Short Story: The Stranger In The Desert Glow

Part 1

The sun covered the desert in a thick, orange glow. The sand stretching vast and far as my horse trudged through its hot grains.
The map resting in my hands proved its legitimacy as I saw the small town come into view.
I wiped the sweat from my brow as I stuffed the map into my bag, clutching the reins and breathing in the dry, nose-splitting air.

A lonely man like me had no place to settle through my adventures, but there was always a home waiting for me through the desert's heat.
A place my family had lived, long before they were lost in time.

The buildings grew taller as I neared, the sand turning to dirt which grew the crops they lived off. The carriages being pulled by horses much like my own were carrying people to and from.
The wood on the houses still looked as worn as the day I had left as the faces carried memories I couldn’t forget. Yet not a face recalled my own.

I pulled my horse to a stop before swinging my legs over, dropping to the ground as my boots rattled their spurs. I pushed the saloon's batwing doors open, the bustle of gambling drunkards filled my ears as the scent of whisky mingled with the dusty essence.

Not a soul turned to me as they buried their noses in their cards and glasses, dissolved in their seats as they lived the life they were dealt.
I ran my hands across the bar after venturing through between their tables, the bartender's eyes met my own, someone I was hoping to recognise me.
“What’ll it be, sir?” His harsh voice echoed with unfamiliarity, my usual being lost in the sea of others.
“Bourbon. No water, I’ll pay double.” He gave a nod of agreement as he pulled out a bottle just as the doors swung open.
I turned to see the person stepping inside, eyes scanning from the ceiling beams to floorboards, from every set of eyes to every set of shoes.
His dirty green eyes shimmered in the sunlight cascading through the open sash windows.
His tanned skin catching the eyes of others as he strode toward the bar, eyes boring into mine.

“Here.” The scruffy voice of the bartender boomed from behind me, my glass of bourbon was pushed across the bar as its flow spilled over the top.
I mumbled a thanks as I saw his eyes. A deep, intense stare aimed directly beside me.
“Give me an ale.” The stranger spoke, the cadence to his voice not matching the other townfolk. He stayed unfazed by the threatening gaze of the bartender as his brown complexion swam in a sea of white.

I heard the grunt before a bottle was fetched, opened, and harshly shoved into his hands. A soft, quiet chuckle mumbled behind his lips as he took a swig.
“Tough bastards here, hey?” I breathed out my own chuckle.
“That they are.” My own mixed accent catching his ears as he piped up on his stool.
“You from around here?”
“Born and raised. But I only come back here to settle down for a bit.” He hummed a response, his eyes scanning every inch of my face.

A laugh erupting from the saloon broke our conversation just as I had opened my mouth to speak.
Dice were tossed across the floor as the laughing, red-faced man stood up harshly. His chair being thrown back as he shoved the table, disrupting the game they were playing.
He stumbled over himself, anger beaming evidently on his face as he approached us.
“What do you think you’re doing in a town like this, eh?”
His hands reached forward, grabbing the stranger by the shoulders.
He leaned his face close. “Nobody ‘ere likes you folks.” He spat a mixture of excess saliva and whisky through his words, something that caused a twitch in the stranger's brows as it collided with his face.
The words the drunken man spoke seemed to be left unnoticed as the stranger's grin stayed plastered to his face.
“I’m here for a drink, not a scuffle.”
The response only raised the man's anger as he pulled back a fist, but before it could reach the stranger's face the man was kicked in the stomach. He buckled over, heaving as the stranger stood up.
Using his barstool as a weapon, he swung it down on his back, the wood breaking apart and leaving splinters to litter the floor.

A loud gunshot filled the air as I sighed, sculling the rest of my drink before getting on my feet.
The town sheriff, the bastard who always had a bone to pick with me came in, smoking run raised to the ceiling where a bullethole remained.
He held his belt buckle with his spare hand, swinging his legs as he came to look at the scene with amusement.
“What’s happening here, pretty boy?” He spoke to the stranger.
“Nothing. Just a feller who had a bit too much to drink.”
“Yeah? Well, a hombre like you always finds a way to rattle a town. Especially one as ladylike as you.” His pronunciation of the Spanish word seemed to prick a smile to the stranger's lips as he tried to stay calm.

His reactions showed me he knows how to handle himself, but I still had a grudge with the sheriff of this town.
“You should control your people here sheriff. Maybe that way they’ll stop attacking visitors.”
His face turned to me, the first hint of familiarity raised in this town.
“Cash Walker. Haven’t seen your face in a long time. And the first thing you do is defend a dirty outsider?” He tisked as he shook his head. “Your father would be ashamed for raising such a wuss.”
He chuckled to himself before I watched his face fall, eyes flicking between the two of us.
“You’re not a sissy are you?”
His question was broken by the grunts of anger-filled pain as the drunkard pushed himself to his feet. He pointed a shaky finger in the stranger's face.
“This boy don’t belong ‘ere, sheriff!”
The sheriff’s eyes narrowed in humour as he spun his revolver around his finger.
“Damn right, son. Damn right.”