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So, there's this little peaceful town on the edge of the frontier. One day a gang of outlaws rides in to rob the bank. On the way, they stop by the saloon, shoot up the place, and have their way with the barmaids. They rob the bank, killing everyone in sight, then proceed to set half the town on fire. On the way out of town, they go out of their way to kill the town stray, leaving the dead dog lying in the middle of the street.
Panicked citizens run to the town marshal's office to tell him about all of this and find him sitting on his porch smoking a cigarette. He listens calmly, nodding, stubs out his cigarette and lights another.
"Aren't you going to do something?" the townspeople cry.
"Which way did they go?" the Marshal finally asks with a weary sigh.
"South! They road South!"
"Thought so," says the Marshal. "See my horse there? Which way is he pointing?"
"Uh...North?"
"There you have it. If they fled north, I'd chase them. But since they're fleeing south... my horse is just facing the wrong damn way."
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