One in the Chamber
The sun beat down on his neck and face as he scanned the horizon. He pulled down the brim of his leather hat, shielding his eyes from the sun's rays. He squinted, sweat beading on his brow. Dry grass and sparse shrubbery dotted the rocky plains that stretched out before him. Far off in the distance a tall mountain jutted out of the earth, sharply contrasting the flat-lands around it. Even now, in heat of late-summer, its peak was still capped with white snow.
“Where'd you get off to now?” he asked in a gruff voice as he searched the desert.
Sighing, he reached into his saddlebags, tossing the poncho that covered it over his back. He pulled out a rolled up paper. It was yellowed and dirty, its edges torn and the corners ripped off. He lay the paper on the ground and held the top down with his hoof. Slowly he rolled the paper out, holding the bottom down with his other hoof. A crudely drawn image done in black ink adorned the paper. An angry-looking stallion scowled back at him. Ammo belts criss-crossed his chest and his left eye was empty, a scar ran across it from his forehead to his cheek.
Underneath the picture it read, “Dusty Plains—alias: ANGEL EYE—is wanted for MURDER, ROBBERY, and ARSON.” And then, in large, thick, black letters it said, “A reward of FIVE-HUNDRED BITS is offered to anyone who brings him to the BRIDLE ROCK sheriff's office, DEAD OR ALIVE.” At the very bottom of the page, in slightly smaller print, was, “Last known locations: Mustang Valley, Buffalo Plains, and El Minas de Plata.”
He looked over his shoulder and then made an invisible 'X' across Mustang Valley. He looked at the plains in front of him and crossed out Buffalo Plains. He tapped his hoof on the last location and then let the paper roll itself up. Placing the poster back in his bag he produced a short cigar and a match. He stuck the cigar and his mouth, chewing it and rolling it around before striking the match against his left hoof. Holding the flame up to his face, he lit the cigar and sucked in, taking a few puffs to make sure it was lit.
Breathing out a light plume of smoke he waved the match out and tossed it on the ground. As he smoked his cigar he looked out over the plains thoughtfully. He brought a hoof up and scratched his chin. Adjusting his hat, he rolled the cigar to the right side of his mouth and chewed on the end.
“Guess I'm heading to the silver mines.”
He moved his right hoof to the holster that was slung around his shoulders. He felt the hard leather, moving his hoof slowly across its surface until he reached cold metal. His hoof wrapped around the grip, whose contours conformed perfectly to his hoof, and pulled the gun slowly from the holster. He held it up, feeling the weight of it in his hoof.
It was Saddlefield .44 double action revolver. The barrel was a full 6 inches long and it broke away at the top. Once broken, the six chambers were revealed. Now it held six bullets, one in each chamber, and he watched as they spun around. He reconnected the stock and barrel and gazed down the sights. He took aim at a cactus standing a hundred meters or so south of him. He gently squeezed the trigger, releasing the hammer into the pin and firing the bullet. The report of the gun rang out as the muzzle flashed and the bullet rocketed towards the cactus.
The bullet collided with its target, causing it to explode in a puff of feathers. The cactus remained unharmed, but the bird that had been sitting atop it was not so lucky. He spun the gun around and slipped it back into his holster before pulling his poncho down to cover his side again.
With the sun still high in the sky, he began trudging off in the direction of the mountain. After sliding down the rock he had been standing on, he picked up his pace, trotting and then finally reaching a full gallop. He raced towards the snow-capped mountain, his gun at his side and a cigar in his mouth.
-----
“Damn wolves.”
After traveling for several hours darkness had begun to fall and he had decided to settle down for the night. He had gathered what little dry grass and weed he could and had started a small fire. He had even begun to fall asleep—pulling his hat down over his brow—before he heard their howling.
“Damn wolves,” he repeated.
He stood up, kicking at the dwindling fire, rejuvenating it. There were only a handful of them, maybe four or five, and their howling filled the night air. Only the light of the weak flames—and what little the moon could offer—penetrated the darkness. He flipped his poncho over his back, readying the Saddlefield. His eyes surveyed the area around him, straining to see through the inky blackness. He counted five pairs of eyes staring back at him.
They were beginning to spread out, surrounding him, howling back and forth. He could hear them snarling and growling at the edge of the fire's light, but they wouldn't come any closer. As the fire began to burn away though, they ventured further, taking tentative steps forward. He rotated slowly, making sure not to have his back turned on any of them. One of them was getting brave, its face was becoming visible as it entered the fire's ring.
He turned quickly, firing one quick shot into the wolf's chest. It fell over, whimpering as it bled out. The other wolves took advantage of this distraction and attacked all at once. They leapt from the darkness, howling loudly. He spun around, pulling the trigger one, two, three, four times, dropping all of the wolves. He smirked, holding his gun up and blowing away the smoke before spinning it around and fitting it back into the holster. He was about to sit back down at the fire when he heard the howl of a sixth wolf.
He whipped around to see a sixth pair of eyes boring into him. They rose and fell as the wolf stepped closer. Based on how high its eyes were, he could tell this one was bigger than the others, most likely the alpha of the group. It growled as it cautiously approached, feeling its way into the light. Once it finally was in range of the fire's glow he could see that this one was dark gray, almost black, and it was certainly much bigger than the other wolves. Most wolves would have given up once its compatriots were dead, but this one was different.
Its eyes were harsh and its hot breath left clouds of fog like ghosts dancing in the shadows. Its white fangs were bared, showing off the deadly set of jaws it possessed. It snarled meanly, stepping closer slowly. He drew his gun, training it on the wolf. He pulled the trigger, hearing it click as the hammer hit an empty shell.
“Son of a—”
The wolf howled before leaping on top of him, cutting him off mid-sentence and knocking the gun from his hoof. It tackled him to the ground, savagely biting his neck and clawing at his chest. They tumbled around as he struggled to fight the wolf off. He could feel it biting into his neck, the sharp fangs piercing his flesh and causing blood to spill out. The wolf's claws tore at his chest, scratching him and drawing more blood. He kicked at it the center of the wolf's mass, hoping to throw it off, but it held on tight.
He rolled over, pinning the wolf to the ground, but it kept its hold. He used his right hoof to punch the wolf's head, dazing it. The wolf growled and squirmed out of his hold. It backed away while snarling. He stood up, moving his hoof to his neck and feeling the warmth of his blood. He wiped the blood off on his poncho before eyeing the wolf. It circled him, looking for an opening.
Its fangs shone like daggers, razor-sharp and deadly. Its muzzle was red with his blood and its yellow eyes flashed in the black night. The wolf seemed to be smiling and it had a frenzied look on its face. It raised its head, howling at the moon, releasing a stream of ghost-like fog into the air. He stared at it while slowly drawing a knife from his left side. The wolf moved closer then jumped, but he was ready.
As the wolf flew at him he moved the knife to his mouth and gritted his teeth around the handle. He and the wolf fell to the ground, wrestling for control. The wolf's claws scratched at his legs and chest, but he was able to keep it at bay by holding out his fore-hooves. The wolf snarled, gnashing its jaws furiously. Finally, it found purchase, biting into his upper-left fore-leg. He cried out as the wolf's fangs pierced his flesh. Kicking with his free hoof he managed to knock the wolf off.
Standing up, he reared on his hind legs and kicked fiercely, battering the wolf. It