The name is sheriff Rex Wulf, but my people just call me wolf, the protector of the town of Red Horse valley in the Mid 1870s. In the dry dusty deserts of Utah a small 132 man town of he west, stands against expansion of the industrial north east business and government expansion to the west states.
Most other towns have been pushed back and bought out but not ours the town of Red Horse valley. It's a settlement nestled in a valley surrounded by rugged mountains, known for its dusty streets wooden saloons for good drink Red Horse Rock has a reputation for being a center of trade with western folk outlaws travelers stopping by to exchange stories and goods. The towns most profitable peace is our livery stable for horses and cattle people come by from all parts of Utah to buy them.
The finest horses and cattle in nearly all of the west.
The downsides it near a lot of cannibal territory however we call them savages very different breed from Indians or native Americans these savages
Will kill anything on-site As if mindless beasts they cover their bodies in white dust from grinded up bones of their prey even their own people, they dismember, and wear their bones as trophies how to differ them from traditional Indians or native Americans. They look
Extremely pale and animal like movement their weapons are usually made from bone.
Rather than any of the usual craft. Luckily sheriff's like myself keep people safe from them. And right on the line of the east and west of Utah, which has been more than taken over by big business in industrialization on the East Side.
Northwest pioneers always trying to buy a up land that don't belong to them and turn it into their own shit holes, we out here in the west preference simple slow life while it ain't the easiest living out here, The people here do love it this is a town where everybody knows everybody in this hundred or so man town.
Even though it won't last forever, the futures coming in hard but come hell or high water.
I'll protect it to the very end of my tale, until my dying breath.
I have been the local sheriff of this town for over 7 years now, No man's a better shot this earned me a name among outlaws and Indians. They begun calling me the Red Wolf of the west, a ruthless sheriff of justice upholding the law of the west I can't disagree either.
I've claimed more heads of outlaws and savages then most other sheriffs in the entire wild west. A quicker draw then a gator twice as lethal than a Wolf's bite hence where the name came from.
I'm standing at about six foot three I always wearing my signature gray and dark gray sheriff outback hat, black leather duster coat, made from hardened gator hide and various blood stains of famous outlaws, throughout signifying my name ain't no hoax the west is mine to keep.
I'll protect it to my dying breath, in one day be burned at sea in the very place my father used to take me, when he was teaching me to be a man. He too was a sheriff, a good one too and a good man of the lord always upholding justice in the name of God.
That was before one night he never returned home even though we waited days weeks it took almost a month to finally get the. Report that he was killed in action a couple group of outlaws had him cornered after he was betrayed by is deputy on the job they say there was nothing left of him to bring back only his gray warn sheriff's hat, I wear it to this day. One of the prouder and nightmarish times in my life is when I got to be the sheriff to hunt down all those outlaws and crooked sheriffs that killed my Pa, and I put golf ball sized holes in each of those men's hearts. I would be lying if I didn't say it felt good in the moment, But deeper down I knew my Pa would be really disappointed in how I handled it.
Hunting them down in the name of revenge to satisfy my own need for it instead of hunting them down in the name of justice. Since then I turn to God Just like my pa had not in the name of hurting others but protecting the innocent in the Lord's name And serving justice to the wicked.