Stranger Danger

As he stepped off the train, a wave of panic seized him. This didn’t look like Louisiana. Where were the bustling people, the trill of jazz, and the musty, humid scent of seafood? Looking up, he noticed a sign, held together barely by one flimsy nail, stating the location: Welcome to Ackerly, Texas.

    Slowly, timidly walking into the dirty, patched-up town, he noticed there weren’t many finely built buildings, mostly shoddy sheds and barns, a startling difference from the shine of Chicago’s towering skyscrapers. At some point in the journey, he must have fallen asleep, missed his stop, and ended up waking just in time to arrive in this shanty town. When he looked around, he knew there was no electricity and therefore no way to contact his client, so he decided to wander around in the pitch-black night, hoping to find a tavern where he could ask for directions to the nearest telephone.

    In the local tavern, he noticed that only a few dusty, rowdy men-  all seemed to be drunk-  occupied the patched-up bar stools.  As he strode up to the white-haired bartender who was hunched over washing a tankard, he sneakily, slyly used the pretense of ordering a drink to find a way out of this middle-of-nowhere settlement.

    “Hey sir, do you know anywhere that I can find a telephone or a form of transportation?”

    “Pardon me for asking, but we don’t come by many newcomers in these times, and I’m curious, why are you here in the forsaken part of Texas?

    “It's a long story and one I am neither obligated nor inclined to share.”

    “Well, I guess it isn’t any of my business. There’s no electricity, so no telephones. However, if you are looking for a fast, cheap horse or buggy, I suggest trying the stable next door. The man sells at good prices, and his horses are the finest in miles.

    “I’ll check him out, thanks for the help.”

    Heading over to the stables, the newcomer slid something shiny from behind his back while advancing over toward the house next to the stables. Knocking on the door, the seller, who was groggy from waking up in the dead of night, opened the door a crack only to find himself staring straight into a gun.

    “Open the door!” The newcomer yelled, shoving the gun into the seller’s face.  

    “Okay, okay” The seller pleaded

    “Get me a horse in 5 minutes, or I’ll shoot you dead!” 

    The seller frantically pulled the first horse he saw in the stable, a light brown palomino, and dragged the indignant stallion over to where the man sat holding his gun. The seller tossed the reins and hid behind the porch as the man galloped away into the night. While the seller was glad to be safe, he regretted accidentally giving him the best horse he had. 

    The stranger breathed a sigh of relief as he and the horse pulled away onto the rough, unpaved road away from the stables. He only robbed that man because he had no money to pay and he needed this horse. He was riding away from the town across the barren, dry desert land, nothing in sight, when he heard a commotion at the edge. Peering across the landscape, he noticed another horse and rider had cantered up to him and stopped. Fifty feet away, the rider, who looked to be a sheriff, stood well over 6 feet tall. He clambered off his horse and watched the stranger with cold eyes. As the stranger slowly stepped off his horse, he realized that the sheriff, like him, had a gun.

    Looking over at the sheriff, the stranger hollered,

    “What you do think you’re doing, holding me up?”

    “I know who you are,” said the cop, “You done wrong son and I have come to stop you.”

    “I’d like to see you try,” sneered the stranger.

    His hand inching toward the holster of his gun, he waited for the sheriff to draw a weapon. He could already see that this sheriff was no fool, and had been around for a very long time. There was only one way to solve this: a duel. 

    Disembarking off their horses, the combatants shuffled around in circles, breathing inaudibly deep. Wind blowing in their faces, the sheriff, an older gentleman, was disadvantaged to the young, spry stranger on muscle, but topped him tenfold in experience. Hands inching toward their holsters, the enemies faced each other, glaring, eyes vibrant green to cold blue. Grabbing hold of his weapon first, the sheriff pulled the hammer back and hit the trigger.

The gun misfired, and the sheriff was forced back into reloading his weapon,  scrambling for powder and another bullet. Because the cop had fired away first, it gave the outsider the chance to take out the sheriff without the risk of a shot back. Taking that chance, the outsider drew his pistol and pulled the trigger, hitting the sheriff right in the chest. 

    With blood spurting from his heart, the elder fell to the desert floor, hitting the sand quietly. Walking up to the cop, the newcomer knelt by his failing, battered form and whispered in his ear, “If you knew who I was, why try to fight me?”

    “Because,” the dying man rasped, “no one else could.” 

    And with that, with the brave but foolish sheriff dying in the dirt, soaked with blood, the outsider, who seemed coldly indifferent to the other man’s death, walked away from the body and mounted his horse. His destination? The nearest city: Austin. 

***

14 Years Later

    The intruder stalked his prey like a cobra stalks a mouse, waiting for the right opportunity to strike. The prey, a wealthy, outspoken man against the newcomer’s employers, did not know what hit him. Falling silently to the ground, the spoiled pig hit his home’s floor with a small thud. As the hitman slowly walked away out of his sniper hole, he spotted a glint of a barrel aiming toward him. Dodging the bullet to come, he rolled away from his assailant, only to stand and stare right into the face of a ghost, who he hadn’t seen in over a decade.

    The face of the sheriff looked down upon him, eyes the same brilliant green, the same tall body, but without the gnarled signs of age. The stranger frantically grasped for the gun he dropped, but the sheriff kicked it out of his reach. Defenseless, the sheriff held the stranger's fate in his hands. He was a tiger contemplating a trapped deer. The stranger, who still was in shock at seeing the man die in front of him, cried, “Don’t kill me!”

    The sheriff, laughing, replied, “Too late now, you’ve already killed the sheriff.” 

    The stranger, baffled, asked, “Then who are you?

“I’m his son,” The sheriff replied harshly, “I watched from the window of my home as you killed my father. I was only six then, but I have traveled far and wide and after 14 long years, I will have revenge for the killing of my father.”

The stranger, realizing he was about to be shot, desperately tried to crawl for the door of his dusty hideout, scrabbling as fast as he could away from the sheriff. Just as he thought he might escape through the doorway, however, the menacing sight of the hilt of a gun came barreling into his line of vision as everything went dark.