01: A Fistful of Justice (The Cowboy)

Bravos nearly jumped out of his shoes with excitement. Tonight was the night he officially joined the Coolidge Street Wolves. His two fellow gang members had spotted some likely targets—a young couple, walking the wrong street at the wrong time. Maybe they'd have a little money on them; maybe not. The Wolves weren't picky.

Bravos stepped out of the alley and pointed a gun at the victims. As he did so, the other Wolves sneaked around behind them, cutting off any escape. “Hand over your wallets. And the rings,” Bravos said.

The couple were paralyzed with fear, so Bravos pulled the hammer back on the gun. The young man stepped in front. “We'll do what you say. Just don't hurt us.” He quickly took his wallet out of his back pocket and set it on the ground.

Not that it mattered. There was a reason Bravos had the gun. He took careful aim a the young woman's head.

“We gave you what you want!” she shouted. “Please, just let us go!”

“Quit cryin',” the hoodlum said, squeezing the trigger. “Die like a--”

He never finished his sentence—or his initiation—as he was cut off by the sudden appearance of a loop of rope around his midsection. “What the--”

Suddenly he was yanked through the air, landing against a brick wall hard enough to leave a dent. His cohorts turned, only to find another man charging at them. He was a wall of muscle in a t-shirt and jeans, his face obscured by a white Stetson and a red bandana.

The second thug had barely drawn his gun when he was leveled by a massive clothesline. The third criminal swung her baseball bat at the stranger. The weapon slammed into the man's shoulder, but all it did was make him turn around and look annoyed.

“Shouldn't oughtta done that,” he said, before grabbing her shirt and throwing her across the street, on where she landed on top of her partner in crime.

The mysterious stranger grabbed the thug at his feet and dragged him over to the others. He quickly tied them all together, using the rope still wrapped around the first one. Once the criminals were secured, he gave a sharp whistle, and a nearby motor roared to life.

The man in the hat nodded at the couple. “Y'all get home safe now. Make sure to tell the police what these punks did.”

Just then, a motorcycle raced around the corner...seemingly by itself. The stranger whistled again, and it came to a stop in front of him. He hopped on, tipped his hat at the young couple, and rode off into the night.

Those two people weren't sure what to tell the police, or the press, at first. Over the years, they told the story a thousand times or more. They were the first...the first victims rescued, the first witnesses to a new dawn of heroism, and the first to ask...

“Who was that masked man?”