Six Bullets (Part 1)
Blane rode into the Nevada outpost of Lost Well. He was peering through the dust and grim for any sign of money. The sun was up and the few townspeople had their eyes shielded under wide brims or bonnets. The hard packed dirt that passed for main street wasn’t crowded but there were enough folks around to notice the arrival of someone they didn’t recognize.
The oil treated cowboy hat sat tight around his head just like it always did. It protected his messy, blonde hair from moisture of any sort. Blane wasn’t like a normal bandit. He had a magic that was granted by an old Navaho priest.
“Or was it Apache?” Blane thought then shrugged. “I never get that mess straight. Of course, the important thing is that it worked.”
For six quarts of scotch and the finest rifle he owned, the priest offered Blane power to outlast the sun. No longer did the cowboy need water to survive. At will, he could change his very flesh to sand and back.
It was a wonderful gift. Bullets from bank guards and deputies ripped through his clothes and sank into his sandy torso. Fire, bayonets, and even kitchen knives had been used to try to stop him but Blane laughed it all off. He could just waltz in, make a large withdrawal, and walk out of town with no one able to stop him.
Many tried. Blane had shot almost twenty men who were too heroic for their own good. He never left his sandy state until he was sure those who followed him had given up or been sent to the grave.
The only problem was water and his hair. Since his hair wasn’t a living part of his flesh, it stayed as it was whenever he shifted the rest of his body to sand. If his hair was soaked by anything with water, he would revert to his normal body.
“So no robbing banks in the rain. At least without my hat.” Blane mumbled his weary horse. “It’s all fine. I just stay where water is worth as much as gold.”
The bandit was wanted in Colorado, Wyoming, Idaho, and Montana. Now it was time to build his reputation here in Nevada.
That is, once he got rid of a bounty hunter by the name of Ulysses. The other man had followed Blane for weeks but never confronted him. When rains came, Blane traveled a bit faster to out pace his pursuer even though his oiled hat usually kept him dry. The rest of the time Blane would only notice Ulysses when there was a valley between them.
Now that he was in another town, Blane decided to pick out this troublesome burr before gathering any new ones. “Let’s see, I can shoot him the moment he meanders into this town or I can wait until the mutt makes his own move.”
Blane lead his horse over to a trough to allow it have a good drink.
“Well, there’s the courthouse. I’ve seen the bank and the supply store. I’m guessing there isn’t much else around here worth taking. These are pretty lean pickings. Perhaps I’ll just shoot that bounty hunter companion of mine then move on. I think Carson City is only a few days ride west.”
Blane took his horse over to a hitching post. Ulysses would have to come through here. There was nothing else around and his supplies must be running low. Blane waited three hours before Ulysses’ small silhouette appeared like a mirage on the horizon.
“Ha!” Blane clapped his revolver shut. “Here comes the old boy now!”
July 30th, 2008 at 12:27 pm
Come on… lets have the rest of the story!!!