The 1880 Arizona territory sun glared down like the eye of a vengeful god. The town of Dry Creek sat under its weight, dust-covered and crooked, a few leaning buildings huddled together like old men too tired to stand straight. Heat shimmered off the dirt street along with the pungent smells of horse dung in piles everywhere, and every man\u2019s hand drifted a little closer to his belt when the stranger rode in.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He came in slow on a dark roan horse, dust trailing off his boots like a ghost\u2019s whisper. Black hat, coat faded from too many suns, and a sixgun riding low on his right hip, rawhide tied above the knee. Not slapped on like a ranch hand or worn like a lawman\u2019s badge\u2014no, this was the hang of a man who\u2019d drawn and lived to draw again. Folks on the porch of the saloon leaned forward, rocking chairs creaking. As cowpokes gathered at the saloon\u2019s batwing doors, the piano stopped mid-song. A boy\u2019s voice whispered, \u201cHe\u2019s a killer.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Another white-whiskered old man at the bar doors said, \u201cThose kind always have serious business when they come to town.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The stranger stopped his horse, took a deep breath as he looked from side to side, dismounted in silence, tying off at the rail outside the Dead Dog Saloon. No one dared to say a word as he stepped through the swinging doors. Everyone had rushed back to their seats. Eyes tracked him. He didn\u2019t look at anyone. He didn\u2019t need to.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
***<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside, the place reeked of sweat, smoke, and spilled rotgut. A card game coughed up laughter in the corner. A piano softly picked up in mid-tune, but now played at a slower pace. The barkeep, a fleshy man with a broken nose and watery eyes, went rigid. The stranger\u2019s boots thudded slow on the warped floorboards as he walked up and ordered whiskey in a low voice that didn\u2019t care if anyone heard it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019ll be two bits,\u201d the barkeep said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBetter be damn good for that much.\u201d The stranger tossed the coin onto the counter.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Broken Nose<\/em> walked to the other end of the bar to put the money in the register. Behind him, the soft clack of heels approached. A warm, whispered voice said, \u201cYou the one called James Mercer?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He turned.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She stood with her weight on one hip, red silk dress clinging to curves carved from trouble. Dark hair fell over one shoulder, ruby lips, rose-colored cheeks, and eyes sharp as broken glass stared back at him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI might be,\u201d James said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI wrote you that letter,\u201d she said, voice still low. \u201cAbout your brother. Eli.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He nodded once. \u201cFigured. Didn\u2019t think I\u2019d ever get one from a whorehouse in Dry Creek.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI ain\u2019t just a whore,\u201d she said, jaw tight. \u201cAnd he wasn\u2019t just your brother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n He waited.<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked around. The room held too many ears.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cUpstairs,\u201d she said. \u201cWe\u2019ll talk there.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n ***<\/p>\n\n\n\n Her room was small but clean. Lace curtains, faded wallpaper, a chipped basin of water by the washstand. James sat in the chair by the window, hand resting casual on the butt of his Colt. Lilly poured two drinks, handed him one, then lit a lamp low and sat on the bed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n James eyed not only the pretty face, but the muscles in her arms. \u201cWhere\u2019d you come from? You ain\u2019t the typical soiled dove.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIt\u2019s a long story, but the short take is, Indians killed my family\u2014Ma, Pa, and two little brothers\u2014when I was seventeen, while I watched between the slats under our overturned wagon. That\u2019s a horror you don\u2019t soon forget. Two days later, without water, I thought I\u2019d die, but another small wagon train came by and I hitched a ride to the nearest town. For two years, I worked hard as a cook and did the cleaning on a mean ranch, until I finally had enough of the owner taking liberties with me. If I was going to do that, I could get paid much more and be in a whole lot better situation. Here I am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cLife can be hard.\u201d James shifted and straightened his back. \u201cAnd my brother?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHe was more than just another cowpoke to me. Spoke with kind and polite words. He wasn\u2019t interested in my services, just me. I came to favor him a lot, too. I saw him play cards with some of the other dusty old men, and he won a little bit, and that might\u2019a gave him some confidence. He bought me several drinks over the next day and even some lilac-scented bath salts at the general store. I warned him about the big game that always went on at the back table. Not only big stakes, but cheatin\u2019 went on there. He said he had too keen an eye to let that happen. No way I could stop him, so the dangerous game began.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey said Eli drew first,\u201d she said, voice strained. \u201cSaid he cheated at cards, was called out, went for his gun, and Lyle Berrigan had no choice.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James looked out the window. \u201cEli never cheated in his life. And he wasn\u2019t fast enough for a draw.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI know,\u201d she said. \u201cHe never touched his gun. Lyle fired one shot under the table into his belly, then another above, and hit him square in the heart. Eli fell backwards in his chair, not moving. They put his pistol in his hand afterwards. Anyone, like me, who saw what really happened, knew better than to say anything or they\u2019d end up at the undertaker, too. Later, I was outside the office door. I heard \u2018em talking. Lyle, Sheriff Merton, and two others\u2014Russ Cobb and Dalton Hayes. They knew your brother had gold in his saddlebags. He\u2019d just come down from his strike not far from Tucson. That card game was just a way to get rid of Eli and claim it was a legal killin\u2019.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James\u2019s mouth tightened like a vise straightening nails. \u201cHe wrote me about that strike.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey took it. Everyone said the shootin\u2019 was fair. The sheriff swore to it. He and Lyle split the gold and probably sold the claim to somebody else. That whole group is about as crooked as a coiled rattlesnake and twice as mean and unpredictable. They don\u2019t answer to nobody. It was terrible what they done to your brother.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James drained another glass she\u2019d poured. \u201cThat why you wrote me?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI already told you how I liked Eli,\u201d she said. \u201cNot like the rest of \u2018em. We had somethin\u2019 special.\u201d Her voice broke, just slightly. \u201cHe said if anything happened, I should write to you in Tombstone.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n There was a long pause.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHow many know I\u2019m here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHalf the saloon, by now,\u201d she said. \u201cEli talked about having a big brother. There\u2019s a strong resemblance. You cast a long shadow, and talk moves quick.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll come tonight.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She nodded. \u201cYep. I \u2018speck they\u2019ll come. We\u2019ll make out that you hired me for the night. They\u2019d find out where you were, anyway. But I can help too. I got a .38 in my dresser for cowboys who don\u2019t know what \u2018That\u2019s enough\u2019<\/em> means.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou just make sure you stay outta the way of flyin\u2019 lead. I don\u2019t want you getting\u2019 hurt on my mind. It\u2019s about loaded down with regrets, anyhow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n ***<\/p>\n\n\n\n They came just after 3 a.m., leather boots whispering up the stairs of the dead quiet saloon, wood creaking under the weight. James was already in the corner beside the window, Colt .45 in hand, another pistol from his saddlebag, tucked in his belt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lilly was pale but steady. Dressed in nothing but her socks and a slip, knees drawn up, she gripped her little revolver tight against her chest like it might save her soul.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The first shadow moved into the light underneath the door and stopped. The doorknob turned slightly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n James fired once\u2014crack! <\/em>The echo thundered in the quiet room. They heard a yell and the sound of a body crumpling on the wood floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cOne down,\u201d James whispered to Lilly.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cHell!\u201d someone shouted. \u201cLet\u2019s get him.\u201d More boots pounded. The door burst inward, and chaos erupted like an angry volcano.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lyle Berrigan came first, a sawed-off scattergun booming. The blast tore the headboard off the bed. Lilly screamed, already to the side of the bed, ducking low. James put two bullets in Lyle\u2019s chest, who fired the second barrel into the ceiling, and hit the floor like a burlap sack of potatoes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The sheriff was next, shouting for James to drop it. James shot the lamp, plunging the room into shadows and firelight from outside. Then he moved\u2014quick, low, ruthless.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Gunfire roared and flashed in the darkness. James took one in the left shoulder but dropped the sheriff with a shot through the cheek. Blood sprayed the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Russ Cobb scrambled into the room with a knife, caught Lilly\u2019s arm\u2014she screamed and fired wild. James turned and shot him in the gut. The man groaned, hit the floor, and didn\u2019t get up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dalton tried to run. James was on him at the top of the stairs, pressing the muzzle to his spine where his heart would be. \u201cTell me why.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cGold,\u201d Dalton gasped. \u201cWe thought he was just some dumb bastard with dust on his boots. I didn\u2019t know he was your brother, I swear\u2014\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James fired the last shot in the chamber. Dalton tumbled all the way down the staircase, dead at the bottom. He hadn\u2019t needed the spare sixgun.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Aroused by the gunfire, the bartender stood below in his nightclothes, looking up.<\/p>\n\n\n\n James ordered, \u201cSomebody get the undertaker to come clean up the mess, and tell him to get some help. He\u2019s gonna need it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYes, sir,\u201d the bartender said in a trembling voice. \u201cRight away.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n ***<\/p>\n\n\n\n Dawn broke slow and red over Dry Creek. The undertaker worked overtime, and the sheriff\u2019s office stood empty\u2014the lone deputy, who wanted no part of the gunplay or trying to arrest the stranger, long gone.<\/p>\n\n\n\n James sat on the porch of the Dead Dog Saloon, a quick visit to the doc got stitches in the front and back of his arm, now wrapped in a blood-soaked bandage. Lilly sat beside him, her face pale but set.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cYou leaving?\u201d she asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n He nodded. \u201cCan\u2019t stay.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey\u2019ll send a new sheriff.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cThey always do. I won\u2019t be here to answer questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She looked down. \u201cI could go with you. I\u2019d like that.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n James looked at her. There was a world of sorrow in his eyes. He looked down and took a deep breath before he spoke.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cI had a wife and a five-year-old son once. Far as I was concerned, I had all the happiness a man needed. A pretty wife who loved me to pieces and gave me a fine son. He was growing up just like his dad. It was a near-perfect life. But one time while I was tending cattle in the hills, they got hold of some bad water and got the cholera. They\u2019d just taken sick when I got home. At first, I wasn\u2019t sure what it was, but later I watched their skins wrinkle and turn blue. All I could do was keep damp cloths on their heads, tending my wife and then my son. My little boy pleaded with me, \u2018Pa, I feel terrible. Please do something,\u2019 but I couldn\u2019t.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n The next day, they both died. I buried them together. I\u2019ve had enough hurt for two lifetimes. I ain\u2019t settlin\u2019 down again. I ride alone, Lilly. Probably always will.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n She bit her lip, nodded once, and they both stood. \u201cI won\u2019t forget you.\u201d She hugged his neck with her face next to his. He embraced her too, then relaxed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n \u201cIf I picked somebody new, it\u2019d be you. You\u2019re one of a kind. If my hurt can heal someday, I\u2019ll be back. That\u2019s a promise.\u201d James smiled and tipped his hat.<\/p>\n\n\n\n By midday, he was gone, riding into the desert heat, the grave of his brother behind him, and the weight of justice\u2014however bloody\u2014finally settled in the dust.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The town of Dry Creek watched him vanish as a small dust-devil swirled on the other side of the street. None would ever forget the day the stranger came with his sixgun low and his purpose righteous. Nor would they forget the reckoning and blood spilled in a whore\u2019s upstairs bedroom.<\/p>\n\n\n\n The 1880 Arizona territory sun glared down like the eye of a vengeful god. The town of Dry Creek sat under its weight, dust-covered and crooked, a few leaning buildings huddled together like old men too tired to stand straight. Heat shimmered off the dirt street along with the pungent smells of horse dung in … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":1081,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[1],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-1080","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-uncategorized"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2026\/01\/jack-stapleton-aH0Ymr3T5RU-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C457&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1080","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1080"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1080\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1082,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1080\/revisions\/1082"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1081"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1080"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1080"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1080"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
M.D. Smith of Huntsville, Alabama, writer of over 350 flash stories, has published digitally in Frontier Times, Flash Fiction Magazine, Bewilderingstories.com, and many more. Retired from running a television station, he lives with his wife of 64 years and three cats. https:\/\/mdsmithiv.com\/<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"