He slid down from the saddle and let his horse graze.
Three days ago he set off after a couple of drifters. They’d shot their way out of the bank. Empty-handed. Killing a woman walking out of the General Store with fixings for dinner.
He’d picked up their trail the day before. Heading north and moving quick. Far as he could tell, they hadn’t stopped since leaving town. Once they reached the mountains, he’d have a hell of a time finding them.
His horse whinnied, and the world tipped up sideways.
The crash of gunfire echoed over the empty plain.
Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent‘s #Writephoto.