text: The wind howls among the trees, you feel your fingers turn blue with the frostbite; your legs itch as if ants of fire were stung them. You definitely, have to get dressed now.
  
  The voice sarcastically replies in your mind: "Your victims have some clothes that would be about your size. You don't have time to be picky. We are not in New York."
  
  In the end, you find something to wear. A pair of worn and dirty jeans with a sturdy green uncomfortable fabric shirt that fits tightly on your chest and a dry, slightly scorched black leather vest; the only decent clothing is a good quality snakeskin leather boots.
  
  You can't help laughing: Actually, I look like a third-class brothel cowboy.
  
  You can feel Murray grumpily smirks in your head: "At least you are not going to die of cold, so stop with the complaints, when we find a good target to attack, you will be able to scavenge and find something better."
  
  You analyze the situation, as you try to comb your hair with your fingers: "Hmm, maybe we should stop and look through the remains, the bandits could have something interesting. Maybe, I can save some of my products."
  
  Murray is worried: "It wouldn't be wise, they were running away from something; I wouldn't like to be found in the middle of a pit of half-chewed corpses."
  
  > keep going on before anyone arrives
  You nod, talking to your mental host: "The sooner we get away from this killing, the safer we will be."
  
  Your tired feet continue walking between the rugged river bank, following the road in parallel, but far enough away, to hide quickly if you must.
  
  Soon, you see a group moving furtively along the road without any kind of light, in complete silence and with dark clothes the only thing that stands out is the silver star of a ranger in the vest of a plump and small man almost reminds you of Humpty dumpty.
  
  One of them armed with a small dragon addresses Humpty reverently pulling out his hat, however, his tone is reproachful:
  
  "Are you sure the southern band flees to California through the main road, boss?
  
  The ranger looks at him resentfully closing his tiny eyes to the point where a pig reminds you. Finally, he responds to the man with a strong and steely voice full of pride:
  
  "I am sure of my paid skulkers. Our foes, The damn southerners who sabotaged the last shipment of Virgin City silver to Boston isp loaded with powder and nitroglycerine back to California. New York mining companies are the ones who feed us with their bribes. We have to liquidate them before that they take away our bonus."
  
  The men keep wandering around the area. You sigh. Sooner or later they will find the wagon and the corpses expanded throughout the area and they will undoubtedly start investigating the entire area until there is no stone left unturned.
  
  Murray whispers worriedly: "You should take advantage to kill his leader, steal his horse. That will limit his margin of action."
  You cannot avoid moving in circles, feeling how your muscles tense and your heart beats at maximum speed. Kill him or not, it can be your salvation or instigate a Manzer jacket.
  
  Choose whatever koo choose, it will undoubtedly have consequences. I can always become the victim fleeing the crime scene.
  
  > Will stalk him
  In your feline form, everything is so different, more vivid and penetrating thousands of smells, perfumes and noises assail you at the same time while your powerful heart pumps blood towards your paws prepared to take action.
  
  the rancid aroma reminds you of never-washed sexual effluvia mixed with goat dung. But even so, just thinking about his blood and his flesh in your mouth makes you feel extreme.
  
  You sneak upon him from the shadows but something does not fit, his movements are erratic and he goes in a direction opposite to that of the rest of his men as if he were following a different map.
  
  Murray whispers weakly to you: "Oh ... He is one of those. Maybe it is better you don't pursue after all."
  
  "One of those?" you curious questions
  
  Murray invokes a cynical smile in your mind. And then he adds: "Continue the hunt and you will see it."
  
  > keep the stalking going on
  You're so curious about Murray's cryptic words that you don't even consider quitting chase, at least for now.
  
  Now, that you are closer to your goal, you can hear the source of the weird yelling and moanings; some female racoons on heat are "singing", searching for a lover. Strangely, the man dismounts his tired horse. His hormones and sexual desires are over the place, he almost smells like a stallion hog.
  
  You can't stop wondering what the fuck he is doing: Fuck! he is dropping his pants, is he going to pee? No... He is certainly not peeing! ...
  
  His loudly screams of pleasure mutate, becoming more like growls, similar, to those of the raccoons themselves. His bizarre dirty body shifts, covering himself with strange energy similar to when you transform into a cougar; you almost shout due to the enormous surprise, in front of you there is a huge raccoon body with its human face intact!
  
  Dozens of raccoons approach him, sniffing and offering themselves to him in a bizarre show of smells and grunts in the wilderness.
  
  > steal the iron in his hip
  Your sarcastic smirk can illuminate any ride in the midnight, You take advantage now that he is distracted in his rustic bacchanal to slowly get near his nasty pants, grabbing the real iron in this zoo love scene.
  
  You try to isolate yourself from the disgusting scene happening in front of your eyes, but the scene of he riding a female racoon back with more fleas and bones than the skin, has you mesmerized. The other 11 waiting for their fling. You know he needs to be neutralized.
  
  You cock the hammer, feeling the cold smooth touch of the ranger revolver in your needy hands. And you eagerly squeeze the trigger wanting for his money shot release
  
  The iron rain pierces his cranium, spreading his white content over his scared and shocked coon lovers who stampede into the depths of the forest.
  
  You hear gunshots in the distance coming in this direction; you know that sound, it is the sounds of his men retutning alarmed by the commotion.
  
  You decide to flee riding his horse, it will be useful to you. Like a ghost, you disappear into the night for those frightened men entering directly into the legends of the American West.
  
  Maybe I will make a great bandit, The White cougar. . After say that; you walk away riding the black stallion naked as if you were a new Lady Godiva.
  
  > Nowadays,
  2020, Nevada University. American Western's Legends class.
  
  The class is full of students placed with all possible drugs. Like the entire faculty, Las Vegas is without a doubt a hole in human morality, perhaps that is what makes hunting here so easy.
  
  You smirk; It is ironic to divulge your own legend and that of the creation and civilization of the American West.[/i]
  
  Finally, you finish your class for this semester:
  
  "So many lies and so much blood hidden behind the glamour of cinema and stories. Meanwhile, the white civilization steps every day on the skeletons of the Indian civilizations that massacred in the name of progress. That fear of culture in the shadows as strikes back course.
  
  That fear made them create spicy stories, about rangers fornicating with raccoons, and their fights with the White Cougar woman. A bandit, a whore and a cannibal.
  
  The most famous is the one called:
  
  The gayest Ballad of White cougar bandit against the Ranger Coon buggerer and the 12 coons
  
  It has been recorded by great country singers over time such as Buddy Holly, Willy Nelson or Bobby Rogers.
  
  The story spread throughout Nevada like wildfire, with the creation of the separate Territory of Utah and the explosive proliferation of silver and gold mines in Nevada, many of them illegal. and obtained after annihilating the local tribes. "
  
  "So did the Ballad of the White Cougar create the Milfs?" you hear a voice whisper between the students and a chorus of laughter, especially male.
  
  John Shilower, or something like that. His horrendous pachouli aftershave makes your especially sharp senses go overdrive. Hmm, you are hungry, and certainly, you will make evolution a favour freeing the world of his genes.