-START-

The flames burned high at the old farmstead as the gunslinger watched his life burn away. His wife, whom he couldn't bury with only one arm, was in that house, turning to ashes, the only fitting memorial he could give her. No tears came from his eyes, as they watched, hard as stones, as his peaceful existance disappeared.

He stayed long after the house was embers.

Afterwards, the gunslinger went to the barn, and fetched the only horse on the farm. It had been a pack horse, a gelding, they used for trips to the local general store. The horse hadn't merited a clever name, Pips, but now it was almost all the gunslinger had. Saddled and tied off, the horse looked at its' wounded master, with askanced eyes. The saddle on its' back was heavy, and Pips wasn't used to its weight. The horse saw the gunslinger approach, fixing a well-oiled leather belt on his hips, a holster attached towards the back of his right hip.

The gunslinger walked up to Pips, and checked all the straps and thongs on the saddlebags, making sure the little food and water he had were secured. After checking his gunna, the put a booted foot in a stirup, and swung his leg over the horse. Grabbing the reins wrapped around the saddlehorn, the gunslinger clucked Pips and started troting towards the small town he lived aways from for over five years.

The town appeared to him late in the day, as he traveled over one of the few things that might be considered a road. The gunslinger and Pips arrived a few hours before dark, and the gunslinger knew he wouldn't reach anywhere else before nightfall. He rode Pips to the local hostle, and took him into the stable, where a few other animals were tied up. The gunslinger tried speaking up, but the bullet wound flared up, and all came out was a grunt. After a wince, the gunslinger banged on the counter loudly.

"What!" A gruff old voice from the back of the hostle came out. The gunslinger grunted again, and banged the counter with his fist, three times. "I'm a-comin', I'm a-comin', you impatient fuc..." the voice died out as a loud crack was heard, and an old man with shocking white hair came out, behind the counter.

"What's so damn important!" the Hostle eyed the gunslinger for the first time with a dirty eye.

The gunslinger thumbed his horse, then put the reins into the Hostle's hands. Then the gunslinger's hands mimicked sleeping, and then a forefinger came up.

"Hrump!" The Hostle went, looking at the pack horse. "You want me to put up your horse for a night? Is that it?" The old man got a nod, and two silver specie, popped out of the gunslinger's hand like magic. The old man wasn't fooled.

"I'll get you your change, you mute son-of-a-bitch." The old Hostle growled, walking back, and coming back to the counter a few seconds later, with a few brownnotes back to the gunslinger. The Hostle snatched the reins from the mute man, and led Pips on, and the gunslinger saw a caring hand from the old man petting the horses flank. The gunslinger smiled, and walked out.

The early evening forced the gunslinger to walk towards the only lodgings in the town, which also served as the only bar as well. The gunslinger walked their, pushing open the swinging doors, where clients for the bar were already feeding money into the business. He met up with the lodgekeeper, and signaled him that he wanted to spend one night. The keep nodded, and the gunslinger peeled some brownnotes out, and handed them over.

"Not planning to cause trouble, are you?" A slow Texas drawl came from behind the gunslinger.

He looked behind him, and saw the town Sheriff, uniform and shooting iron. The gunslinger motioned outside, and grabbed his room key. Him and the Sheriff walked out and away from the door a bit, the failing light showing the small, poor excuse of a town to the gunsliner.

"Haven't seen you here in a long while. Now you've come weighed down." The Sheriff paused to spit tobacco juice onto the ground. "Something I missed?"

The gunslinger answered by moving his hat's bola from his chin, showing the Sheriff what laid under it. The lawman grimmaced at the ex-lawman, and looked off in the distance.

"You're wife, too?" Which earned him a nod. The Sheriff sighed, and shrugged his shoulders. "All I can tell you, is not to do what I know you're gonna do." The Sheriff turned and walked off, leaving the gunslinger standing in the falling night. The wounded ex-lawman went back to the lodging.

By sunrise, both he and Pips, were gone.

-END-

12/16/2003

Author's Note: Explainations: gelding - a neutered horse askance - sideways, or in this case, sidelong gunna - sometmes described as worldly possessions, but it really means the tools necessary to kept your arms in working condition troting - a set speed for horses, this one is almost a slow jog. A cantor is fast, while walking is much slower hostle - means a place of upkeeing, like a european one, but a night check-in for horses and donkeys were called hostles silver specie - A coin made with a silver coating over another metal, usually copper or zinc. These were worth much more than paper money brownnotes - term refering to money at the time, which was usually a beige in color bola - a cord with a looppeice to hold something on, like a hat. Neck bolas are also popular among cowboys as a sign of prosperity

Posted on 12/16/2003
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