/Completed/ The great gundown


                                            A sturdy looking cart, made of thick planks devoid of any blemishes pulled up to a sagging, withered wooden fence contrasting sharply with cart’s fine woodwork.

                                            A half-naked man, bored at the gate, who was playing five finger fillet with himself, lazily got up from his chair and approached it.

                                            He studied the newcomer on the box for a moment.

                                            "Hey, where's Jorge?" he asked in a hoarse, high-pitched voice.

                                            The driver, hidden by a flowered poncho and a wide sombrero, turned slightly toward him.

                                            "Jorge broke his leg, senor! I'm for him.”

                                            The man took out his revolver and walked around the cart.

                                            “I haven't seen you before."he narrowed his eyes.

                                            “I was recently hired. Senor Gutierrez mainly made me to chop wood. Maybe that's why.”

                                            He was all sweetness.

                                            "Okay, go ahead.” the bandit chuckled.

                                            The cart struggled through the gate and stopped at the corner of a large two-story wooden house.

                                            “Guys!” the doorman called.

                                            Three more men came out of a shed nearby, dressed in shirts and trousers, their guns always at their belts.

                                            “Booze has arrived!”

                                            The three cheered.

                                            The driver started to get up, but one of the men called out to him.

                                            "Sit down, we'll do it."

                                            "Thank you, Senor!”

                                            The four men began to lower the barrels from the cart. Then started to roll them to the barn.

                                            "Can I go?" the driver took the reins.

                                            “Yeah, get the fuck out here!”

                                            "Si, senor! Thank you, senor!"

                                            The cart moved on, made a half circle and again arrived at the gate.

                                            That's where it stopped.

                                            Four revolver shots cut through the air.

                                            The four corpses fell to the ground with expressions of surprise and anger frozen forever.

                                            The driver tore off his poncho and sombrero, jumped to the ground, and hid behind a corner.

                                            Glass flew out of the window, and a moment later someone boomed:

                                            "Came to get your eighty bucks for me? You'll get three and a half cents into the belly and go out feet first!”*

                                            “I don't need money, Jack” the driver replied loudly but calmly.

                                            "Oh, it's you!” the owner of voice was surprised.

                                            There was a silence.

                                            Then the front door creaked open and a large man in a hastily thrown shirt and trousers stepped out. With a revolver in his hand. The Black Jack himself.

                                            The driver came slowly around the corner and, without taking his eyes off Black Jack, approached the entrance.

                                            “What do you want?"Jack grinned.

                                            “You do know.”

                                            "You still can't forget that? It's been two years!”

                                            “You took her from me. My one and only love. I will take your life in return.”

                                            "Then shoot!" Jack shrugged slightly.

                                            “No. Let's do it the right way. Here and now.”

                                            Black Jack cocked his head to the side, looking at the other man carefully.

                                            "All right, madman” he grunted and stepped off the porch.

                                            With a slow, deliberately swaggering gait, Jack took the usual number of steps and stood opposite his adversary.

                                            He returned the revolver to its holster and put his hands at the ready at his sides.

                                            The driver, after a little work with his hands, also prepared for battle.

                                            "Hey," Jack called softly “You want to know where she is, don't you?"

                                            The driver froze, not saying a word. He stared straight at Jack, as there were faint glimpses of an incredible storm of emotions in his still face and cold gray eyes.

                                            "She's a good toy, but she's a bit of a fool. I used it and then got rid of it...” Jack's face broke into a predatory smile.

                                            And he drew his weapon.

                                            Two shots rang out simultaneously.

                                            The driver; no, the gunslinger; staggered and pressed hand to his bloody left shoulder.

                                            Black Jack dropped to one knee.

                                            The revolver fell out of his right hand, shot through.

                                            He tried to grab it with his left, but the next bullet smashed it, too.

                                            Jack fell on his back.

                                            The gunslinger grimaced, stroking his shoulder with his fist.

                                            He went to the fallen man, took aim, and shot him in both knees.

                                            Jack screamed in pain, but didn't lose consciousness.

                                            "Ahhh, that's it, you self-serving scoundrel!”

                                            "I don't need money!" he mimicked, wheezing.

                                            His opponent crouched on the ground, tore a rag from his tattered sleeve, and began to bandage the wound, helping himself with his teeth.

                                            "What about me?" Jack asked mockingly, “Don’t you want to deliver the goods properly?"

                                            The gunslinger stood up and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt. And winced as the cloth parted in his hand.

                                            So he grabbed Jack by the waist instead, in a way that made his great physical strength clearly evident. Dragged him like a sack to the windowless barn, opened the door.

                                            It was a firewood storage, loaded with logs, piles of already chopped wood and twigs for kindling.

                                            He threw the mangled body on the floor.

                                            “What- what are you doing?” croaked the bandit, ”There's nothing but firewood here!”

                                            The gunslinger didn't answer. He picked up a large kerosene lamp from the nearby table, weighed it in his hand for a moment, and then threw it into the woodpile.

                                            The flask shattered, drenching everything with liquid fuel.

                                            Black Jack stared after the lamp's flight in amazement, then snarled and lunged, trying unsuccessfully to get up on his broken legs.

                                            The heel of a heavy, dusty boot slammed into his wound, knocking him back.

                                            “You- You bastard! Heaven will punish you!” was all he could whisper.

                                            “Sure, but my trial comes after yours" the gunslinger answered and struck a match.

                                            The flames crawled up the woodpile, snaking playfully and then shot up full force.

                                            Jack began to thrash wildly on the floor.

                                            Grim and calm, his executioner came slowly out of the shed and closed the outer bolt. He headed for the house, ignoring the screams from the doomed barn that soon turned into an inhuman howl.

                                            Opening the door, he went inside.

                                            He froze when he heard loud sobs from somewhere in the house. A woman was crying.

                                            Cautiously looking around, he walked down the hall and opened a battered wooden door leading to a room.

                                            He found a girl lying on a worn sofa, surrounded by empty bottles.

                                            One of her eyes was blackened, and her left hand was tied with a string to a wooden ball that decorated the back of the sofa.

                                            The girl was wrapped in a dirty sheet, which she clung to, trying to hide her nakedness.

                                            He looked at her in silence.

                                            She stared fearfully at the newcomer.

                                            "Mister... Mister! You're a bounty hunter, aren't you? I heard gunshots... " she muttered. “Will you- Will you help me? Will you s-save me?”

                                            The gunslinger took out a knife and cut the string.

                                            “Do you still have your hands?"

                                            “Y-Yes”

                                            “Legs?”

                                            She nodded.

                                            "Don't worry, miss. The Sheriff and his men will be here in half an hour. They will help you. If not — there is a cart at the gate."

                                            With that, he left the room, not listening to any further protests.

                                            Outside, he looked around thoughtfully.

                                            At the blazing barn that no one was shouting from anymore.

                                            At the four bodies on the ground, that gathered as much flies as possible in such a short time since their demise.

                                            He spat and went to a half-open shed nearby where the four horses were hitched.

                                            The horses looked at him incredulously and with fear.

                                            He untied them.

                                            They huddled together, not knowing what to do next.

                                            “Run!” he yelled at the top of his voice, and swung his able arm up, “Hey! Run!!!”.

                                            The horses dashed away, leaping over a dilapidated section of fence and into the prairie.

                                            He watched them go.

                                            Suddenly, a short, uncertain neigh came from the annex next door.

                                            The gunslinger's face changed. He lunged for the building and slammed into the door, literally carrying it inside.

                                            He looked sharply to the right, to the left, and froze again.

                                            A bay mare was tied to a post in a hastily constructed stall. In the headstall, although unsaddled.

                                            She looked at the gunslinger who had burst in. Her nostrils flared and she neighed, this time loud and long. Triumphantly.

                                            The gunslinger sprinted toward her.

                                            He ran his hand down her neck, over her shoulder. He gripped the withers tightly. Jumped back, looked at her from all sides, felt her legs.

                                            His gray eyes shone with an unfamiliar, warm light. The parted mouth curved into a wide, unconscious smile.

                                            The mare reached for his face. He nuzzled her velvet nose, breathing gently into her nostrils.

                                            Then he pulled back and glared at the bridle, too thin and rough for her sensitive mouth.

                                            He loosened the straps, struggled to pull the headband off with one hand, and hurled it against the wall with hatred.

                                            Wrapped his arms around her neck, burying his face in her mane, and took a deep breath, sucking in the scent of her coat.

                                            The Mare snorted softly, nipping at the back of his head, trying not to touch his blood-soaked left shoulder.

                                            Finally, he broke the embrace. Grabbing a handful of mane, he moved toward the exit. The Mare went with him, keeping close, matching her pace with the man's.

                                            They went out into the courtyard.

                                            The gunslinger glanced yet again at Black Jack's funeral pyre.

                                            “Stupid bastard.” he said through gritted teeth.

                                            Motioning the mare to stand still, he walked to the spot where he dropped the poncho, picked it up, and threw it over his shoulders.

                                            Then he came back and took her by the mane again.

                                            "Come on, love. I know an Inn near here, and the innkeeper keeps a damn fine forage. You'll like it.”

                                            And, hugging each other, they walked towards the town.


                                            *Ammo price is according to the Red Dead Redemption 2 prices