Smokes

Long ago the sun had set. The orange rock and sand landscape was no longer illuminated by the sin-burning yellow-white of sun. It was dark in the desert, an anticipation hung in the air. The landscape was now blue and purple, and much more mysterious and sinister. There is a man, he walks with his hips, he walks forward, under a red rock arch, underneath the clear star-studded satin of the night sky. He has an outline of a face, a sharp jaw, stubble a day or two old. But as for the rest of his face…no one can quite say. Maybe it was the brim of his hat, a dark, leather cattleman's crease, or maybe there was a wide piece of black fabric wrapped around his head, no one could say for sure. He had no horse, no carriage, no crew, just his own two boots with the silver spurs. Anyone who’d met or asked only knew him by one name: Smokes. Smokes had walked into Blindreach a mere two weeks ago, sat down at Crystal’s Saloon, asking for recruits for a group, gaggle, entourage, posse to apprehend the Immortal Riders. 9 men, each one with a list of records all the way to Alabama. They take bounties, rob banks, rob trains, take from anyone they can and ride away on their swift-legged horses before the constable can even get shot. All 9 are wanted in the majority of the western states. All slimy, swindlers always looking for the easy way, the easy shot, the easy kill. The slimiest being the supposed leader, though the whole group has ego issues his are arguably the biggest, Emil ‘Bad Eye’ Jacobson. Though he is a mighty awful man, he, unfortunately, is a pretty great shot. Hangs high, on roofs, clifftops, and plateaus, above the rest of his meaty mongrel crew, silently slinking around like a liquid shadow, lining up shots, crossing marks off his list. Smokes’ motive for the takedown of these formidable foes continued to stay unknown throughout his constant campaigning for they’re takedown. Up until this afternoon he had gathered a decent following, mostly good people, swayed by the words from the charming man, or persuaded by the lilt of money. Hushed whispers say that whenever the Immortal Riders gather up enough booty to fill all their pouches and pockets they travel back to a base. A base that’s rumored to be in the dead center of Diablo Gulch. Mile high, naturally formed red-rock walls. A long walk down an alley. Smokes’ plan had been going fairly well. The town of Blindreach was the closest known town to it. There were a good bit of people willing to help in capturing the Immortal Rider’s giant treasure, in the name of greed and rightful justice for all the innocent people they’ve killed in their raids. Smokes was backed up, things were set. But the plans ended quicker than a bite from a rattlesnake. The Immortal Riders were spotted that morning getting back to base early, and without a doubt would be sleeping off their dirty deeds for at least three more days. Though the townspeople could have waited until the group left Diablo Gulch again, the adrenaline, the promise had worn off. They all backed away slowly throughout that day. Muttered their slightly guilty apologies to a stoic-faced Smokes. Put away the thought of justice-filled fantasy for another day back in their normal lives: pouring drinks and shoveling shit. The majority felt bad, Smokes had made an impact, they said to each other, they just weren’t cowboys, they weren’t gunslingers, they weren’t heroes, they said. Smokes understood everyone’s reserves, he stood at the edge of town, the sun was setting, the sky inked with pink against the blue canvas. Smokes faced away from that entire scene, he stared intensely at the direction of Diablo Gulch, you could almost see it from here. 

“Mr.Smokes?”

Smokes swished around, looking down to see a child.

A girl, so tiny, couldn’t be more than seven or eight years old. She wore a pink dress and handed down boots, they were caked in mud. They were too big on her. Spritely bright blonde hair in the braided pigtails most likely done by her mother. 

“Pa sends his regards,”she said

“Mm,”Smokes nodded, she stood there seeming to think to herself for a moment.

“Mr.Smokes?”

“Yeah?”he inquired

“Pa won’t go but I will.”

Smokes smiled, he couldn’t really help it.

“Nah, that’s alright.”he said to her

“But I want to, all those scumbags do is take from us, hurt us, they don’t deserve anything.”she said

“As true as that is, girly, you can’t go.”

“Well-well, why not?”

“Listen, you are so young, so tiny, you’ve got a life ahead of you, with so many decisions and paths to make and take. I would be ripping up the roots of life to let you go on a suicide mission with my sorry ass.”

She looked down at the dirt,

“Besides, I’ll be just fine.”Smokes turned back around, the wind was starting to pick up, and the egg yellow yolk of the sun was disappearing on the flat, dusty horizon. He started to walk away when the girl called out:

“Mr.Smokes!”

He turned again to look at her,

She took a big, dramatic curtsey

“It was a pleasure to make your acquaintance!”she announced

Smokes laughed in pleasant surprise, and smiled, then he took off his hat.

The girl let out a tiny gasp, 

Smokes did a huge, as graceful as he could, bow towards her.

“Diddo.”he replied 

And with that the night took over, the wind picked up and a tumbleweed obscured her vision. When she could see the spot again…Smokes was gone, the girl ran home. And with two revolvers strapped to his hips, jacket pockets full of loose bullets, and his hat set back on his head, obscuring the view of his eyes, Smokes was headed straight toward Diablo Gulch in the dead of night. Emil 'Bad Eye' Jacobson may be a good sharpshooter, but Smokes is faster.