The sun beat down upon him. The earth was scorched and dry, life hung on by the simple force of sheer will. Even in the shade it was a slow death, an extra minute in hell.
**********
He had wandered the desert for two days, his coat hung over his shoulder, his hat pulled down low, and the rifle in its holster. He had passed mirage after mirage, a pool of water or a tree under whose limbs he could have laid for a while. But it had been false. And all he could do was keep going, if he was going to die he was going to meet the devil on his own two feet.
His last meal had been a jack rabbit a day before, shot into too many pieces to constitute a real meal. He hoped to see another, or anything that moved, to be exact. The horse prints he was following kept going. They led to The Maze, a labyrinthine puzzle of slot canyons. He had visited The Maze once before and had vowed to never revisit the cursed place.
Why had he jumped from the train, he wondered. If he had just finished the business on the train and stayed aboard he would have been in Santa Fe, bucking the tiger with a girl on his lap, a shot of whiskey warming his belly. But instead, he was tracking a lone horse and it's rider into the bowels of hell. His entire life had been one rash decision after another, from the moment he lost his soul he had jumped the gun trying to bring justice to those who had done the same. Every time he walked out alive, yet deader, farther away from his hope. He knew that it would be the same outcome, bringing justice to others and yet his own further away.
The cliff walls were on the horizon, The Maze loomed ahead and not soon enough. Regardless of how bad he didn't want to enter those canyons there would be water, and that's what he needed, even more than justice he needed water. It took another day to enter the shade that the wall cast on the desert floor. With each step closer to The Maze the amount of hoof prints exponentially grew, some were coming and some going. The thieves' den was a mecca of the injustice that he tried to right and he felt a sick sense of welcome as he entered the shade.
The cliff walls were on the horizon, The Maze loomed ahead and not soon enough. Regardless of how bad he didn't want to enter those canyons there would be water, and that's what he needed, even more than justice he needed water. It took another day to enter the shade that the wall cast on the desert floor. With each step closer to The Maze the amount of hoof prints exponentially grew, some were coming and some going. The thieves' den was a mecca of the injustice that he tried to right and he felt a sick sense of welcome as he entered the shade.
A small stream trickled from the mouth of the canyon and was quickly swallowed by the parched desert, he fell to his knees and cupped his hand to the water and brought it up to his lips. The cool water burnt his cracked lip, the subtle tightening of every small muscle as the water splashed against them forced every crack to split wider, a life giving pain that he could only smile about, continuing the painful cycle. He took more and more handfuls of water, baptizing his hope as he made his stomach sick.
He brought another handful up to his lips as he heard the echoing of thunder come down the canyon. Quickly he got to his feet and hid in the deepest shadows against the canyon wall. Riders and their mounts came down the canyon, water splashing as the horses ran. There he was, taking the lead of the charge out of the canyon was the man that had been prey for too long through the desert. Slowly he pulled the rifle from its holster and cocked the lever, invisible to the Rogers as he stayed in the shadows. The horses rode by him, never noticing their doom against the cliff. When they had ridden about fifty yards out he stepped out from the wall.
"Hey!" He yelled and shot into the air.
The riders reined their horses and quickly turned them around in the sand. He quickly cocked another round into the chamber and walked out of the shadows, the rifle butted against his hip.
"I know you!" The man on the horse said, surprised, "You're the crazy son of a bitch that jumped off of the train and killed two of my men."
"And I've come after you!" Yelling back, he continued to walk towards the horsemen. Every rider pulled his pistol and leveled it at him, "I've got no quarrel with you, yet. I've come after him," he pointed at the lead horseman, "and him alone."
One of the horsemen barely lifted his pistol and he felt his horse underneath him stumble as a bang echoed off of the cliff walls and he tumbled to the ground, "The next man to raise a pistol is going to lose more than just a horse." He continued to walk with the rifle against his hip as he cocked the lever again.
"You can stay on the horse or face me on the level," he stopped in the half light where the burning sun meet the shadows of the cliff, "either way, you'll throw down for the last time here."
His quarry sat in his saddle, looking back and forth between his men as the sun continued its downward descent behind the canyon. Back and forth he looked, unsure of the decision that had to be made. The sun continued to march on, prey and hunter hidden away in the eternity of final pursuit. Each bead of sweat glistened in the gloaming, building with each passing second, waiting for one wrong breath so that it could fall.
The rider flinched in his saddle and pushed the six shooter forward. He pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet sprayed the sand just under his hunter's foot. He also watched as his hunter squeezed the trigger of the strange iron on his hip, and felt the burning in his chest. He didn't feel the ground as he hit it.
The rider flinched in his saddle and pushed the six shooter forward. He pulled the trigger and watched as the bullet sprayed the sand just under his hunter's foot. He also watched as his hunter squeezed the trigger of the strange iron on his hip, and felt the burning in his chest. He didn't feel the ground as he hit it.
"If I have to end you right now I will," the hunter said as he chambered another round, "but ride on out of here and we can save that for another day."
The riders stayed there for a minute before turning their horses around and riding off. He picked up the spent casing out of the sand and smelled the acrid powder that lingered within it. He calmed his nerves and holstered the rifle, still smelling the casing. Starting to walk away was the quarry's horse, out into the desert, and if the hunter didn't hurry would be to far away to catch. Quickly he walked to the horse, tossing the casing down on the dead body as he passed it.
He caught the horse and after a brief moment of introduction mounted him and rode towards Santa Fe.
**********
The sun had set and it was the stars and a full moon in a cloudless sky that lit his ride. Bodies laid in the same dim night, laid low by the rifle the man carried on his hip. Their only headstone a spent piece of brass, a memorial to the life they lived and the justice that was brought to them. He would lay under the same light one day, with the same memorial stone, he knew it as he looked up at the stars and wondered about His mercy. Until that day, he was The Reckoner.
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