text: Carl stood in the middle of the dusty road smoking gun in hand staring down at the bloody carcass lying in the road twenty paces in front of him. “How did I end up in this situation again?” He asked himself. The events flashed in his mind scene by scene. He started with image of the 44 slug slamming in to the man’s left breast before the man’s gun cleared leather. He saw the man’s body thrown back by the impact, and the red rose of his wound beginning to bloom before he even hit the ground. Flash! He sees his self standing back to back with the man. They start walking off the paces with the sun low and bright in his eyes as he walked away from his opponent. One...two... three... as he counts off the paces, and he feels a calm come over him. All anxiety just fades away, and his breathing becomes steady. Eight... nine... ten, he spins around fast like a striking rattle snake drawing his pistol and shooting from the hip. He feels the familiar recoil from the colt 44. Flash! He was sitting at a table in the saloon his back to the wall facing the double swinging doors that led to the street. The remains of his meal lay on the pewter plate that rested on the table in front of him. The burn from the whisky was fresh in his chest when the man came bursting through the swinging doors. The mans voice shook with rage as he called out, “Carl Richter come out and meet me!” “What can I do for you friend?” He asked in a clear calm voice. “I’m no friend of yours,” the man barked, “and I am calling you out”. “I’m not looking for trouble,” he said to the man. “I know who you are, and I know what you have done,” the man seethed at him, “are you coming out, or should we settle this here and now?” he asked placing his hand on the butt of his pistol. “No, I’m coming since you have your mind is set,” he said to the man as he rose from the table. He walked towards the door fear clutching at his throat as the man backed out of the saloon. Flash! He is stepping out of the saddle of his big sorrel horse. After tying him up to the hitching post he walked up to the saloon and stopped in the doorway to take in the room before entering. There are five men in the room. The first is the bartender who stands behind the counter with a round ruddy face, large handle bar mustache, and a bright red waist coat. The next man is seated at the bar directly in front of the bartender. He is an older man with a full beard that is stained with tobacco juice. The other three men sit at a table in the center of the room playing cards. One of the card players is a small wiry fellow with round spectacles and wearing a bowler hat. Another of the card players is rotund man in a fine suit with a large bulbous nose. The third card player was a young lanky cowboy with a cheerful mischievous look to him. Not seeing any threats he enters the establishment and proceeds to a table in a dark corner of the room that faced the door. He figured this position would give him the advantage if any one came looking for trouble as he would be in the shadows to someone coming in, and they would be illuminated by the light from the doorway to him. He ordered a meal of steak and potatoes with a glass of whiskey and settled down to enjoy his meal. Flash! He rode in to the settlement high on hope. The settlement was small with one main dirt road lined with low Adobe buildings. The street was quite as he meandered down it on his horse. A few children played in the distance, and a pair of old men sat in rocking chairs on a porch playing a game of checkers. A pretty young Mexican woman stepped out on to her porch with broom in hand, and gave him a pleasant smile before proceed to sweep the porch. “This could be a nice place to settle down,” he thought to himself as he returned her smile and tipped his hat to her as he rode by. Just then two men walked around the corner of building in front him. They looked like range cowboys and were laughing loud and boisterously when one looked up and saw him riding down the street towards them. The man grabbed his companions arm and froze in place starring up at him. He saw the man say something to his fellow, and then he saw the fear that spread across the other mans face before they turned and ran back the way they came from. He pulled his hat down low and shook his head. No this town was not going to be a place he could settle down he has seen those looks before, and he knows what that will mean. He will just stop for some grub then continue his search for a place where nobody knows who he is. Hopefully he can get out of town before there is any trouble. He rides up to the saloon, and stops his horse. Flash! He sits a top his horse and looks down on a sleepy little settlement in the desert valley. “Maybe this will be the place we can settle down,” he says to the horse. Oh how he longs to find that place in his heart. He is tired of rambling from place to place. He is tiered of the men that search him out just to make a name for themselves. He can’t remember the last time he has had a good nights sleep. The last time he could call a place home. This little sleepy town represents hope to him. Represents opportunity. He can feel the hope growing inside of him. He knows this is dangerous. Every time he gets his hopes up they always crash down that much harder when he gets disappointed. He kicks his hose in to motion and walks slowly towards the town. Flash! He is a young man fresh out of the war and headed home to Texas. He stopped in a town for a drink when three union soldiers approach him. Walking up behind him the biggest man grabs his shoulder and spins him around. “Your in the wrong place boy!” The man says loudly. “Yeah, we don’t want no rebs in here,” his friend interjects shoving his finger in to Carl’s chest. The third man just smiles at him while displaying a large Bowie knife that he has in his procession. “I’m not looking for any trouble. I’m just trying to get home,” he says to the men in a mild tone. “You should have thought of that before you decide to become a traitor to your own country boy!” The big man roars as he grabs the front of Carl’s shirt, and slams his fist into Carl’s face. Everything goes black just for a second after the mans fist makes contact. All three men proceed to hit and stomp on him while he is down. The rain of blows is so fierce he can’t even fight back. All he can do is curl up, and protect his self the best he can. After a few minutes the men start to walk away laughing at him as he lays there bleeding. He struggles to his feet and calls out to the men, “hey! Where do you think your going?” The men turn around. “You want some more boy?” The big man growls at him. “Let’s see how good you three are with those pistols your packing,” he says to the men raising his hand to his hip wiggling his fingers next to his pistol. All three men reach for their own pistols. The fear and rage drain away instantly to be replaced by an odd feeling of calm and focus in him. The men look like they are moving in slow motion. The big man is the first to get his hand on his pistol, and Carl draws his. Shooting from the hip he shoots the big man right between the eyes. Then he shoots the other two. The man with the knife was the only one to get a shot off, but it was a wild shot, and he didn’t live long enough to get a second chance. The saloon became a bee hive of commotion. He had to fight his way out. He jumped on his horse and ran out of town as fast as he could. He’s been running ever since.