Six

......

    For such a long time, or as it seems, no noise was created when the stranger had entered their tavern. Only when he sat down next to the sheriff did the townsfolk deem it safe to murmur amongst themselves, questioning his presence. He paid no attention to the common folk though. He was focused on the king himself, with his crown of felt tipped over his eyes.

   "So, sheriff." The stranger cocked his head and glared at the older man, who was sipping on what looked like whiskey. "Do you remember me?" The stranger's wicked smirk twisted his scarred lip upwards on his stubbly mug. With an expression more solemn than the grave, the sheriff side-eyed the rogue. 

    "No," the sheriff replied. He went back to nursing his poison. The rogue grimly smiled and looked down at the counter, thinking. All of the patrons had resumed their usual activities but kept their sensitive ears open for the two men's dialogue. Still gazing at the the worn wood, the rogue silently chuckled. "But i remember you, for certain. I know its been 17 years but you think you would remember when you shot my father down right in front of me, you bastard." At that moment, the patrons who had heard the stranger's words turned to face them in shock silence. They knew the sheriff had killed in the past but had only done so to characters of an evil nature.

    Doubt trickled into their minds.

    Barely raising his head, the sheriff took another sip of his drink. "I've shot down many a man, boy. If i did actually kill your father, then I had good reason to." The stranger's grin formed into a grimace. 

    "No sir, I'm afraid you're quite wrong on that matter. My father was innocent, with no gun in his hand, and you put him down like a dog. I was standing behind him when you pulled the trigger. My mother wiped the blood off of my face as tears fell down hers." The stranger's fist had clenched tight. "I've came here for you, sheriff."

    The air in the tavern had a vice grip on the sounds and movement of life, crushing it, turning the scene into a photograph. 

    "Revenge." The word rolled off the baritone voice of the silver lion of a man. "Petty."

    The stranger got off his bar stool. "Not revenge. Justice." The stranger drew his scarred revolver from his holster. In an instant, numerous patrons, including the bartender with his shotgun, drew their guns and aimed at him, ready to fire. The stranger paid no attention to them. His eyes were dead set on the lawman, a dark grin on his face.

  "I'm the lawman now, sheriff. You think you're above the law but i'm here to put you in your place." He tightened his grip on his gun.

  The sheriff stood up and looked down at the rogue. His words were spoken with audible clarity. "Every man I cut down deserved it. I understand you may be ridin' high right now, but you best get on somewhere, boy."

  "Or what?" The stranger stepped forward, getting in the old man's face. "You'll shoot me down too?"

   The sheriff squinted. "That's your choice."

  The rogue backed up, never breaking eye contact with the aged lion. Slowly, he walked towards the hinged tavern doors. The setting sunset shone through the entrance, stretching out his shadow across the floor.

  The stranger sighed. A few seconds of contemplation. The guns were slowly lowered.

  The stranger cocked his head back. "I challenge you to a duel, sheriff." The patron's eyes went wide but the sheriff, as expected, was unfazed. "You say you didn't kill my father. Well, you're a sonuvabitch liar." He started walking to the doors. "I'll be waiting outside. A real man would value his pride and face me." The stranger exited.

   The lawman squinted his eyes, staring a hole into the rogue's back. He turned and picked up his glass, finishing his spirit. He headed towards the door, checking his sword's cylinder. Six bullets full. He snapped it back in place and sheathed it. The patrons followed him out.

  Outside, the orange sky was cloudless and the sunset was blocked by the church at the opposite side of town. Various stores were off to the sides. In the middle of town was a stone statue of the town's founder. It was slightly eroded, the statue's face smoothed over. At the base sat the stranger with a big iron in his hand and a die in the other. He was rolling it in between his fingers. The sheriff walked off the tavern porch and stepped onto the desert sand. The stranger stood up, still rolling the die between his fingers.

  "So you feel like gamblin'!" The stranger chuckled, seemingly enjoying his chance at killing the old man. "No lie, I had my doubts. Thought you were a yellow belly!" The desert wind was getting chilly. The lawman stopped in his tracks. "I don't want to kill ya, boy." This riled another laugh from the rogue. 

  "Well, ain't that a surprise.", the stranger said. "Time to settle this, bastard."

  The lawman hovered his hand above the handle of his gun. "There's nothing to settle. I never shot a man with a kid to care for."

  The stranger bared his teeth and went for his gun. 

  "Liar."

    They both drew their guns from their leather sheaths. Two shots rang out in the cold sky. A pause. The townspeople held their breath. What seemed like forever had passed. Both figures were still standing. Had they missed?

  No.

  The revolver slipped from the stranger's grasp and landed barrel first into the sand. The stranger fell backwards, sprawled onto the ground. Silence. The sheriff sheathed his weapon, and with a disappointed frown that aged his face even more, he headed back into the tavern, in need of another drink.

  The townspeople didn't know how to feel about the event. All they knew was that someone had to bury the body of a man who was either delusional or had been legitimately seeking justice. 

  Doubt trickled into their mind.