancher,
with a ranch much bigger than ours.
He was a greedy man and wanted to
expand his ranch by buying up the small ranches.
First, he offered money.
Then he used force, backed by a
set of gunslingers.
He swallowed up most of the ranches around us.
My dad was good with the gun,
even though he was not fast.
When I was five years old,
he bought me a pair of toy guns and a gun belt.
He taught me how to wear the guns,
and draw and shoot with them.
I practiced with them day after day and
became fast with my toy guns.
When I turned 15, my dad bought me a
proper gun belt and a pair of Colt Peacemakers.
I practiced with them day after day and
became really fast and accurate with my Peacemakers.
One day, when I was away in town,
our neighbour came to our ranch
and said he wanted to buy it.
But my dad said it was not for sale.
He sent two of his hired gunmen
to our ranch to force my dad to sell it.
When my dad refused, they gunned down
my dad and mom in cold blood.
When I returned from town, I found
the dead bodies of my parents.
I was devastated and angry.
I wanted revenge and I wanted blood.
I went to the town’s saloon
and challenged the killers.
They were fast but I was faster.
I killed them both in a fair fight.
Then the wealthy rancher
put the corrupt sheriff after me.
But I left the town in a hurry before
the sheriff could catch me and lynch me.
I rode for days until I reached
a county far away from my home.
There I saved the life of a rancher,
and he took me in after hearing my story.
I had learned the tasks of a cowhand and
was good at it—my dad had trained me well.
I worked for my new boss and
soon became his Segundo.
I never stopped practicing my draw and aim.
I became fast and people said that
I belonged among the real fast guns, one of the magic-handed
group who could draw and shoot in less than half a second.
The white people called me Sudden
and the Indians called me magic hands.
I became famous and that became a curse.
People challenged me forcing me to draw.
Although I didn’t seek trouble, trouble found me.
I had to kill many men to stay alive.
But I was secure in the ranch and
only went out when it was necessary.
One day, I met a girl and fell in love.
She loved me too, and after a brief
courtship, we married.
Soon we had a son and a daughter.
I taught my son how to handle
the gun as my dad taught me.
I taught him all tricks and tips I learned.
I always told him to stay out of trouble, which he did.
My son became fast and accurate—
even faster than me. He was deadly.
When I turned fifty, I decided to retire.
I spent most of my time on the ranch.
One day, I had to go to the town and
there I met a gunman who claimed to be
the son of a gunslinger whom I killed.
He forced me to draw, driven by revenge.
I was fast, but age had dulled my reflexes.
I couldn’t match my opponent’s speed.
He shot me in the gut,
wanting me to suffer a slow and painful death.
While I lay on the ground slowly dying,
my son came running to me.
He was sad and angry and wanted revenge.
He wouldn’t listen to my pleas not to go down that path.
After burying me he went looking for my killer.
It was a path that I had shielded away from him.
But he cannot return to normal life
once people discovered how fast he really was.
That is a gunman’s curse.
I lived it and now my son is going the same way.
There is no escape once you start and
it will not stop until you die.
