12-NO GUNS FOR GERONIMO STILTON

NO GUNS FOR GERONIMO STILTON We returned to the saloon. Our rooms were on the first floor. The beds were full of fleas. The walls were stained and peeling. The floor had mounds of dust. And the smell was enough to drive a mouse to drink rat poison! Trap pinched his nose. "Germeister, is that you? You should stay away from those beans!" he smirked. I sighed. Oh, why did I get stuck with such an OBNOXIOUS cousin? He was so annoying. He was so immature. He was so... clumsy. I watched in horror as Trap threw open the shutters, knocking over a huge vase of flowers.

It crashed down onto the street. "Be CAREEEEEEEFUL! You could hit somebody!" I shrieked. I scrambled to the window. Cheese niblets! The vase had hit somebody. Mick Muscle Mouse stood under the window holding a flower. I could see a huge bump forming on his head. "You again!" he roared. "Stranger, tonight I'm going to finish you off! I'm gonna send you packing! You'll be headed for the great big cheese deli in the sky!" In a flash, the undertaker appeared next to him. "Big cheese deli in the sky?" he squeaked, rubbing his paws together. I ran down to the saloon. I had to straighten things out between Mick and me. After all, I never meant to upset anyone. Unfortunately, Mick was another story. He

loved hurting mice. And he was proud of it. "Stranger! Tonight there'll be one less rodent in Cactus City! Get ready for a shoot- out!" he yelled. My teeth began to chatter. "I will certainly n-n-n-not get r-r-r-ready f-f-f-for a shootout," I stammered. "GERONIMO STILTON DOES NOT SHOOT G-G-G-GUNS." Mick rolled his eyes. "This stranger is a 'fraidy mouse!" he cried. Everyone in the saloon stared at me. 'FRIDAY MOUSE! 'FRIDAY MOUSE! they chanted. Squeaks of laughter filled my ears.