The Thornton Stand

Gather 'round, folks, and let me spin you the yarn of Thornton's Stand, a tale as wild as the frontier winds that carried it. Now, I heard this from Old Jeb, who swears he heard it from a weathered cowboy with a twinkle in his eye and a penchant for storytelling.
So there was this pint-sized gunslinger named Elias Thornton, not much bigger than a tumbleweed, they say. Back in the days before Dusthaven County was more than a twinkle in a pioneer's eye, Elias found himself facing down the meanest gang this side of the Mississippi. Now, mind you, this gang was so notorious, even the coyotes would hush their howling when they rode into town.
Well, Elias, with his trusty revolver and a glare sharp enough to cut through steel, decided he wasn't having any of it. They say he stood right there in the dusty street, the sun hanging low like a watchful eye, and faced that gang all by his lonesome. The tumbleweeds stopped their rolling, and the desert critters peeked out from their hiding spots, curious to see what in tarnation was about to unfold.
The outlaws, they came riding in like a storm, but Elias, quick as a lightning strike, drew his six-shooter and fired off shots so fast, it sounded like fireworks on the Fourth of July. Bullets whizzed through the air, and legend has it Elias was dodging lead like a spooked cat dodging raindrops.
The townsfolk watched from behind shuttered windows, and by the time the dust settled, Elias had single-handedly sent those outlaws packing. They say he didn't even break a sweat, and the only thing louder than the gunfire was the applause from the onlookers.
Now, you might think old Jeb added a pinch of exaggeration to the tale, but every legend's got a nugget of truth, they say. So, when you stroll through Dusthaven County and hear tell of Thornton's Stand, just remember, sometimes the tales of the Wild West grow taller than the saguaros at sunset.