The Stranger

by

Tony G

Beta Reader - Carol Marsella

Day 1

Chapter 1

The Stranger

It was only ten in the morning and already the hot sun was blistering down on the deserted street. Under the wooden boardwalk a dog had taken shelter, panting for the want of a drink of water. The bank and general store were open but nobody was inside. The people preferred to stay at home out of the sun.  Except those, of course, who had crowded into the saloon for the shade and company of their friends and maybe an odd beer or two.  

The Stranger walked his horse out of the livery stable. He stopped once he was in the sun. The warmth felt good. Warmth he had not felt in a long time. He surveyed the empty street both ways. He was glad it was empty. It was good to just quietly slip out of town. No fuss.  He slowly lifted his foot into the stirrup and gracefully pulled himself into the saddle. Only the creaking of the leather broke the silence.  He turned his horse southward, glad he wasn't staring into the sun.  As he urged his horse forward, it responded immediately as though the animal knew it would be foolish to argue. The horse walked slowly down the street, gently rocking The Stranger in the saddle. They walked on, unnoticed.  Except by the dog under the boardwalk. As they passed, the dog stopped panting and crawled backwards, further out of sight.  After a short while. they reached the edge of town and The Stranger pulled the horse up.  He sat still in the saddle, looking forward. He didn't turn around to look back down the street. He just sat there listening.  Maybe for a voice yelling, telling him to stop. Maybe challenging him, daring him to turn around.  But no voice came. The Stranger nudged his horse and again the horse moved forward.

The Picnic

Mike Williams loved to fish and he today he was happily at it. The wooden rod and line that Slim had made for him worked well and he had already caught two catfish; two more and that would be supper taken care of. Slim and Jess kept giving him advice on how to best catch fish but Mike noticed they were good at telling him what to do but hadn't actually managed to get a bite between them. Oh well he thought, that's grown ups for you. They know what to do. They can tell ya how to do it. But they can't seem to manage to do it themselves. He thought it might be a good thing if he stayed a kid all the time. Then he could talk less and do more!

"You're doing fine, Mike, just fine," said Slim. "Just remember to keep a nice tight hold on that pole."

"Yeah and keep an eye on that float," added Jess.

"You sure know a lot about fishing," replied Mike. "Slim, does knowing things take up a lot of room in your head so it stops you being able to do things?" asked Mike.

"What do you mean Mike," asked Slim.

"Well, it's just that you and Jess know so much about fishing, I can't figure out why you can't catch any."

“Daisy could hardly contain her amusement when she noticed the expression on Jess’ face.  She had to look at the ground to hide her smile. "That's a good question Slim," she said. "You know, Mike, I was just about to ask the same thing."

"See, Aunt Daisy, you think the same."

Slim let out an embarrassed cough and started to splutter out a reply.   "That's probably right, Mike, it sure would explain our luck."

Jess thought he could do better than Slim so he chipped in, too. "Thing is, Mike, a man has a lot on his mind and it means that he sometimes gets things mixed up so they don't always work out the way he thinks they will. Like this fishing for instance. Me and Slim always catch lots of fish, but today we are both thinking of other things."

Jess really looked challenged. "Well there's the painting of the barn for instance.”  He could have bitten his tongue off when he said it.

The Stranger stared at his campfire. He held the coffee cup up high near his lips. Every now and then he would run his tongue around the rim of the cup just to feel its warmth. It helped the thinking process. He put the cup down on the ground, picked up his saddle-bags, and emptied them onto the ground. He pushed the contents around and thought it wasn't much for thirty-six years of living. He picked up the beef jerky. It would have to do for dinner. He couldn't be bothered to go hunting. All he wanted to do was sleep. He had ridden for eight hours and was out of practice. He ached. His horse grazed quietly never looking at him. His horse. His only friend. Apart from the Demons.

 The Stranger pulled his hat over his eyes and faded off into a deep peaceful sleep. 

Day 2

The Stranger was up at dawn. He was hungry. Beef jerky ain't exactly a meal he thought. He had bacon. So he built a fire and cooked it. Fresh coffee too. Things weren't too bad. He'd got through the night, and he was fed. Time to go. He saddled up. Collected his belongings and put them back into his saddle bags. All except the photograph. He put that into his shirt pocket.

He studied the landscape in front of him. He checked the sky and the position of the sun.

He was a tall man, about six feet two inches. His long black duster covered his all black outfit. His shirt was black. His pants were black. His boots were black, as were his gloves. His hat was black. His three day stubble was black. Even his eyes looked black. Everything was dusty and dirty. Except his black gun belt. That was not dusty and dirty. He oiled and polished it. That belt shone and the gun slipped easily in and out of  it's holster. No friction to slow him down.

He felt into his duster pocket and pulled out the remains of a cigar. As he drew on the cigar a certain peace came over him and the inner rage subsided. For now.

He climbed back into his saddle and continued in his southward direction. Slowly his horse walked, and again he felt the gentle rocking with each step. Just like the cradle, peaceful and safe. His face was expressionless, his eyes never blinked. He had learned that.  A man can kill you in the blink of an eye. So don't blink.

To Chapter 7