The cowboy is fired by the executioner.
The cowboy drags out a body as proof. It was grey and hard as a rock.
‘This is no dead body, this is an Egyptian,’ says the executioner.
The cowboy feigns a heart attack and asks the executioner to hang him.
‘End it for me, for I don’t have the courage,’ he said.
The executioner is deceived, tied up by the cowboy.
The cowboy posts the following on every saloon: “THE EXECUTIONER WILL BE EXECUTED.”
The cowboy dresses like a king.
‘So you’re the king?’ says a man to the cowboy. The man is eating a lollipop.
‘I didn’t know a cowboy could be king?’
‘Anybody could be the king, sire,’ said the king. ‘Even you.’
The king gave his crown up to the man. The man became the king.
Under this new king, many executioners were employed. They were worked all through the day and all through the night and still the blood was only paralleled by the executioners’ sweat.
The cowboy returned.
‘What have you done with your power?’ he asked.
‘I’ve reorganized the state,’ said the king.
The cowboy drew his gun.
The king drew his gun. The king of the cowboys.
‘Long live the king,’ declared the executioner, unleashing the guillotine on the final evildoer.
The executioner is totally alone.