Vendetta

The wind swirled eddies of dust down the street of the cattle town. This was my latest stop in a string of endless and nameless one horse towns, in search of a man as rootless as I was. As I wandered my way up the parched street, my sun blinded eyes squinted in search of the local saloon. My bones were stiff and my flesh numb from spending the last three days in the saddle. The rough cloth of my britches chafed my thighs and I felt like hell.

Maybe. Just maybe, I could end my search here.

I let my mount drift over to the hitching post in front of what I guessed to be the saloon. The heavy doors were closed to the fierce November wind but I thought I heard a player piano inside. I swung my right leg over the back of the horse and felt the pain knife along my thigh and hip.

Damn. I was getting too old for this.

Tilting my hat to shade my watering eyes, I turned and surveyed the street once again. I looped the end of the reins over the rail, knowing that the horse was just as tired as I was and wouldn't go wandering off. I mounted the two steps to the boardwalk and strode four paces to the saloon door. My boots heavy on the creaking, baked wood.

When I opened the door the wind gusted in with me causing the three men inside to stop what they were doing and look my way.

And there he was. The man I'd been hunting for, over these past four years. The man who had raped my wife and burned my farm. In the name of an army that didn't care how he killed. Just so he killed and intimidated suspected collaborators. The man I lived to see die.

It was all over in a moment. Our eyes met, tight yet weary. There was scurried movement on both sides of the room. A duel scrape of metal on leather, twin flashes of lightning and thunder as lethal lead criss-crossed the room. In the end I remained standing. He lay dead, his sprawled hand knocking over a spitoon.

The War was over. Vengence was accomplished. My holy mission fulfilled.

I still felt like hell.