Chapter 4 - A Bullet in the Dust

“Howdy there, sir…” I slapped my palm down on the center of the table, tipping my hat as I stumbled into the saloon. The older gentleman sitting there lifted his eyes slow and unimpressed.

“Asher,” he grumbled, “you best watch your tone with me, young man.”

I blinked. “What’d I do wrong?”

He gave me a look sharp enough to cut leather. “If you go around bangin’ on tables and barkin’ like that, you’ll wind up in a fight you can’t win.”

I swallowed the sting of it. “Well, thank you for your opinion, sir. I reckon I’ll do just fine.”

I left him to his drink and headed for the bar.

“Shot of whiskey,” I said.

The bartender poured it and slid it over. As I lifted the glass, I caught sight of a young lady whispering to her friend while glancing my way. Folks talk — that’s just how saloons breathe.

Music struck up on the stage. I tossed back the whiskey, set the empty glass down, and made my way to the entertainment section. I found a table in the back corner, poured myself some water from the jar, and leaned back as the lights dimmed.

The spotlight hit the stage.

Then—

A gunshot cracked through the night.

The music stopped. The room froze. The owner tried to calm everyone, but the tension was thick enough to choke on.

I stood and slipped toward the entrance.

Outside, a man lay in the dirt, clutching his chest. His girlfriend ran out behind me, dropping to her knees.

“Who did this to him?” She screamed.

Another man rushed to help her carry him to the doctor. I scanned the street — the shooter was long gone.

“I’ll find out who did it,” I said quietly.

Something crunched under my boot. A piece of bullet. Still warm.

I picked it up.

And that’s where my journey began.