The Power Of A Western

The sun sits low on the horizon. The haze of lingering dust swirls in the wind. The squeaking of a rusty swaying saloon door and the clanking of spurs are the only sounds we hear as a mysterious figure – an outlaw – makes his way down the wooden sidewalk. The sidewalk that links together what’s left of this shabby town. It seems to have been deserted years ago. When the Roughriders heeded the call by Roosevelt, there was no one left to defend the good law-abiding citizens and faithful church-going parishoners. They had no choice but to leave… or to die.

The clanking of spurs is over taken by the at too familiar clack of a revolver being sprung shut. The sidearm shows no immediate signs of aggression. It just lays comfortably in the weathered right hand of the mystery gunman. But it won’t stay that way for long.

Movement. The lacy curtains in the window above the hardware store just moved. A slice of light reveals the black bean eyes of a another cowboy deep within the shadows. Realizing the dangers of staying out in the open, the patrolling cowboy down on the ground takes shelter behind an abandoned wagon. ‘I know you’re there!’ he shouts. ‘We both know how this ends!’

He waits for a reply. Silence. 

A falcon streaks across the sky. It’s shadow racing across the ground. It’s squawk assaulting the silence.

The mysterious figure is not use to being on the losing end of a barrel. Indignantly he shouts, ‘You should have never come back!’ A drop of sweat slips down his face and into his eyes. Though it burns like fire, there’s not a chance in this world that he will risk diverting his attention from that window.

Click… With the flick of its hammer, the passive sidearm becomes aggressive.

‘Show yourself, you coward!’ Like rabies in a rabid dog, rage begins coursing through his veins. The ungodly heat must be scrambling his brains. All rational fear is gone.

‘If I’m going to hell, you’re going with me!” He rushes out into the street with his trusty sidearm blazing. The first bullet splitters the wood framing around the window. Another ricochets off a lantern. Two crisscrossing bullets shatter the glass and become firmly implanted in the wall just either side of the shadowy cowboy’s head. Calm and collected, the shadowy cowboy lowers the bead of his sight till it aligns with the center of the outlaws chest.

The fifth of the out law’s bullets… misfires. Irate – the outlaw yells at his trusty companion. ‘What is wrong with you, you stupid piece of trash!’ To be yelled out… to be betrayed by his partner in crime is too much for the sidearm to bare. In slow motion, the silver six shooter falls to the ground.

POW! The sixth shot doesn’t miss. The shock and awe on his face can be seen from one end of the town to the other. The outlaw collapses to his knees. Justice is dished out by a single shot from his own gun.

That is the power of a western and the end of our story!

©2014 Marshal Hunter. All Rights Reserved.