Song Oneshots

The Swiftest Ranger

The town of Agua Fria. It was a small miner town out in the boonies of western United States. With a small population fitting the main specialty, everyone knew everybody. A new face would be quickly noticed.

A woman hanging her family's clothing out to dry heard the sound of clopping hooves coming from a black horse. The woman quickly glanced at the rider of the horse since not many of those animals were owned in this part of the land. They were expensive, something she wouldn't be able to even dream of affording, forget the upkeep.

The man that was saddled atop the horse was dressed in a brown leather overcoat with a cotton blue shirt underneath, a brown rancher hat, A belt of small arm bullets wrapped around his torso from the shoulder to his waist, a pair of blue leggings and brown boots. There was a niche badge adorned the left side of his chest. He was too far away for the woman to read what it said. She couldn't help but feel as if a block of ice went down her spine once she saw the iron revolver holstered on his hip, quietly shaking along with the trotting of the horse.

Unlike the inquiring woman, the more the stranger rode into the town, the more attention he gathered. He didn't bother to greet anyone, so they treated him the same. Everyone that looked at the stranger knew he was here for a reason, and he meant business. Getting involved with him meant trouble, so they stayed out of his way.

The stranger hitched his horse infront of the town's one and only Saloon and made his way inside. The stranger moved the door panels out of the way, gathering the attention of the men drinking inside. He was treated the same here as he was outside. No one wanted trouble. Some even tipped there hats down to cover their face, in no way a greeting. The stranger was quiet. He ordered a drink and had a stoic look on his face as if waiting and thinking about something. The rest of the day passed seemingly quickly with this stranger present.

Everyone had an inkling of a feeling that this man was dangerous, the same as a certain outlaw that made this town be as on edge as it was. That said outlaw was a dangerous killer. His presence drove this town to be constantly on their toes. The outlaw, the same as the stranger came back from a trip, God knows where he went, early in the morning.

Whispers among the people about the outlaw's presence quickly passed around town.

"It's the outlaw!" a child loudly said before running away to their parents for protection.

"He's probably run back here after running from the authorities." Another muttered in a hushed voice to themselves.

The same as the stranger that came in the other day, the iron revolver resting in the holster of the outlaw gleamed under the hot sun.

The outlaw's name was Texas Red. Famed for his many counts of murder, the blood he has spilled becoming the title of his name. Despite his young age of 24, his vicious personality made him someone many didn't like and wanted to rid the world of. Many men had tried and many failed, their bodies now rotting with a bullet hole in each of their skulls. 20 men he had killed, 20 notches Texas Red had carved into his gun to remind him and the world of how many he had slaughtered.

The stranger, over the course of the day prior and today, made it apparent that he was a Arizona Ranger and that he was after Texas Red. It didn't matter to the Ranger if Red was dead or alive, all he needed was that son of a bitch to rot in the hell he belonged.

One of the men in the saloon heard the tales of the Ranger and stood up to go find Texas Red. He told him about the Ranger and how he was after him. But Texas Red didn't feel any danger. After all, he was confident and said confidence was not ungrounded. 20 men had tried, 20 men had died. It didn't matter if another was added to that count. All who tried ended up the same. Dead.

Texas Red shoved the man who informed him of the Ranger out of the way and made his way towards the Saloon that the Ranger was currently waiting. His Red dyed hat and scarf he used that signified his presence among the people moved shifted in his arrogant gait.

Red shoved the shutters out of the way and briskly made his way to the Ranger that he spotted immediately thanks to the holstered gun on his hip.

"Howdy, partner." Texas Red shortly made an introduction, "Heard you've been lookin' for me."

The Ranger put the mug of his beer down on the bartender's counter. A chilling air suddenly making it's way inside despite the heat of the sun. He stood from the stool he was sitting on and turned to face Red.

"Indeed," The Ranger said, tipping his hat down in a greeting and to fix it's position, "I'm here to take you in, dead or alive. Which will it be?"

Texas Red laughed. He laughed harder than he had ever before in his life at the Ranger's words.

"I'd prefer neither, Ranger. Your corpse will be eaten by crows and I'll be prancin' about scott free."

"We'll see about that, Red." The Ranger said, eyeing the mocking outlaw.

Texas Red and the Ranger exited the Saloon and faced each other 40 feet apart from one another. The townspeople gathered in their homes and businesses and gazed from their windows to watch the showdown. Everyone held their breaths, as they thought for sure that the Ranger was going to die today and his body be food for the crows and Texas Red had proclaimed.

The clock on the townhall told the time of 11:20 in the morning. The Ranger and Texas Red were staring each other down, waiting for the opportune and silently agreed upon moment to draw. The only honor the two men would bestow upon the other. Their hands at their hips, their fingers moving back and forth, itching to draw their gun and fire at the other.

A bumble bush silently floated by, skipping along the sand. And it was in that moment that they were to draw. One would live, one would die.

One pistol was drawn, the other unable to clear leather, as the sound of a bullet ripped through the air. One of the two men fell to the sand, blood pooling from their head as their hat slowly floated down.

The Ranger spun the iron in his hand and blew the smoke emitting from the barrel chamber, quickly holstering the pistol.

The people couldn't believe it. Texas Red was dead without even a chance to draw his gun. The Ranger was too quick. And as he had made 20 other slip before him, he himself had made a fatal slip.

The townspeople stepped out of their homes and gathered around the dead youth that was infamously known as Texas Red. The Ranger moved the gathered folks and looted the Red scarf and hat that belonged to the dead man as proof of his deed.

He bought a carrot for his horse and unhitched it, saddling on.

The people's eyes followed after the Rangersilhouette as he left the town in during sunset, the holster carrying the BigIron gently shaking along with the horses' trotting the same way it had when hecame into town one fine day.