The town of Prescott was once a beautiful miner town, with a grand abundance of natural streams, lakes, and, of course, gold. Its rolling green hills and lush forests were populated by miners and their families trying their luck at getting rich in them hills. The town thrived for about five years as its streams brought truck load after truck load of miners, gamblers, and any other character's you could think of, but their luck soon turned as the creeks dried up replacing any greenery with tough pines or thorny bushes. With the drying of the streams many people left for California and others to phoenix, then there were the rare few that staid in the dead miner town for the terrible drought that followed. To the people in this small town water was as valuable as gems or maybe a new car. Their lives depended on the shipment of water from Flagstaff each week, but these shipments were often attacked by a wilily bunch of water desperados that took the water and hid it in their hideout. Prescott's water problem was unsolvable at least that was until this stranger came to town.
A dark silhouette graced the dirty road to Prescott (pronounced Preskit) Arizona. The silhouette moved fluidly across the chaparral landscape as the blazing sun sunk behind the Bradshaw Mountains behind it. If you looked closer you would see that this silhouette belonged to a horse, and on this horse was a man. The horse reared as the man tugged gently at its reins to slow it down to a smooth stop. Once the dust had settled, the man jumped off his horse, and raised a rough hand to shade the sun from his dazzling green eyes. The other hand fumbled with a thin strip of leather holding a silver canteen holding the last bit of his water. Once the canteen was free his tipped it up pouring the last drink down his parched throat, small drops of it running down his sun burnt chin. He then justly turned the water bottle upside down as three drops of water fell out and landed on the cracked desert floor, a small bit of steam rising as each drop died on the hot sand.
"Damn." He muttered as his arm dropped to his side. He raised his gaze again this time not to the setting sun, but to the dark path leading to the town of Prescott. With a heavy sigh he mounted his sandy brown horse and gave it a swift kick to get going again. The small brush soon turned into towering pines, and junipers as the man and horse entered the city limits.
The Bird Cage sat silent as the last slivers of sunlight disappeared behind the other buildings on Whiskey row. A bar tender cared to the few people at the bar as a lovely brunette waitress wiped down tables.
"Hey Sawyer," the bar tender said not lifting his bearded head from his job of cleaning glasses, "You can head off if ya want. I doubt anyone else is gonna come tonight anyways. Whiskey row is pretty sparse since the drought." Sawyer shrugged as her careful hands wrung out the soggy rag.
"Mmmkay." As her apron swung over her head the ding of the bell rang as a stranger walked in. Everyone lifted their heads as a well built man took a few steps into the bar. He wore black boots with a pair of dark jeans fitted around his bottom half. Around his waist was a brown belt with several strips of leather hung at its sides holding things from canteens to a handgun. His face was slightly sun burnt and topped with brown hair covered by a cowboy hat, but below his sweeping bangs was his astonishing forest green eyes.*
The man took large bounds over to the bar as he took of his hat, beads of sweat rolling down his well sculpted face, "One beer please, for a parched fella." The tender nodded as he pulled a beer from behind him and handed it over to him,
"We don't see many strangers around here since the streams dried up." He eyed the strange mans guns and canteen, "Where ya from stranger?"
"Names Henry, Henry Flood." Henry took a swing from his beer then eyed Sawyer now packing up her things in her purse as she swung her VW keys around. She lifted her blue eyes, made eye contact, and then looked away blushing deeply.
Henry smiled a crooked smile then looked around the bar, "I would suspect at least a few more people around these parts at least with the water shipments each week. Doesn't that keep this place going?" His hands caressed the empty bottle as he studied the empty down town square, its seasonal trees covered in green leaves.
"Ehh?" The bar tender lifted his head to look at Henry as if to pick up what he just missed,
"Oh, yeah. The towns a ghostly one since those water desperados started to ambush the water shipments. Soon enough we'll all be gone, and Preskit will fade away into the dust."
"Water desperados eh," Henry said thoughtfully, "has anyone tried to stop em'?"
"My father once tried," Sawyer spoke, her voice light and velvety, "He went out with a bunch of men to try and find their hideout. Instead of finding it they got captured and abandoned in the dells to the east of here." Her shoulders dropped, "He was found dead three days later." Sawyers blue eyes watered with tears as she looked away from the talking men.
"She's right. Any man that messes with those guys ends up dead." The raspy voice of the bar tender brought Henrys attention back to the problem. Placing his head upon his hand he sat, the silence echoed throughout the bar as everyone awaited his reply.
"Why don't I see what I can do about this water problem?" He rose from his chair and placed his old hat on his head, "But before I do that how about a room for the night." Nodding the bar tender took out a key and handed it to the daring stranger, "Top floor to the right." Henry nodded then started up the stairs.
***
Henry slept peacefully in the hotel above the bar, though his thoughts and memories danced back to the time he came to Prescott for the Tsunami on the square. He remembered the fire jugglers, the singers, the booths, and most of all he remembered the monsoon that followed it. As his childhood flew by him as he slept, the water desperados readied in their hideout for their next heist. A man with a handlebar mustache sat at the head of a octagonal table and cleared his throat as he spoke to the masked bandits gathered around him.
"The next truck will be delivering today at noon. I want the job to be quick and bloodless, unlike last time." He shot a harsh look at two men sitting to his right, "We don't want the cops from Phoenix coming up to these parts looking for our hide out ya hear?" The men pulled back as if shot by an invisible bullet. The dark man looked up, "The next person to mess up will have a pack of hungry coyotes on their tails. I promise this or my name ain't Jack Dyon. You guys hear me?" The men nodded as they picked up their guns and readied for their heist.
Jack sat in his chair, happily plotting ways to spend his profit of the stolen water. His high cheek bones and jackal like appearance complimented his twisted and cruel mind. His eyes were beady and looked like windows looking into an overcast sky and his graying hair was worn in a style like a rapid filled river. His black skin was matched with his wardrobe filled with browns and oranges.
"Excuse me, ?" A small man came up and whispered something in Jacks ear. Jack's expression remained sinister as his eyes narrowed and his mouth opened to reveal yellowed teeth, "Well now. We'll have to pay this stranger a visit won't we?"
***
Meanwhile back at the bar, Henry wandered down stairs, his messy brown hair styled so his piercing green gaze could be seen. He wore a flannel shirt tucked into the same pants he wore the day before, and his boots were caked in dirt. As he made his way down the stairs, Sawyer was pulling her long brunette hair into a high pony tail, her white skin making her look radiant to any drunk or sober man on this side of town. She jumped as the soft footsteps started down the stairs.
"Good morning miss." Henry greeted his white teeth set in a crooked smile. "Lovely morin'." Sawyer nodded. Pulling out a bar stool Henry took a seat, placing a rock on the bar. Sawyer eyed the rock suspiciously then continued to work. Henry started to mutter to the rock and occasionally took a sip of his coffee.
They two sat in silence for a long time until Sawyer sat down next to him, eying the rock at his finger tips, "Why do you have a rock?" she asked her head tilting to one side, "I mean its kinda," She paused looking for the right word, "strange." Henry let out a loud laugh and picked up the rock, "It's not just a rock. It's my pet." Holding out his hand he offered the rock to Sawyer, "Ya see with all the traveling I do I can't really have a pet besides my horse." He motioned to the dusty brown horse outside, "So one day I decided to choose the next rock I see and keep it as a pet. So now I've got Francisco there to keep me company and to keep me from going insane." Stroking the rock with a rough hand he then picked it up from the girl's hand. Throwing it up in the air then catching it the rock was placed safely inside Henry's pocket.
"Is it really that lonely out on there?" Sawyer asked, placing her hand upon his. Henry smiled, "Yea it can be. But a fine girl like you wouldn't have to worry about something like that." Henry studied the girl, her lovely eyes, her brown hair, and of course her voice. It was all so alluring to him. Love wasn't something he was looking for, but he could tell if he got to know this girl he might be head over heels.
Suddenly the door swung open, a gang of dark suited men came in, their eyes sparkling with greed and their dark jackets spotted with mud. A man walked in that reminded Henry of a jackal. His overcast glare and gray hair suited his dark skin and buffed body.
"We don't appreciate strangers flirting with our pretty young girls, especially if you're sticking your nose where it doesn't belong." The man strode up to Henry, who was now sitting erect in his chair. He turned to Sawyer, brushing his dirty finger under her chin, "Aren't you a perty young thing? Almost as beautiful as the prickly pears flower." He motioned to his men, "Take this one captive. I've been looking for someone to keep me company." The men did as they were told as Sawyer was gagged and tied. Henry rose to help but was soon surrounded by three burly men in black. The mustached man smiled, "Don't get up son. She ain't your type any ways." He then turned about and walked out the door. Before closing the door he looked Henry in the eye, "Oh and if you know what's best for you don't come digging up stuff you don't need to know." A deep chuckle escaped the man's mouth as he mounted a black horse and road off into the dust.
Henry stood motionless until rage filled his body. He wouldn't stand for this! He got up and ran outside, his dark locks flying around his head as he mounted his horse and followed after the water desperados. He flew down the streets past abandoned floats from parades and some homeless people sitting on the curb, his thoughts only on how to save this water deprived town, and of course the lovely Sawyer. "I just hope they don't have any dang spiders where they took her." He thought aloud as he beat the horse to go faster.
After what seemed like hours of trying to find the hideout he gave up. Stopping along the curb he sat down burying his head in his hands. He was deep in thought until a firm grasp pulled at his coat.
"Please sir, spare a man a coin. Even a homeless man needs a drink." Henry looked up to see a toothless, old beggar smiling at him. Pulling out a change pouch he grabbed a dollar and handed it to the hobo. "Here." The old man smiled, "Why thank-ya sir! He smiled handing Henry an old piece of paper, "This might help your troubles a bit pal." The hobo then jumped around and walked back towards Whiskey row.
Henry watched confused as the beggar skipped off towards his booze. Then glancing down at the paper he proceeded to open it up. Once he had smoothed out the edges and also managed to get a few mustard stains off it he could see that it was indeed what he needed, a map! Jumping up from the curb he gave a hearty "YEEEEHAWWW!" and mounted his horse.
The map led him to the ruins of an old museum called Sharlot Hall. A gazebo stood overgrown by wild desert roses, to its left stood an old school house, its roof caved in from old age and in front of that was an ivy covered building with its secrets hidden from the unsuspecting eye. Henry marveled at the beauty and history of this place locked in time. As he glanced down at the map it led him to the rose covered gazebo where it was marked with a dark red X. Sticking the map in his back pocket he neared the gazebo. The roses were cut away on one side to reveal a clean center with a trapdoor in the middle. Bingo. With a mighty pull he lifted the door to reveal a ladder winding down into the darkness. Taking his hand back to his pocket he felt for the map but felt nothing there.
"Huh?" He looked in each pocket. The map had simply vanished! He stood confused for a moment and shrugged it off. Pulling out Francisco he sat down, his legs dangling over the edge.
"I hate the dark Francisco, and if I want to save the town I'll have to go down there and wander in the endless night until I see the light of my enemies." Francisco sat there motionless in his hand but Henry pulled back, "What do ya mean go down there? Do you see how dark it is? It's like epically dark! How am I supposed to deal with that?" Silence then another reply, "I guess you're right." With a deep breath he put Francisco away and took his first step into the dark.
His shaking was soon eased once he reached the ground. The tunnel was endless, and wet. Henry continued on, occasionally muttering something about the dark, and then jumping when a rat scuttled over his foot. His fear was soon eased once he spotted a small light in the distance. Going into stealth mode Henry moved along the wall, his boots making being sneaky extra hard.
He found his way to the entrance of a room filled with about twenty guards, a giant water tank, and a pile of money in the corner. Henrys jaw fell. He had found the hideout! He did a silent victory dance before prowling into the room and hiding behind a pile of dirty clothes.
"Aww come on now puddin' don't be so sore about me kidnapping ya. It was a crime of passion!" Henry cringed as the Jackal faced man flirted with Sawyer. "Oh don't flatter yourself Jack! It didn't work in high school so don't think it'll work now!" Sawyer's velvet voice snapped as Henry peeked his head over the clothes to see her pretty face facing away from the mustached man she called Jack. "I like em' feisty!" Jack stated as he grabbed at Sawyer.
This was the last straw! Henry got up and jumped on Jack wrestling him to the ground. Jack, unable to tell what was going on, swung his hands blindly at his assaulter. Jacks men ran to help, but Henry was too quick for them and shot both men down. He then turned and aimed the gun at Jack, but then stopped. Where was Francisco?
His green gaze locked with the overcast gaze of Jack, Francisco in his dirty grip. Henry's time went by in slow-mo as the Jackal like man smashed the rock on the ground shattering it into a million pieces. "FRANCISCO!" He cried as the rock was then scooted to the side by the villain's foot. A yellow smile danced across Jacks face, "Oops..." Pure rage filled Henry's every vein and muscle as he lifted his gun and took a clear shot at Jack, shooting him through the chest.
"That's for Francisco." Henry kicked the dying body to the side and ran to Sawyers side. Sawyer, who had been watching with interest, sat there mouth agape. "Di…Did you just kill him?" Her blue eyes blazed with fear, and some admiration for this handsome stranger. Once her hands were untied Henry instructed her to go tell the town their water was going to be returned. She nodded. Before she could run off he gave her a swift kiss, leaving her speechless. With a wink he turned and started to pull the latch to release the water from the tank. He stood watching it flow up into the town's water table.
Prescott was soon as alive as it would ever be. The water brought back the greenery, the streams, and of course the people. The once ghost town was now a town full of events, people, and history. As for Henry and Sawyer, they got married and reopened the Sharlot Hall museum for future generations. Water was never scarce again in the town, and every year in the middle of June the town has a celebration for Mr. Henry Flood and his gift of life for the little town of Prescott, Arizona.