Disclaimer: I have never been to Wyoming I apologize in advance to all Wyomingites for any lay of the land inaccuracy. Any spelling snafus and run on sentences are my fault I can only beg for forgiveness for mutilating the English language.
When the Sun Goes Down
Its the end of summer in Wyoming and fall weather has come early freezing at night making it only hospitable to the wildlife.
On the distant planes, you can see the glow of torches and hear the thunder of horses as the posse heads for the forest, the latest sighting of the man who murdered the town Mayor.
A man in a duster reaches a jagged rock face in the forest and looks up "it's only a little further." the man in the duster mumbles to himself. He digs his fingers into the crevasses and starts his ascent.
He pulls himself over the edge he gets to his feet he stops, just for a second, eyeing the next section of woodland ahead of him. A sharp crack echoes through the forest as a bullet ricochets off the rock wall below. He turns, another crack sounds off and his body is jerked around causing him to fall in a heap. Warmth blooming from his right shoulder he scrambles up into the depths of the next tree line.
A twig snapping interrupts the faraway beating on hooves he stops in his tracks the freshly broken twig beneath his boot his eyes dart then he continues through the forest pulling down his hat and wrapping his duster around himself in attempt to cut out the bitter night temperature.
The man in the duster stumbles along cradling his arm, his boots catch on rocks and roots as he navigates the non-existing path. He breaks through the dense thicket to emerge on a dirt road. In the process of crossing the road, a wave of dizziness hits the man causing him to stumble and stop in the middle, disoriented he looks about trying to figure out which side he had come from.
"Are you all right?" a soft and gentle voice asks. He turns to face a horse-drawn carriage mere feet from him. A woman is leaning out the door with a face full of concern. Up top, a man sits on the driving bench, shotgun in hand, face full of a different kind of concern.
The man in the duster stares blankly at the scene in front of him "Ummm..."
he states thickly then drops heavily to the ground his eye flutter closed in the twilight as his blood starts to stain the dirt beneath him.
Authors Note: By all means R&R. What do you think and any input on what you'd like to see in this story?