Chapter 3: The “Grand” Sights of Canyon City

Welcome back, Charmy’s Army fans! In today’s hilariously literal comic strip, Gooser Dadburn finds himself at the Coffee Saloon in Canyon City trying his absolute best to look like a hardened, serious frontier lawman. When asked by a local lady what brought him into town, Gooser passionately declares, “I’m looking to bring a killer to justice.” But instead of being met with awe, he gets met with total confusion when she assumes he’s just a stagecoach driver shuttling folks to “Justice”—a small town located just an hour down the road! To make matters worse, a couple of local barflies try to catch a ride with him because one horse is “in the shop” and the other is “lame.” Completely defeated by the town’s baffling literalism and absurd logistics, Gooser sums up his frustration in four perfect words: “THIS TOWN IS LAME.”

“High-Octane” Frontier Drama

Gooser threw his hands into the air, nearly knocking over his lukewarm mug of chicory coffee. “Lame! Unbelievably, undeniably, historically lame! I am an elite frontier tracker! I hunt desperadoes across unforgiving badlands! I don’t run a city transit line for broken-down livestock and folks who can’t read a map!”

The two old-timers at the end of the bar—Barnaby, whose hat looked like it had been chewed on by a goat, and Cletus, whose mustache drooped straight into his cup—puffed out their chests in collective offense.

“Now hold on just a minute there, stranger,” Barnaby grunted, leaning heavily against the wooden counter. “You can’t just walk into the fine establishment of Canyon City, drink our top-shelf brew, and go calling our fair settlement lame!”

“That’s right!” Cletus chimed in, pointing a crooked finger at Gooser’s eyepatch. “Canyon City happens to be the jewel of the territory! We’ve got culture, action, and high-octane frontier drama if you know where to look!”

Gooser rested his chin in his hand, squinting his single eye with deep skepticism. “High-octane frontier drama? Fellas, I’ve been in this town for two hours. The most exciting thing I’ve seen so far was a tumbleweed getting caught in a wagon wheel, and even the tumbleweed looked bored.”

World-Class Local Entertainment

“That tumbleweed was part of the semi-annual Canyon City Drag Race!” Barnaby argued proudly. “We line up three prime tumbleweeds at the top of Main Street, release ’em into the wind, and bet our hard-earned silver on which one hits the blacksmith shop first. Last month, ‘Old Dusty’ set a town record—three minutes and forty-two seconds! Folks came from miles around. Well, mostly from three doors down, but that’s still a crowd!”

Gooser blinked slowly. “You race dead plants. That is literally your town’s flagship sporting event.”

“It’s about the thrilling uncertainty of the wind!” Cletus insisted, waving his hands. “And if sports ain’t your thing, we’ve got world-class theatrical arts! Every Tuesday night, the mayor stands on a rain barrel in front of the dry goods store and imitates the sound of a startled mule. He’s got three distinct braying pitches! You won’t find that kind of artistic sophistication over in Tombstone or Deadwood!”

The Notorious Outlaws of Canyon City

“Unbelievable,” Gooser muttered, taking a slow, agonizing sip of coffee. “What about the danger? The crime? The ruthless outlaws that test a man’s true grit? Surely a town named ‘Canyon City’ has a bloodthirsty gang or two lurking in the shadows.”

Barnaby grinned, exposing a single gold tooth. “Oh, we got outlaws, alright! Meanest varmints you’ll ever lay eyes on. Ever hear of the terror known as ‘Slippery Pete’?”

Gooser perked up slightly, adjusting his eyepatch. “Slippery Pete? What’s his racket? Bank robberies? Stagecoach heists? Train derailments?”

“Worse,” Cletus whispered in a hushed, dramatic tone. “He sneaks onto folks’ porches at night… and swaps their left boots with their right boots! You wake up in the morning, try to walk to the outhouse, and BAM—you trip right over your own ankles! It’s psychological warfare! The Marshal has had a ‘Wanted’ poster up for him for six months, but Pete’s too slick. He leaves behind a single lemon drop at every crime scene just to mock us!”

Gooser stared at them in utter disbelief. “A boot-swapper. You are terrified of an outlaw whose signature crime is mild foot discomfort.”

“He also forgets to close the garden gates!” Barnaby added ominously. “The chickens get out! It’s utter bedlam!”

State-of-the-Art Horse Mechanics

Gooser rubbed his temples, feeling a headache coming on. “Okay, fine. The crime is pathetic and the entertainment is a tragedy. But what about your local infrastructure? I heard someone say their horse is ‘in the shop.’ Since when does a horse go into a shop?!”

Cletus straightened his vest with pride. “That’s our state-of-the-art Livery & Mechanical Repair Barn! Zeke, our town mechanic, doesn’t just shoe horses—he upgrades ’em! My horse, Buttercup, was clunking around last week. Zeke hooked him up to a series of pulley systems, greased his horseshoes with bacon fat, and installed a leather cup holder right onto the saddle horn! He’s currently tuning up Barnaby’s gelding with a fresh set of brass bells so people know he’s coming three blocks away.”

“It’s called modern luxury,” Barnaby stated. “Though right now Zeke is holding the horse because he can’t figure out why it’s idling rough.”

“Horses don’t idle!” Gooser yelled, his voice cracking with exasperation. “They eat grass and stand there! This whole town is living in an alternate reality where logic went out the window!”

The “Grand” Canyon

“And don’t get us started on the scenery!” Cletus shouted back. “Look at the name! Canyon City! You think we got that name for nothin’?”

“Let me guess,” Gooser sighed. “There isn’t actually a canyon.”

“There is most definitely a canyon!” Barnaby declared. “Just behind the church! It’s a grand, sweeping geological wonder!”

“It’s a three-foot ditch caused by rain runoff last spring,” the lady in the blue dress chimed in from the counter, finally looking up from her tea. “A stray goat fell in last week and just walked right out.”

“It has vast potential for expansion!” Cletus barked defensively.

Gooser placed both hands on the bar counter, leaned his head down, and let out a long, heavy sigh. Out of all the wild west mysteries and dangerous territories he had explored as a tracker, Canyon City was proving to be the most grueling—not because of deadly gunslingers, but because the sheer, concentrated lameness of the town was wearing down his sanity.

He looked back up at the lady in the blue dress, his single blue eye filled with desperate resolve. “Lady… if you know where this killer went, please tell me he left Canyon City immediately.”

“Oh, he went up to Dead Man’s Gulch three days ago,” she replied casually.

“Thank goodness,” Gooser breathed. “A place with an actual intimidating name! I’m leaving right now before someone tries to sell me a horse with dual exhaust.”

He slapped a silver coin onto the counter, adjusted his cowboy hat over his bald head, and stomped toward the saloon doors—hoping against hope that the trail to justice would lead him far, far away from Canyon City.

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