The day was hot, dry and there was no water to be seen for miles. The man rode on his horse, careful not to make it become overexerted. He couldn't have it fail him now, not with them being so close to a town. Sweat beaded and gathered on his brow like gulls over a fish. His small supply of water was quickly depleting, he needed more. The horse was starting to stumble, wanting water. He slowed the great beast and jumped down. The man took his canteen and drank deeply. He then took some water and dabbed it on his face. As he stood in front of the horse's head , he tipped some of the liquid into his hat. The horse lapped it up greedily. The stranger then strapped the canteen back on, climbed up on his horse, and continued.
The town he came upon was small, but had water, food,… and buildings! Actual buildings not encampments or rickety towns that seemed to be made from crates. People were scurrying to and fro, each with a purpose. Some stopped and stared, as if they had never seen a man on a horse before. He quickly spied a sign that gave away the location of the general store. He got off his horse and led it to the hitching post and trough where he secured the animal and walked in. The first thing the man noticed was the store manager. He seemed a hearty fellow, with a jolly smile and laughing eyes, despite his slight girth and graying hair. The salt and pepper mustache he had seemed to tickle his nose. The manager then spoke as he leaned on the counter, "You must be new here, young fella. Now what can Old George get for ya' ?" "I need food, water, and some huntin' shot. You can take your time though, I'm in no rush." "Alrighty then, lemme have that for ya in a minute." "You mind if I browse a while?" "Go Ahead, that's what it's here for." The man walked around slowly, admiring the well stocked store and the cozy yet business-like feel of it. The man spoke with the manager as he readied his things. "So, what is this town called anyway?" "Little Buckshot, why?" "Just curious, How much is all of this going to cost me, sir?" "Well, for one, Call me Old George, and two, maybe as much as you have on you. I also added a couple of new canteens for you, so you can carry extra water." "How can you tell?" "Your horse and the canteen that's hanging from it." "Oh." " Well I got everything ready for you, That'll be twenty-five dollars." "Here ya are, Old George, twenty- five."
The man handed him the money. "Do you mind if I leave this here as I put it on the horse? By the way where can I get water?" " Water's right over there." Old George pointed to a silver pump just outside the doorway. "Most of the time it's free for everyone, but lately, some rough fellows have taken over the water supply. I'm pushing things as it is." " Why did they take over the water?" " They're smarter than they look. The man who runs it, One Eye Jack, thought of it. He probably figured that this town can't run without water so he took it." "No one's taken it back yet?" " Nope, Everybody's been afraid to. They took over the sheriff's office and killed the sheriff and deputy, in public, no less." "Well no one's got a right to do that, to anyone. Where's the mayor live?" "Down the road and to the right. First house on the left." " Thanks, I'm gonna be back for some ammo soon, so stock up." " Don't come back dead, young fella." " Be sure to do that." "The man tipped his hat and walked out on the wooden walkway into the heat. The people glanced at him and continued on their way.
He stayed in the shade for the most part, out of the way. The man strolled down the walkway thinking to himself, "What am I supposed to do? Why am I always so impulsive? I always have to be so righteous and what does it get me? Almost killed, that's what it gets me. Uggghhhh. Oh well, someone has to take care of him. Might as well be me." His footsteps clacked against the aged wood, a groan emanating from it every once in a while. He soon arrived at the very home Old George had placed. It seemed a quaint little thing, with blue paint and small flower boxes in some of the windows. He was surprised someone had managed to grow flowers in such a dusty place. He gently opened the fence although he could have easily stepped over it. He strode up the steps and knocked on the door. An elderly man, who looked somewhat older than Old George, opened the squeaky door. "Yes, Can I help you? You must be new here, by the looks of it." "Yeah, I'm here to talk about the water and One Eye Jack." The mayor blanched and his face became grim. "Yes, Yes, Come In. Quickly."
The man stepped inside and the mayor shut the door. "Well, we can sit in the kitchen and discuss this, hopefully in peace." The man nodded in agreement and followed the old man. They sat at the table, the old mayor looking somber. " All I can say at this point is this, there's not much to it. Jack and his posse just rode in one day like anyone else and had a few drinks, played some poker, and a good meal. Everyone was wary at first but then his debts piled up the longer he stayed. The banker and th' accountant tried to talk to him, but he chased them out of town. He got mad, real mad, and took over the water, making everyone else pay money for it so he could skirt on his own debts. We been stuck that way ever since." The man nodded at the mayor's words. " Why hasn't anyone tried to stop him?" "The last man that tried died where he stood, a chest full of lead." " You know where he's located?" " He's usually holed up in the saloon, watchin' the people and cheatin' at poker." "Okay then, Mayor, you ought to prepare a funeral, cause this man ain't gonna live to see sunset." " You're crazy, out of your mind! Why in tarnation's name would you fight Jack? He's gonna kill you and the rest of us will be right back where we started!"
The man jumped up and made his way toward the door. "Well, there's one way to find out, If you see my face in that grave, you start finding' someone else to get this guy outta town." He tipped his hat toward the mayor, opened the door, and left. The man made his way through the dust, dirt and crowds to the entrance of the saloon. He paused for a few moments and took a breath. " Well, better get this over with." He thought. He pushed through the doors and walked to the bar. "Gimme a whiskey." The bartender set down a shot glass and filled it to the brim. The man gulped it down in one swig. He slammed the glass down, careful not to break it. He turned and surveyed the people. A small group caught his eye. One of the men has his back turned to him, one leg propped up on the other. He noticed the tip of a playing card sticking out of the man's old boot.
He watched as the man took out that card and switched it while the others weren't looking. The man gingerly walked over to the table, "So, who's winning?" "Jack's winning, again." One of the men said. "Which one of you is Jack?" The man asked. Another at the table pointed to the one who had cheated earlier. The man looked like his name. Scars littered the man's face, evidence of previous fights, fevers, and childhood scuffles. One eye was obviously missing, protected by a patch. His nose was reddened by his love of the drink, It was gin by the looks of the bottle next to him. His bulbous nose was probably the result of too many fights. His black, almost beady eyes glared at the man. "Who's asking?" Jack asked though rotting teeth. "Just someone who wants to know the game. And the fact that you should know that you can't have the water no more." "What did you say!?" Jack rose much more quickly than his size let on.
The man stared him in the eye. "I said you can't have the water no more, Jack." "You can't be telling' me what to do, stranger, You ain't got no right." "Yea, I do, cause I'm gonna stop you." Jack laughed like a sinister yet drunk hyena. The others at the table were hesitant, staring at him. Jack noticed this and stopped. "Oh, yeah, What's say to a little shootin' match." The man nodded. "Good. How about outside, in one hour. You better be ready, else you'll ridin' outta here in a box." Jack turned and stalked to the bar. "Gimme a shot. Now." The bartender's eyes widened as he gave him a shot of the best the saloon had. The man walked out and as soon as he did the people were whispering. Most got out of the way as he walked back to Old George's shop. When he arrived, he stepped through the door, "George, I need your best shot and your fastest gun." George looked at him like he was scolding a child. "When?" "Outside. One hour." "Alright then, Follow me." The man followed George into the stockroom.
George picked up a gun, "This is the best model I have. It was a private delivery, so even Jack doesn't know about it." The man took it in his hand and weighed it. "Yea, this'll do." As the man headed for the door, Old George took his place behind the counter. The man turned back for a moment, "Say, You got any whiskey?" Old George stared back with a gleam in his eye. "He handed the man a small silver flask engraved with initials. The man opened it and drank deeply, savoring the fire that lined his throat and belly. The man closed it and handed it back. Old George looked at the man with pity and dread written all over his normally jolly face. "Good Luck, young fella." The man tipped his weathered hat and stepped outside into the burning sun. The man scouted out a prime waiting spot outside the saloon. When he arrived, he took apart his gun, set some of the parts on a nearby barrel, and cleaned his gun.
Shortly after, he reassembled his gun and slowly loaded it. Jack burst through the saloon doors and stormed down the dust-filled, dirt-encrusted road only to stop just short of where the man stood. The man looked up from loading his gun, "Well, Jack, How will this go down? Standoff or three shots at fifty paces?" "Standoff, here and now." The man finished loading what he had left and slowly straightened up. Jack backed up a few paces and stared the man down. The man did the same. The sun beat down on both of them like a blacksmith practicing his trade. Jack fingers twitched nervously, eyes widening because of sweat and apprehension. The man kept the sun at his back, making his movements hard to see. The man slowly moved his hand closer to the gun Old George had given him. Jack was doing the same. Then, it seemed, time sped up. Jack whipped out his gun, and fired multiple shots in the hopes that at least one would make it's mark. The man only fired one, the bullet firing straight and true. Jack clutched at the gaping wound and fell to his knees. "Well, I got no more debts now." And with those final words, Jack fell forward and ruffled the dust of the road with his last breath. The man stood there triumphantly, yet his almost broken stature said other wise. He strode back to Old George's shop. "Well, George, prepare a funeral. And say, you got any whiskey?"