The Town of Preservation

The tumbleweeds rolled across the open road. The dirt still swung in the air from the horses coming to a stop. Mad Dog McCreery held his two pistols skyward in his normal threatening act. "I expect someone coming out of the bank there and handing over today's deposits." He motioned towards the bank just a few feet away from him.
He aimed his right pistol at one of the children on the porch of the restaurant. The young one tried to hide behind his mother, but it just drew a laugh and comment from Mad Dog. "Might want to rethink that kid. I am a pretty good aim. I think I can get both you and your mom with one bullet.”
The handful of people on the street stood in silence while they waited for instruction. Only the laughter of the bandit and the hot summer wind dared make a noise.
McCreery flicked his other gun towards an old man who was closest to the bank. "Go inside and get me my money. Let the banker know a little boy’s life is at stake."
He watched closely as the old man made his way through the swinging doors into the bank. He tried to keep everyone in view to make sure that they all followed his demands. "If anyone is thinking about making a run for it, or looking for the sheriff. I got my posse at both ends of this here road. Anyone come running along, they are going to meet their end at the introduction of a bullet.
Everyone had heard of Mad Dog which is why they listened and took him seriously. He had been on the road robbing towns for years. He was too fast for the law and too ruthless to be questioned. He had made his way through most of the open west. Fighting Indians in Oklahoma and looting banks in Kansas, Nebraska, and Wyoming. He was a legend in his own right. But, he had done this act so many times it was second nature.
A gun shot rang out from the south. Mad Dog filled the air with his deep hearty laughter. It almost sounded like he was eternally congested deep down in his chest. "Like I said. I got my posse with me. Sounds like someone decided it was worth it to test them. I hope no one else here in..." He paused as he looked to his left to find a young woman fanning herself from the heat. "What town is this anyhow?"
The woman folded her fan and stuck it under her arm. She flipped the golden locks out of her face and said, "This is the little town of Preservation." Her words hung in the air as McCreery fought with his brain to remember why he knew that name.
As the realization started to form in his mind, he knew what he had done. Of all the legends in the west, there was one that spooked all the outlaws, the town of Preservation. It was a town who had never fallen to an outlaw. A town that never gave in to demands. It was a town of folks who did the unthinkable, they fought back.
He tried spur his horse and escape, but before the horse could take two steps gunshots rang out from all sides. He was shot four times and lay dying on the dirt road as the half dozen people he was holding hostage all walked up to his bullet riddled body.
All the citizens now held their firearms in plain view. The old man, the pretty woman, the mother, even her little child had all let hell rain down on the outlaw.
The pretty girl with the fan looked over the dying man and said, "We are the town of Preservation, the only town in the west that never needed a sheriff."