Stranger

“We don’t often see travelers ‘round these parts, you see. It’s not personal when we say that you should move along, stranger.”

The sheriff and his deputy stood in the road, blocking his path. Over their shoulders he could see timid residents taking furtive peeks out of their dusty homes at what their law enforcers were doing. A light breeze eased some heat from their bodies and lazily pushed some tumbleweed. Apart from this unimportant movement, the small desert town maintained an unsettling calm sustained by unnervingly few movements.

Sun glinted in the stranger’s eye from the sheriff’s dirty badge and as he shifted his belt, a small leather and metallic clink emanated from his belt and holstered pistol. As the sheriff noticed him eyeing his six-shooter, he rested a hand on it menacingly. The stranger noticed this pointed gesture and smiled at the two, dirt and sand gritting in his yellow teeth. With incredible speed he thrust his hand down towards his own pistol. Both the officers made to draw but before they could the stranger reached his and held up a lit match. Slowly, it was brought up to his still grinning face where he pinched a cig between his teeth.

“I guess I’ll be going then.” He took a drag, swept his eyes across the few desert homes one last time, exhaled dark smoke and began walking. The stranger’s boots and spurs jingled ever so slightly as he walked sideways from the town, evidently wanting to circumvent it. The sheriff and deputies eyes followed the stranger as he casually strolled around their small town.

“He’s no good pa, he ain’t got no hat and he had a few holes in his shirt. Look where we are!” The deputy gesticulated around him, indicating the harsh arid land. Heat rose on all sides of the town, making navigation impossible. The only thing that made moving with any sense of direction was the colossal mountains which diminished the size of the small town even more.

“No hat, look how untanned he is! I ain’t never seen someone that white! And those weren’t no normal holes either son, them’s bullet holes. Come on now, lets go draw up some water for Grandma Beth.” They wheeled about and set off for the well at the other end of the town, where the stranger had just passed, their eyes keen on him.

What the stranger had spied in the resident’s homes chilled him even against the battering heat of midday. Large chunks of meat rested in some homes when in the desert they were in had no large game. It wafted over the dry smell of sweat and dust, making him draw up his bandanna, he never thought he would smell rotting human flesh. Maintaining an air of calm was important, walking normally so as to not attract more undue attention. He made one last glance at the sheriff and his deputy, puffed out some dark smoke, and strode into the heat.

“You reckon he knows?”

“Maybe, he was quick with a gun. If he has any wits in him at all he’ll keep walking, if he does know, that is.” The sheriff stopped pumping dirty water into the pitcher, against the dirt brown color a crimson tint tainted the water.

“Damn that Johnny, he ‘ought know these are for drinkin’ and not collectin’! Come on! Let’s get to Grandma Beth’s before shes done cooking, we don’t want to miss the best part.” They turned their backs to the stranger and quickly marched to a nearby house. The wind pushed a few tumbleweeds, and the town grew silent and eerily still once more.

The stranger was swallowed up by the heat and when he thought they could no longer see him, he began running.
The desert holds many secrets, each of them strange in their own right.