Dan the Man
Nov 11th, 2003, 09:08:42 PM
(OOC: This storyline takes place five years ago, otherwise, its open to anyone)
*click*
The unrelenting sun bore down on main street, parching the men of the hour, and the onlookers alike. Depthless quiet was pierced by brief noise, and drowned out by quiet again. The hour approached with the click of a second hand. In the distance, a sand buzzard crowed.
The Stranger's eyes narrowed beneath the sun.
"You really reckon to do this, old-timer?"
The older man who stood across from him nodded, dressed for a social occasion, rather than a duel.
"I reckon so."
Silence returned to main street. Not a whisper interrupted the moment. The Stranger laughed, but without self assurance.
"You cocky old sonufabitch, that gold'll be the end of you."
The old man looked up to the main street clock tower, and down to his own time piece.
"I've heard that before. If there were an ounce of truth there, I shoulda been dead long ago, Mister."
He put his timepiece away.
"Did you bring your wager?"
The Stranger nodded.
"I'm good to my word, Fiddler. Don't get too acquainted, though."
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small ingot of brilliant gold, tossing it into the dust between where both men stood.
The old man paused for a moment, watching sunbeams dance across the gold's surface. Something in the way the light reflected in his eyes caused the Stranger to give pause.
"I'm glad to deal with an honest man, Stranger. This town is full of hustlers and pimps. Unscrupulous killers and talentless thieves. Its honest men like you that bear fruit in barren soil. It's a crying damn shame that only one of us is going to leave here alive."
The Stranger appeared anxious.
"Fiddler, I've put a lot of men down into the cold ground for that slip of gold. I rightly intend to do the same to you, for the rest of it."
The old man glanced to the clock once more.
"I know you do, Mister. Once again, I appreciate honest men."
*click*
Both men's eyes gravitated toward the clock. Toward the inevitable approach of noon.
*click*
The Stranger's eyes narrowed, perspiration rising to his bronze skin. The Fiddler's eyes showed no sign of the coming bloodsport. They reflected back at the Stranger almost child-like. Eyes that held no regret in their gaze.
*click*...BOOONNNG
Nobody ever heard the shot, so well was it timed with the stroke of High Noon.
The Stranger dropped his pistol, as a phantasm of white smoke curled from the muzzle of the Fiddler's.
"I'd never reckon it'd be you, Fiddler."
The man staggered forward, clutching at his perforated chest. He hunched forward to pick up the ingot of gold, but his pierced heart told the tale. The Stranger fell forward, and spilt his life upon the dusty road and the cursed gold.
His corpse took slumber beneath the old man's tall shadow.
"No, Mister. I don't think anyone ever sees Death when he come's knockin. But knock he does, nevertheless."
Dan kicked at the Stranger's shoulder, spinning the dead man on his back. Leaning down, he pried the blood-slicked ingot from the Stranger's hand, wiping the crimson on the slain man's sleeve. When that deed was finished, he stood, facing the townspeople.
"Now, you all saw like before, I won this dispute fair and square. This man came, and paid his way like all the rest to win the prize. He tried, and died. I keep his entry as the victor's spoils, and I wait for any of you, crazy or lucky as you may be, to play the dead man's game. Should any of you be crazier or luckier than I, then you can keep the gold, and leave me for the buzzards."
With that, Dan placed his hat upon his head, and holstered his pistol. He walked back to the bar, and retrieved his fiddle case.
"Till that day, ladies and gents, y'all go on about your business. Death is a patient man."
*click*
The unrelenting sun bore down on main street, parching the men of the hour, and the onlookers alike. Depthless quiet was pierced by brief noise, and drowned out by quiet again. The hour approached with the click of a second hand. In the distance, a sand buzzard crowed.
The Stranger's eyes narrowed beneath the sun.
"You really reckon to do this, old-timer?"
The older man who stood across from him nodded, dressed for a social occasion, rather than a duel.
"I reckon so."
Silence returned to main street. Not a whisper interrupted the moment. The Stranger laughed, but without self assurance.
"You cocky old sonufabitch, that gold'll be the end of you."
The old man looked up to the main street clock tower, and down to his own time piece.
"I've heard that before. If there were an ounce of truth there, I shoulda been dead long ago, Mister."
He put his timepiece away.
"Did you bring your wager?"
The Stranger nodded.
"I'm good to my word, Fiddler. Don't get too acquainted, though."
He reached into his pocket, and pulled out a small ingot of brilliant gold, tossing it into the dust between where both men stood.
The old man paused for a moment, watching sunbeams dance across the gold's surface. Something in the way the light reflected in his eyes caused the Stranger to give pause.
"I'm glad to deal with an honest man, Stranger. This town is full of hustlers and pimps. Unscrupulous killers and talentless thieves. Its honest men like you that bear fruit in barren soil. It's a crying damn shame that only one of us is going to leave here alive."
The Stranger appeared anxious.
"Fiddler, I've put a lot of men down into the cold ground for that slip of gold. I rightly intend to do the same to you, for the rest of it."
The old man glanced to the clock once more.
"I know you do, Mister. Once again, I appreciate honest men."
*click*
Both men's eyes gravitated toward the clock. Toward the inevitable approach of noon.
*click*
The Stranger's eyes narrowed, perspiration rising to his bronze skin. The Fiddler's eyes showed no sign of the coming bloodsport. They reflected back at the Stranger almost child-like. Eyes that held no regret in their gaze.
*click*...BOOONNNG
Nobody ever heard the shot, so well was it timed with the stroke of High Noon.
The Stranger dropped his pistol, as a phantasm of white smoke curled from the muzzle of the Fiddler's.
"I'd never reckon it'd be you, Fiddler."
The man staggered forward, clutching at his perforated chest. He hunched forward to pick up the ingot of gold, but his pierced heart told the tale. The Stranger fell forward, and spilt his life upon the dusty road and the cursed gold.
His corpse took slumber beneath the old man's tall shadow.
"No, Mister. I don't think anyone ever sees Death when he come's knockin. But knock he does, nevertheless."
Dan kicked at the Stranger's shoulder, spinning the dead man on his back. Leaning down, he pried the blood-slicked ingot from the Stranger's hand, wiping the crimson on the slain man's sleeve. When that deed was finished, he stood, facing the townspeople.
"Now, you all saw like before, I won this dispute fair and square. This man came, and paid his way like all the rest to win the prize. He tried, and died. I keep his entry as the victor's spoils, and I wait for any of you, crazy or lucky as you may be, to play the dead man's game. Should any of you be crazier or luckier than I, then you can keep the gold, and leave me for the buzzards."
With that, Dan placed his hat upon his head, and holstered his pistol. He walked back to the bar, and retrieved his fiddle case.
"Till that day, ladies and gents, y'all go on about your business. Death is a patient man."