Culpepper

Culpepper was one of those rugged looking folk that drifted into the town of Willow Creek in the Arizona territory. Everyone who ever knew him knew him by that one name. Wasn’t that he didn’t think to mention his given name. He was just a man of few words and “Culpepper” seemed a full enough answer when anyone asked.
There were rumors he’d been married early on, but he didn’t ever mention it and when asked, he’d simply answer with something like “Looks like might rain” if it was cloudy or “Nice day” if it was sunny.
That being said, he wasn’t the sort to be stand-offish either. When someone needed help fixing their barn or any such thing, he always obliged.
This quiet yet helpful nature had the townsfolk feel good enough to elect him marshal, and keep on electing him for the next thirty years.
By the time he thought to retire, he’d sent six men to their graves. And when asked about the killings, he’d simply say “Looks like might rain” or “Nice day”, whichever looked appropriate.
When, at sixty plus years of age, he himself eventually passed on, and he found himself in front of St. Peter at the Pearly Gate.
“Ah… Here we are… Culpepper seems to be the name you like to be called,” St. Peter tapped a page from what was almost certainly the Good Book.
Culpepper nodded, “Yes… Now if you’re wondering about me killing those six men…”
St. Peter held up his hand, getting the requested silence, and pointed to the now open Gate, “Nice day.”