The last Ride of Hairlip Green

The Colonel

As they neared the doctor's office, Green's eyes locked onto the ground, where dark patches of blood marred the dirt road. His heart skipped a beat when he saw the rear end of Montana's horse, its coat soaked through with crimson. The sight churned in Green's gut, a heavy knot of dread forming in his chest. He tried to shake it off, but the thought of losing Montana—his friend, his companion, the one who had pulled him from the wreckage of that day six long years ago—was unbearable. They had ridden together through thick and thin, their bond forged in the fires of the wild. It was more than just friendship; it was brotherhood.

The blood on the ground felt like a cruel omen, reminding Green of how fragile everything was. Montana couldn't be gone. Not like this. Not now. Not after all they'd been through. He couldn't bear to lose him.

And Belle... Green's thoughts faltered as the bitter ache in his chest deepened. He couldn't lose her again either—not after everything. Not after finding her. This time, he promised himself, he wouldn't let her slip away. Not for real. Not again. He couldn't bear the thought of losing anyone else.

Green climbed the dusty steps slowly, each creak echoing the weight of his worry. He could hear faint moans from inside, and as he reached the door, he noticed a bloody handprint smeared across the frame. The glass pane on the door bore a faded red cross, scratched and weathered from years of use. Lyin' opened it, and they were immediately greeted by a grim sight.

Montana lay limp on the doctor's table, blood covering his back as the doctor carefully worked to pull an arrow from deep within his flesh. Neil sat slumped in a nearby chair, with the broken end of an arrow lodged in his right arm and another in his shoulder, his face pale and weary. Belle stood silently against the wall, arms crossed, her expression distant and hard to read.

When Green entered, Belle's gaze shifted to him, her face softening for a moment. They shared a look that spoke volumes—a mix of relief, old feelings, and the unspoken wounds of time. Green's heart raced with the same love he'd felt the day they married, but beneath it was the pain of all they'd lost. Belle, feeling the sting of his absence all those years, felt her own mixture of betrayal and lingering love. Before either could say a word, Neil broke the silence with a smirk.

"Look at the lovebirds! Never thought I'd see ol' Hairlip fall head over heels," he said with a laugh, oblivious to the history between them.

Noticing the tension he'd stirred up, Neil quickly went quiet, and the room grew still, shadows deepening as the hours slipped by. The doctor, now finished with his work, had stitched up both Montana and Neil, leaving them both stable but exhausted. For the first time in days, the crew found rest with a roof over their heads.

Morning came with fresh challenges. Montana was out of commission for at least a week, throwing their plans into disarray. Green's mind churned with new possibilities, trying to come up with a way to pull off their score with one man down. Just then, the doctor's door creaked open, spilling sunlight across the room, illuminating dust floating in the air and the heap of blood-soaked rags piled in the corner.

"Rise and shine!" a voice boomed from the doorway. The man stood tall in a crisp blue army uniform, the brass buttons catching the light, and a grand, bushy mustache that gave him a gunslinger's air. Green squinted at him, sizing up this unexpected visitor as the man's sharp gaze swept across the room.

Green's eyes narrowed as he took in the man standing in the doorway. The uniformed soldier was tall and broad, with a posture so rigid he might have been made of stone. His navy-blue jacket was pristine, every brass button polished to a gleam that caught the morning light, reflecting tiny flecks across the room. A thick, bushy mustache stretched across his face, curling just enough at the edges to give him a sharp, almost theatrical look—a feature that reminded Green of a gunslinger he'd once known, a man whose mustache concealed a cruel smile.