The Desert Skirmish
The man in black fled across the desert, and the gunslinger followed. The gunslingers feet trotted up the windy dunes with great pace, if he kept this up he’d be gaining on the man by sunrise. His determination wouldn't waver as the coarse granules of sand would occasionally be blown into his eyes via the relentless gusts of wind. He could see the man ahead of him in the far distance, like a black spot sticking out among the endless hills of sand, soon it would be dark and all the gunslinger would see would be the firearm snug in his holster glistening in the moonlight. Now the once unbearable sun had retreated and its absence swallowed the desert in pitch black darkness apart from the moon that struggled to reach the desert sand with its light. The gunslinger could no longer see the man nor could he hear anything but his own footsteps crunching among the sand. He took comfort in that he thought he was the only one around, he was wrong. Even after marching nonstop for near a day the gunslinger never tired, he lit a cigarette and popped it into his mouth taking two heavy drags and prepared for a third, he would never get that final drag. The gunslinger suddenly noticed a short overlap of footsteps, moments before a fist connected with his jaw. A hard punch indeed, but not enough to down this gunslinger. He stood disoriented, startled, but immediately regained his composure and began his search for the perpetrator, but to no avail. No footsteps, no breathing, just the howling of the wind that hurled the sand across the dunes. The gunslinger stood, patiently waiting for his attacker to present himself again, only this time the gunslinger had unholstered his six shooter. The shiny firearm still shone in the moonlight. This would turn out to be to the attackers benefit, as he could now trace the gunslinger’s location more efficiently. A swoosh of dust met the gunslingers eyes as a surprisingly large gust of wind battered the rest of the gunslingers senses, another well placed strike of the fist hit the gunslingers stomach, only this time he went down like a sack of potatoes. “Argh!” The gunslinger whimpered, that punch had felt like a freight train had delivered it. The only visible shining object was now towering above him, his six shooter seemed to be held by air but the gleam coming off its silver metal revealed the truth, a mans face was in view, the very same man the gunslinger had been pursuing. His eyes and skin tone were darkened, and combined with his hood and cloak it made him seem even more ominous, he looked like the grim reaper. The gunslinger layed there frozen, he had been beaten. No words were exchanged between the two, the silence was only broken after a lone gunshot was heard, then the silence returned. He looked on in the distance, the sun was just about to rise and he would have a long trip home. The gunslinger holstered one of his firearms and did the same with his other, this one he tucked under his coat, it was his lifesaver. Now that he had finally brought justice, he would once again return to his home only this time his only company would be his two guns, his family could now rest soundly knowing their killer is dead.