Fading Into The Sunset

"I don't want to repeat myself," the old cowboy said, "but this place ain't big enough for both of us. 'Fraid one of us has gotta go."

He turned his head and spat at the ground, leaving a dark brown stain of whiskey and chewed-up cigars. This was how he knew life, through drink and smoke. He pulled his belt buckle up and walked towards me, each spur of his boots digging into the dirt before the toe. I could feel peril in the air around me, as obvious as the unbearable midday sun on my face. I couldn’t guess how he was going to kill me.

“Listen,” I plead with him, “take my horse. She’s a good horse, fast.”

“Don’t need no horse.”

“Okay, then take my pistol. Shoots straight, never jams.”

“Don’t need no pistol.”

He kept coming at me, slowly, his shadow creeping up my legs, my chest. Soon he was blocking out the sun completely. It was cold in his shadow and I started shaking. I closed my eyes, pictured him taller, meaner, and dressed darker than he was. When the sun was once again warming me, I opened my eyes carefully. He had walked right past me and was already well off into the distance. By the time tonight when the sun’s sitting gently on the horizon, he should be right in front of it, his body a perfect silhouette of the memory of yesterday.