Highly Suspect

*Note: words in this were intentionally spelled and used wrong. I am attempting to emulate western (cowboy) speech. I probably fell short a bit.*

I hate travellin'. It takes forever, 'specially if'n your horse runs away and the scenery stays as same as my boot tread. The most interestin' things today had been a miniscule sand dune from the top of which I got a better view of the sand all 'round and a mite of a cloud that had drifted in front of the sun momentarily. Yessir, I hate travellin'. 

It were night afore I saw anything at all worth seein'. A small town had appeared out of the desert. I walked towards it for half an hour afore I decided it weren't no mirage. Took another ten minutes to make it to the outskirts of the town. A short, squat sign said I was enterin' Mountain Creek. What possessed them to name it Mountain Creek? Ain't a one of those things was present for miles! These little desert towns had too much hopin' sometimes. Hope won't change the scenery, doing somethin' will.

I could see folks peepin' at me from their dusty windows as I trudged through the town. Nary a one stuck 'round to say howdy. When I looked their way, they disappeared quick-like. A stranger in these parts must be mighty strange. The whole town looked dust blown from the church steeple to the graveyard. I didn't like the look of that there graveyard. The graveyard should be farther from town. I ain't afeared of no ghosts, mind. But still, they always leave me feelin' spooked and a graveyard that close to the saloon, ain't never a good sign. No sir.

I was thirsty as a horse and since I weren't afeared of no ghosts from the graves, I walked up to the saloon. My boots left clear prints in the dust as I climbed the steps. There weren't no more prints in that dust. Not a one.

The saloon doors creaked open with a sound to wake the dead and I glanced nervously at the quiet rows of headstones. I sure hoped they stayed that way. Silent. As the grave. But I ain't afeared of no ghosts. The saloon was silent as I walked in. No one played at the piano. No one was arguin' over lost cards. From the door I saw more'n twenty people all a starin'. At me. 

I walked across the dusty floor. I kept my eyes on my boots and listened to the echo they made. It made the room sound empty. Weren't no footprints here neither even though there were plenty of boots. It gave me the willies, it did. 

I got to the bar an' looked up into the eyes of the bartender. Them eyes were the most hostile I've ever seen. Ain't nobody ever looked at me like that fellow did right then. Nobody. It seemed that his eyes were almost red with it. He held my gaze for a moment until I dropped my eyes.

"Is there som'at ta drink 'round here?" I asked all gruff-like

"We don't like your kind 'round here," the bartender's drawl rumbled through the room, "ya ain't welcome an' we don't want ya."

From everywhere a chorus of voices agreed with him. There seemed to be more people around me than I had seen afore. I didn't hear a sound, but all sudden-like I could see old boots movin' in to surround me. 

I took a deep breath, "then I'll buy a horse off ya an' be on my way."

"Ain't no horses 'round here. 'Specially not for the likes of ye," came the harsh voice of the bartender. 

"Then iffin ya'll can spare a canteen an' some water, I'll be gone."

A silence filled the room. It lasted a long moment an' then the bartender spoke in quiet tone, "only water is in the well."

"Iffin ya'll can spare a canteen, I'll draw up my own an' be on my way."

A rough voice shouldered it's way through the sudden buzz of voices, "I knew it were him!" A big hand fell on my shoulder. It were cold as ice an' the hand looked like it were going right through my vest an' shirt to rest on my skin.

I shivered.

"What should we do 'bout the scoundrel?"

"Lock 'im up!"

"The gallows!"

 It were the bartender whose voice silenced the noise, "let him drink his water from the well."

I looked up quick-like and saw tens of faces grinning at me. For all I saw, I swear they looked like old sketlens (skeletons) grinnin'. They looked like the dead.

The big man attached to the hand on my shoulder dragged me to the door. My heels made two long marks in the dust. Not a soul else made print. I watched their feet step down and come up an' the dust stayed still, perfect, like it were never stepped on. I was skeert (scared) stiff.

Out in the street more folks joined us 'til it were a mob. I could hear folks yellin'.

"We found 'im! He asked for water from that well an' said he'd draw it 'imself!"

"Murderer!" That were a woman who spat as I was dragged by.

"We ain't never did nothin' to you!"

We turned and I was pulled through the graves. I caught glances o' the dates. The newest ones I saw were more'n 100 years old. I looked at the boots again. All of 'em were in the old style but looked almost new. Mighty frighted, I looked at the faces again. Sketlens. All were sketlens. I felt my face go numb. I were too afeared o' ghosts. I were afeared of these ghosts.

We stopped an' the man threw me at the well. I ended up sittin' with my back ta the well. The moon shinin' bright an' full on the mob.

"This'll teach ye ta poison our water!" A woman's wild voice cried out. The mob agreed, loud. 

The bartender pulled up a bucket. "Here's yer water, ya yella-bellied coward," he spat on my boots "Paison the well an' leave, will ye."

Never afore did I think I were yella. But never afore did I see a ghost. I took the bucket an' peered inside. T'weren't nothin' but sand. Sand an' a skull peerin' up at me. It looked skeert, somehow. I pulled it out, "were this the last fella who asked ye fer help?"

The town stopped dead as their headstones. Nary a spirit moved. Were the bartender who moved first. He grabbed the skull and stared at it.

Were the big man what spoke first, "he must've falled in," said he.

An' afore my eyes the whole mob disappeared. An' the town were silent. As the grave. An' I still didn't have no water. An' I still had ta travel. I stood with a sigh. I hate travellin'.