Short stories

Tales of the west

It was a cool summer's night out in the plains. The world seemed to stand still; nearby, a ghost town stood, derelict, reclaimed by the sands of the desert. A lone rider galloped on, destination uncertain. His horse tirelessly ran forth, charging down the overgrown path illuminated by the full moon. He wore a long faded duster, whipping in the wind. A deep red bandanna covered his mouth and nose. His gaze was focused solely on the trail, spurs glinting. Soon, the empty landscape was replaced with a rather large town, the saloon's lights still on. He slowed, thinking he'd give his horse a well deserved break. Hitching up, he could hear a commotion going on inside. The stranger lowered his bandanna, his cheek taken up by a huge set of scars.
The man who walked in certainly was a sight to behold. He wore a Germain style crusher cap; his coat was leather, dusty and worn from use. It was sewn up in some places. A holster was at his side, a revolver resting inside. He also had a traveler's bag on his back. The regular barflies strained to get a look at the stranger. The bartender glanced at him as well.
The stranger walked up to the bartender.
"You got any scotch, friend?" The stranger's voice seemed unnatural, almost alien to the bartender. He seemed to have an accent, but not one he could pinpoint.
"Um, yes sir." The bartender placed a glass on the countertop and poured some scotch for the man. All of a sudden, the saloons doors shot open. It was Frank Teller, leader of the Teller gang. His belt was full of bullets, the handle of his revolver full of notches. He wore a black leather gambler, it's belt full of bullets. The stranger rolled his eyes, and sat silently waiting for it to blow over.
"Hey, who's the new sap?" Francis lumbered confidently over to the stranger, and slammed a hand down on the silent man's shoulder. The man didn't flinch, he simply kept drinking his scotch quietly. Francis became annoyed, his arrogant smirk now a look of anger.
"Who do you think you are, you little twerp? Answer me! You mute, deaf, or just plain stupid?"
The stranger sighed into his drink, and asked the bartender in a hushed tone:
"Does this guy have a bounty on him?"
Before the bartender could finish nodding 'yes', the stranger had stood up, grabbed his revolver, and shot Francis right in the middle of the saloon point-blank.
The room fell silent; Francis' gang was completely stunned, and wordlessly collected their fallen leader, and left. The stranger didn't return to his barstool. He gunned what was left of his scotch, placed the money on the table, and left without a word.