Heat

The dust raked across his boots, scraping small, nearly-parallel lines across them. His feet unconsciously tapped against the stirrups they rested in, knocking the dust away. The skin around the stomach of his horse was loose. Looser than it had ever been, in fact. Neither the horse, nor her rider had eaten in 2 days. The last of their water went earlier in the morning.

He was warm. He was 37 years old. Far too old, by his count, to be starving in the desert. Sweat dripped down his sideburns, caressing his jawline as they fell. He hadn't shaved in a while. His legs ached. He had been riding for weeks now. He was thoroughly annoyed at his current situation, and he was worried for his horse. But mostly, he was warm.

The sun never seemed to stop. Even when he and his horse decided to stop for the night, he could still feel its pulse. There was a small sliver of skin on the back of his neck that was marked by the sun. Right where the shade of his hat had stopped, and his sarape had yet to begin.

He couldn't find any wildlife to hunt for. Nothing seemed to be alive for miles around him. Not even the desert scrubs had enough water. They burned quickly and brightly, with almost no smoke. He took off his sarape and rolled it into a small bundle. Once it was securely placed under his head, he looked up at the stars. His horse pawed the ground next to herself.

He couldn't say how long it took for him to fall asleep. The night was motionless, and so was he. He appreciated the silence of the desert. Solidarity was his own lullaby, he found.

The next day, he crossed through a deep canyon. He tried to search for the river that had carved it, but it was long gone. The walls of the canyon were stacked high with sandstone. Layers upon layers of it were raised high into the heavens. The sky was dotted with large, flowing clouds. He understood what this meant. Clouds could only come from one source.

The river wasn't too far away. Once he cleared the canyon, he was able to spot a long strip of greenery. He and his horse both drank the water the same way, bent over and sucking straight from the river. He sat up and wiped his mouth. Water still dripped from the right corner of his beard. As he exhaled, he heard a small noise from the other side of the river.

The rabbits smelled delicious as they roasted over the fire. His horse had already gorged herself on the vegetation that grew by the river. The sun was drifting down to the western edge of the horizon. He could see several cliffs in the distance. He seemed to be settling down in a valley. Before he had no more light left, he wanted to get a good view of his surroundings. The trees close by himself seemed tall enough.

His arms grappled the limbs of the trees. Their bark was thick and sturdy from years of growth. The leaves were rich and green and dappled his skin with shadows. His head poked through the crown of the canopy and he surveyed the valley. There seemed to be another river in the valley as well, the knowledge of water was calming to him. His eyes followed the river. A long ways down, perhaps half a day's ride, the river he was resting by and the other river met up. At their juncture, there was a small town. He smiled. He had a destination.

The sun was high in the sky by the time he managed to get to the buildings on the edge of the town. It wasn't a town by many people's standards, but to him, it might have been a city. It had been weeks since he had last seen a person and even then, it had only been a fellow traveler. They had rested at the same campfire, and he was gone in the morning. The traveler had left his guitar. Maybe as a gift, maybe as a mistake.

The guitar, like most of himself, was covered by his sarape. That, he knew had been a gift. Most of his belongings were gifts, in fact. People always felt the need to thank him, and he never felt like he deserved it. But, his father had taught him to accept whatever life throws at you and let it build you. Gifts and hardships were to be accepted equally.

But he always felt uncomfortable accepting gifts. Challenges, he was no stranger to. His life had been nothing but challenges. His body was more scar than man by now. So many wounds cleaned with bourbon and burned shut by a stick from his campfire. Nights spent shivering in the snow, days spent baking in the sun alone.

A small man approached him. The man would've been small even if he wasn't being viewed from the vantage point of a horse. He was dressed in a simple white shirt and black vest. His boots were clean, and his sleeves weren't rolled up. He was balding young and had to wear glasses.

"Welcome to town, stranger." The man said, squinting upwards. "Mind if I ask what you're doing 'round here?"

"Just passing through." Said the man on the horse. "I'm just looking for a place to stay and a meal for me and my horse."

"The inn is just a little down the road, and they should have food there as well." The small man said after exhaling.

"Much obliged."

"Mind if I ask another question?"

The man on the horse nodded.

"You got a name there, stranger?"

"Jesse McCree. And this here is Anna."

"Pleased to meet you."

The rider tipped his cap and made his way down the street to where the man had indicated. The town was noticeably empty. He would've expected it, being so far out, and yet something seemed off. There were too many buildings for there to be this little people. There should be more noise in this center of commerce. And yet all he heard was his horse.

He entered the inn after tying his horse to the post outside. There were exactly five people inside. One gentleman behind the bar, and two groups of two men at different tables. If they were talking before he walked in, he wouldn't know. But he knew they were quiet when he entered. He approached the bar and the man behind it.

"Are you the man I talk to about a meal and a place to sleep?" McCree asked

"Yessir. Might I inquire as to what business you have in this town?" the bartender said, words dripping with venom.

"I'm just passing through. Won't be staying more than a few nights." McCree responded with an even, level voice.

"It'll be two dollars a night and your meal cost depends on what we got cooking. Tonight its stew. 30 cents."

Jesse reached into his back pocket. Every man in the building drew a gun. Jesse slowly pulled out his billfold and placed four dollars and 30 cents on the countertop. The bartender set his revolver down to count out the coins. The other men lowered their weapons much slower.

"People in this town seem to be a little jumpy." McCree remarked "You happen to know why that is?"

The bartender looked up from the coins. "We've had some trouble with a group of thugs harassing us. Not like we have much for them to take. They just come in, guns blazing, hooting and hollering. No one really goes outside much anymore. For fear of getting shot."

"I see. Shouldn't you sheriff, or whatever idea of law you have, be taking care of them?" McCree asked.

"He's too chicken shit to come at us, stranger."

A small group of men had entered the inn. The one in the center had been the one to speak. He wasn't wearing a hat. The man to his right had a beard that reached down to his sternum. The one on the left had eyes that didn't seem to quite focus. The center one stepped forward.

"Why might you be asking about our little group?"

McCree shrugged "Just wondering what a band of thugs wants with a small town like this."

"Now, I wouldn't call us thugs…" The center man said, chuckling "Just a couple of young fellas out having fun before they get as old as you."

The other men laughed loudly behind their supposed leader. The center man smirked, clearly pleased with his joke.

"Why don't you step aside, grandpa. Let us thirsty boys get ourselves a drink."

"By all means." Jesse said, stepping to the side.

The men approached the bar. No one spoke. The bartender gave them all three glasses and filled them with a dark liquid. Jesse ordered a drink for himself. He lifted the glass to the men to his right.

"To all the small cienega we find on our journeys." He said before bringing the glass to his lips.

The center man sneered and waved his empty glass in the air. The other man's eyes still hadn't focused. Jesse wondered what he would bring to a group like this, but then he looked closer at the man's physique. This man appeared to be made of absolutely nothing but muscle. Jesse wondered if he even had bones. The men finished their drinks and got up.

"Now hold on." Jesse said, as the men neared the door. "You boys need to pay for those drinks."

The center man stopped and turned around. His gun was drawn. His finger was already poised on the trigger.

"You get this straight, old man. We don't pay for nothing in this town. Got it? Not whiskey, not women. We get what we want, when we want. For. Free."

There were three loud cracks, and the men were on the floor. The center one was writhing. The other two men didn't move. Jesse finished his drink and walked towards their bodies. He put his gun back in its holster. His boots stopped an inch from the bleeding man's face.

"You're gonna start paying for it. Now answer my question, please. Are you the only ones?"

"Fuck you!"

Jesse rested his right foot on the man's bullet wound. He pressed down. The man screamed louder than he ever had in his life.

"I asked you politely. Are you the only ones?"

"Fuck no. We got 20 more just a few days ride away."

"Okay. Get up. I know where I shot you, and I know you can still ride."

The man staggered to his feet. His gun was still in his hand. Jesse quickly righted that discretion. The man screamed as his wrist twisted backwards. His gun clattered to the ground. He moved as fast as he could to the doorway.

"You're gonna be sorry, you old fuck. We're gonna put you in the ground where you belong."

"Well I won't know until I see."

And then it was only the five men once again. No one spoke. Jesse returned to his spot at the bar and motioned for another drink. The bartender filled his glass once more. The other four men had their eyes on the two bodies on the floor. Enough time passed that Jesse finished his drink.

Then, a woman came into the bar. The majority of her hair was tied up in a bun. The rest was splayed out across her hair. She clearly understood who she was and what was asked of her. The sleeves of her shirt were rolled up. Her skirt was a simple plaid pattern and flowed well with her motions. She immediately looked at the ground and the two bodies that rested there.

"No one thought to move these men outside?" She asked, indignantly.

He voice was thick with some form of accent. Not like the others in this town. It made her sound more commandeering. The men sitting at their tables all began to make excuses. They eventually agreed that the man who did the deed should have moved them. The woman looked at where the fingers were pointed and met Jesse's gaze.

He waved.

"My bad, ma'am. I didn't realize it was customary to treat outlaws like people in this town." He said, his eyes flicking down to the corpses.

"Everyone is a person, sir. And besides that, I'm sure their blood has stained this floor by now."

Jesse stood up and walked over to her. As he got closer, he was able to see more of her. Her hands were solid, built from years of work. Her shirt had flecks of bloodstains on the sleeves and lower end. Her skirt had pockets that seemed to be filled with bandages and metal work. Her eyes were shockingly blue. She was not happy.

"I'll move them right now, if you wouldn't mind giving me some space."

She stepped to the side, as he lifted the first man onto his shoulders. He grunted as his legs heated up from the strain. He quickly moved to the door and outside. He threw the man onto the dirt road, kicking up a cloud of dust as he did so.

He turned to get the next man, but the woman was already carrying him out. She was grimacing under the weight, but took the time to lower the man onto the ground gently. She gently closed his unfocused eyes, and then repeated the process on the other man. Jesse held the door open for her and they reentered the inn.

"Now, would you mind telling me why you killed these men?" The woman asked after they had closed the door.

"They didn't pay for their drinks and threatened me with violence. Not to mention, they were part of that gang that has been terrorizing you all. I was simply doing a service."

The woman was not happy. Her mood noticeably lowered.

"Did it occur to you that the other members of this gang would come to avenge their comerades?"

Her accent was so thick. Jesse enjoyed every word that came out of her mouth. It was rare for him to hear English in such a way. The last time he had heard someone speak the way she did, he was still in New York. Immigrants always spoke in such new, interesting ways.

"He told them to, Angela." A man at the nearest table said.

"He did what?" Angela said, heat creeping into her words.

"He left one alive and told him to bring everyone back."

Angela screamed. It was more out of frustration than any other emotion. Jesse could hear hints of Anger and worry in her shout as well. And a small amount of weariness. Her eyes were blazing as she glared at him.

"Do you have any idea how many people you've put in danger? All because you thought you were helping?"

"Ma'am. I'm simply trying to clean out the problem at hand, and then I will leave. Simple as that."

"No, not simple as that." She said, clipping every word. "You're going to get innocent people killed with what you've done."

"No, I won't."

"By my count, you've gotten two people killed and one man injured. You have been in this town a day."

"I'd say I'm making great progress then."

She slapped him. It was hard. Much harder than he had been slapped in recent memory. He looked at her. Tears were visible in the corner of her eyes. She glared at him, and then left the building. She was right. There were two large spots on the floor where the two bodies had been.

"Well, that was something." The bartender said.

"Yes, it was." Jesse responded.

"Come on." The bartender said, moving around the counter and towards Jesse. "I'll show you to where you'll be staying the night."

"Much obliged." Jesse said, following the man up the stairs.

"Of course. Dinner should be ready in an hour. More people ought to be there, so you can explain to the town what's going on. I'm sure Angela is already making a big fuss about it. Here you are."

The door was well worn and had a black 3 painted on it.

"You got a name there, stranger?" The bartender asked, handing Jesse the key.

"Name's McCree."

"Welcome to Grand Junction Colorado, McCree. Try not to get yourself killed while you're here."

Jesse nodded and entered his room. He gently closed the door behind him.


Hey y'all. Hope you enjoyed this chapter. Timeless is still my first priority, and when I have time to work on this story, I will. If you like it, leave a review, if you don't, leave a review.

Stay solid,

Joe