His spurs clicked against the old wood as he stepped into the saloon. The wood threshold worn smooth. The dusking light barely shone through the windows, it lit up the dust floating around the room, giving it an orange hazy glow. He carried his saddle on his hip, dry blood stained his leathers, his holster empty.

Only a few dusty faces rose from their tables, half of them buried in bottles. The bartender stared, his eyes painfully dull.

“We don’t serve outsiders.” He grumbled without blinking. He spit into a glass and wiped it with his dirty rag.

“Must be a town of drunks then.” The stranger said, his voice cracking and rough from not speaking for so long. He gestured to the half dozen men sprawled out on the floor.

One man stood from a dark corner, black hat and mustache. He walked closer, his chest pinned with a shiny sheriff’s badge.

“You make some mighty good first impressions there, son.” He chuckled, fat cigarette in his lip.

“Well, I think your town already gave me a good impression.” The stranger answered, a small smirk pulling at the corner of his mouth. “Mighty hospitable,”

“I think you best oughtta leave, _son_.” The sheriff’s tone darkened, his hands rested on his gun belt.

“Can’t a man get a drink first..?” The stranger tapped the bar. The bartender still glared.

The sheriff stepped closer, his disgruntled mug in the stranger’s face. “I told you to get out.”

“I got money-“

The stranger was interrupted by a fist from the sheriff. He hit him square on the jaw, sending him tumbling backwards, falling over the barstools.

“We don’t want your fucking money,” The sheriff’s hand hovered over his gun. He leaned over the stranger and spat. “Get out.”

The stranger wiped the spit from his cheek, and stood up with a groan, leaning on the bar.

He shook out his hat and picked back up his hefty saddle. He walked past the sheriff, stopping briefly at his side, leaning in he muttered, his tone lowering. “You’re gonna regret that. This darken den of drunkens, prostitution and dirty money is gonna burn, _son.” _And then the stranger walked back out the door, leaving the little old town behind.__

__

He sat on the grassy hill, leaned up against his saddle, a fire burning by his side. A lasso laid around him, keeping the snakes away. His eyes were closed, his head tiled down.

“Oh lord, oh father, forgive me for what I’m about to do.” He whispered, his voice the only sound other then the crackling of fire.

He sighed, for he wasn’t gonna spare any of them.

He stared off into the dark night, no stars shined, nor would they shine the next night.

The Sheriff ran towards the blazing inferno, half the town ablaze as the wind whipped the flames higher and faster.

“Sheriff! There’s people stuck in here!” A deputy called out, waving his arms frantically. But the Sheriff ignored him, bolting through the flames, towards the jail house.

He barreled through the door, scorch marks on his jacket. He knelt on the floor, ripping out a piece of floorboard, revealing a small chest. He grabbed it, tucking it under his arm. He ran out the back, the chest heavy in his arms.

The click of a revolver made him stop. In front of him stood the stranger, gun in hand, pointed at him.

“I told you I’d burn it.” The stranger spoke, his voice barely louder then the raging fire.

The Sheriff’s eyes widened, the chest dropped to the ground with a heavy clunk as he raised his hands.

“A-all this? For kicking you out? You sick fucker.” He growled, his fingers inching for his trigger.

“That, and more.” The stranger answered, a rage simmering under his tired eyes.

“Y-You’re a God fearing man, aren’t you?”

“I am, but unlike you, I’m willin’ to pay for my sins.” The stranger answered, his eyes half lidded against the smoke.

We didn’t do anything to deserve this! We didn’t harm you! We don’t deserve this!” The Sheriff fell to his knees, sweat parted the ash on his face.

The man clicked his tongue “Well, life ain’t fair is it?”

The shot rang clear.