Sheriff Screech was ready to serve out a heapin' scoop of 'Frontier Justice.' Hillbilly Hank and his outlaw gang of good fer nothin' varmint mice had struck again; robbing for the umpteenth time, the already dirt-poor citizens of Fort Beaverton. The vicious gang had thieved every last grain of wheat from the community's silo and winter was a' comin'. Life was tough enough on the edge of the frontier, without villains snatching what few scraps of food that people could eek out of the parched, dusty earth.
The Sheriff was the only one to call on, when an already tough life took a vicious turn fer the worse, because of a thievin' pack of rodent desperado's. It seemed like his old six shooters hardly had a chance to cool down nowadays. Sheriff Screech hoped that had had enough bullets fer what he was about to do, as Hillbilly Hank's gang of mice bred like rabbits. The quick loaders that he kept under his hat would have to do. He knew one thing though, he would eat good tonight: mouse pie, mouse on toast, mouse liver and onions, mouse kabobs and his favorite, mouse bourguignon! Ah, 'mais oui,' the French knew how to cook mice! Old Screech hoped that he had enough red wine back at the Sheriff's office fer the recipe . . .