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On a warm dry and dusty night, three men sat around a small camp fire arguing over a bank robbery that they had planned for several months which had gone badly wrong. The first of the men, a tall lean man called Jake Scouler was the one who seemed to be getting the most hassle from the other two.

Jake liked to dress in fine silk shirts and other dandy-like clothes. An expert gunfighter and safe breaker, he had originally hailed from England, growing up in a small quiet village called Tremwell but had moved to America to seek out his fortune in the wild west. He smoked a small thin cigarette which he’d rolled himself minutes before and had joined up with three other men to rob a bank, two of which were now sat now with him.

"What thee hell took ye so long ya dumb gringo bastard", said one of the men whose name was only known as "Elmono", a big fat Mexican bloke who wore stinking black and red clothes (though looking at them you would think them to be rags) and smoked a large thick steaming cigar. He preferred to kill his opponents from behind, usually by slitting their throats with the big mule skinning knife he carried in his belt.

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