The Asian Dungeon

For River

 

 

The sun hung heavy in the western sky, casting long shadows across the dry, dusty streets of Dry Creek, a town that had seen better days. Its wooden buildings were weathered by time and neglect, but it was a place of pride for its residents. 
Or at least, it used to be. Lately, the town had fallen under the grip of a man who called himself Sheriff Wade Brock, a rough-hewn fellow with a stern look and a suspicious glare that never seemed to soften. Folks said he'd gone soft on the law, but no one dared speak of it out loud.

That was until Nathan rode into town.

Nathan was a young man, handsome in a way that made women look twice and men look the other way. His dark hair curled up at the edges, his jawline sharp and confident. His eyes—deep brown like polished mahogany—had a glint to them that suggested mischief and a sharp wit. 
But the thing that most people noticed first was the way he spoke. His accent was as thick as molasses, every word drenched in that sweet Southern drawl that made folks smile even if they didn’t want to.

He arrived on horseback, boots thudding lightly against the wooden boards of the town’s main street. His saddle bags were worn but well cared for, and he carried himself like someone who’d been places, seen things—though nobody knew where he'd come from.

The moment Nathan entered the saloon, he caught the eye of everyone in the room. They weren’t used to strangers, and definitely not strangers like him. With a grin on his face, he strolled up to the bar.
"Whiskey, my friend," he said, voice low but carrying with a casual authority that made the bartender pause, taking in Nathan’s broad shoulders and easy confidence. The bartender nodded. "You're new around here, huh?". "You could say that," Nathan drawled, leaning on the counter. "But I’ve been hearin' things 'bout this town. Things I don’t much care for."
The bartender stiffened, but Nathan’s smile was all charm. "Oh, I ain’t one to judge. I’m just here to see the sights, maybe have myself a drink or two."

As the bartender poured the drink, Nathan’s sharp eyes caught the shadowy figure sitting at the back of the room. Sheriff Wade Brock, wearing a dusty black hat that shielded his face, sat at a table with his back to the wall. He didn’t look like someone who’d be inclined to talk, and Nathan wasn’t one for starting trouble, but something about the man didn’t sit right.

The sheriff’s reputation had spread far beyond Dry Creek. Rumours about him running his own brand of justice had reached Nathan’s ears in the last few days. It wasn’t uncommon for a lawman to cut corners, but Brock had crossed a line—rumour had it he’d been “requisitioning” goods from the townsfolk, taking what wasn’t his in exchange for "protection" from bandits. No one dared complain,

The whiskey was smooth, and as Nathan drank, his mind worked fast, thinking through his plan. He didn’t like bullies, especially ones with a badge.
The next morning, the town was still waking up, and Nathan had already made his move. The sheriff’s office was a small building on the far side of town, next to a stables where Brock kept his horse. 

Nathan had spent the night looking through the sheriff’s office, getting familiar with the layout and the locks. It wasn’t hard to figure out the sheriff’s secret stash—Brock wasn’t exactly subtle.Nathan smiled as he saw Brocks big colt 45 hanging up next to his cot. Moving in absolute silence Nathan took it out and held it up making an adjustment before sliding it back.

He had stolen more than a few prized possessions: mostly gold and jewellery from the good folks of Dry Creek. Nathan had been careful, moving quietly and swiftly, making sure no one saw him as he took back what was rightfully the town's. He didn’t want trouble, but trouble had already been brought to his doorstep.

By dawn, Nathan had gathered every single item that had gone missing over the last few months and hidden it in the back of the livery stable. And now, as the sun rose high over the horizon, he made his way toward the saloon, ready for the sheriff to come looking for him.

Sheriff Brock walked in later that morning, his boots loud against the wooden floor, eyes scanning the room. He caught sight of Nathan immediately, leaning casually at the bar.

Brock called, his voice low and cold. "We need to talk."
Nathan didn’t flinch. "Sheriff Brock," he said, tipping his hat. "I reckon we do. But not in the way you think." Brock’s eyes narrowed. "What’s that supposed to mean?"

"Well," Nathan said, swirling his drink, "seems to me you’ve been takin’ more than your fair share from folks around here. And I ain't much one for folks who take what ain’t theirs. Y’all been sticky fingers too much"
“ How dare you “ blustered Brock his face red. “ I am the sheriff of this here town …thief !“ 
Quite a crowd had started to gather and Nathan eyed them with a lazy smile. “ How dare I what ? Sheriff , now think on … you will be needin’ what they call evidence. If Y'all Fixin to accuse me of theft.. what is is i am supposed to have stolen ? "

For a moment Brock looked like he was going to burst then his mouth shut with an audible click. 
Sliding from his chair Nathan stepped up close to Brock. Close enough to speak really low, others would not hear… Brocks knuckles went white on the grip of his gun but he did not move “ way i see it … you cant say i stole what you stole “ 

Walking past Brock, Nathan walked slow and even out of the saloon doors…
There are those who swear steam left Brocks head and his face turned the colour of beets. But then he bellowed “ GET BACK HERE…” Storming to and bursting through the saloon doors… 

Nathan kept walking , counting paces in his head. Listening intently as he looked to keep walking outwardly calm and relaxed.

“ Thats far enough “ his voice shaking with rage . Nathan held his arms out to the sides “ now you wouldn't shoot a man in the back, like a low down gutless rattler would you “ Nathans voice taking on a mocking tone. But his every muscle tightened waiting .. waiting for the sound.

Time seemed to slow.. . 

“ Ohh i would “ Brock said extending his arm and pulling the trigger. Nathan was fast , very fast but even he could not dodge a bullet …

except thats exactly what happened diving left he knew the sight was off when he adjusted the sight last night brocks gun barrel would pull the bullet right.

It was almost not enough as the bullet plucked a hole in Nathans top skimming his shoulder but now nathans hands were full of his two bullard 40 calibres and he blazed away putting four in Brocks chest before he could even blink. Brock fell like an axed tree a small cloud of dust rising from his fall ..  

Calm and still Nathan spoke loud enough they all could hear “ Now see here , y’all saw he done tried to shoot me in the back , if any of you got issue with that , speak up “ wisps of smoke wound up into the air from his guns and none would meet his eye. 

“ Well then…reckon you fair folk of Dry creek who have been missing a few things might wanna look in the back of the livery stable..”  The quicker witted members of the community started to walk toward it while Nathan holstered his pistols and mounted his horse with smooth and practised ease.
As he disappeared into the horizon, no one knew exactly where Nathan came from. But they all knew one thing—Dry Creek would never be the same. And the last thing they ever saw of Nathan was a grin, wide and full of mischief, like a fox.

Published: 2024-11-13, viewed 32 times.