"Sheriff outta hearin' range yet?" the bandit muttered around his cigar.

"Yup." The rustler spat a stream of tobacco juice, arcing over the porch and splatting into the dusty main street of town.

The moonshiner, his stool leaning against the weathered pine wall of the general store, tipped it back onto all fours, slid his flask out of hiding, and shared it around.

"You're a bold'un," Granny Beezus said, tottering up the steps. "Bringin' hard liquor right inta town. But I won't squeal on ya, long as I get a swig, too."

"Bold as they come, that's me," the moonshiner boasted, passing her the flask.

The bandit snorted. "Takes a mite more courage than that to hold up a stage coach. You ever even held a gun?"

"I have," the rustler bandied right back. "Had 'em aimed at me, too. Don't scare me none."

"Oh ho!" hooted Granny. "Who's the biggest and baddest of you three good-fer-nothin's?"

"You don't hold up stage coaches!" the moonshiner blasted at the bandit. "Not with them armed guards. You wait for lily-livered city slickers to stray inta yer ambush, miles from town! And you--" He jabbed a finger at the rustler. "You bandy-legged son of a cowpoke, you do your hustle slinkin' around the edges, never in range of no rifle."

"Who's talkin'?" the rustler shot back. "You creep around in the dark of night, tuckin' your contraband outta sight whenever you come to town. I'm paradin' my goods under everyone's noses!" He waved at his saddle horse. "Ever notice how ornate my brand is? Made up of all the local ranch brands. Worked 'em all into one design. No one ever notices I've branded over! And you--" He turned to the bandit. "Where's yer bandolier? Never wear it to town, do ya? Afraid to let anyone know yer business?"

"Afraid?" the bandit roared, leaping to his feet. "Them wanted posters tell 'bout my blazin' red bandana, but I go on wearin' it in plain sight, see?" He flapped it in their faces. "I'm boldest, and my fists'll back me up!"

The other two lurched to their feet.

"Boys, boys," Granny hooted. "Don't brawl now. I didn't bring no bandages to this dance!"

The ruffians glared and growled in their stand-off while the sage-scented summer wind blew a tumbleweed down the street.

"Well, lookee there!" Granny cackled, gazing down the road. "If that ain't Miss Daisy Mae come waltzin' along the boardwalk. All decked out in ruffles and bows, and a bright pink riband for a sash. I hear she's bound and determined to snare a husband this week, one way or t'other."

The three outlaws abandoned their claims for acclaim and high-tailed it out of town.

.

Prompt: band... found buried in other words!