The Gunslinger shifted in his saddle as he made his way out west towards the Lazy B Ranch. It had been a long day, with most of it spent on top of his horse. He was tired and hungry. The dust from the dry trails covered his clothing, much like flies on shit. It suited his mood. He felt like shit. He felt like Fido’s ass. He wanted a drink or three.

He let his mind wander as he stared out over the desolate plains that surrounded the outskirts of the Lazy B. The memories that had haunted him since he was a young boy rushed through him, much like a bullet would tear through a man’s gut.

That had been happening a lot more lately. Ever since he’d got the telegram requesting his presence at the Lazy B Ranch. It seemed Bill Callahan had a job for him.

The bile began to rise in his throat and he had to swallow several times to get it under control. Stalking Wolf. It was time.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Angel ran down the path that led toward the Tiller’s farm to show his mother and One Eyed Jack what he had caught for the day. Ever since he could remember, he spent most of his free time down at the fishing hole. First with Pa, then with One Eyed Jack, who’d come to help out at the farm when Pa died.

One Eyed Jack was an old friend of Pa’s, from way back. His wife and children had been murdered by a wild band of Apaches several years before. He never really recovered and spent most of his time contemplating the bottom of a bottle, trying to deaden the pain of his memories.

It was rumored that he had lost his eye during a poker game at the local saloon one night. No one ever really knew, but that was how the story went. Jack only had about three teeth left, and those were yellow from dip. His breath reeked of alcohol and his clothes smelled like cow dung that had been left in the sun too long. Truth be told, One Eyed Jack didn’t take baths much. He didn’t believe in them, and it showed. His shoes were worn and battered, his big toes poking out through the holes in the top. His scraggly, wild black hair stuck out from his old battered hat. Despite all of that, everyone liked him. He never lacked for food, or a place to lay his head at night. Jack was a decent fella, and the town folk felt protective of him.

One Eyed Jack had come to help out Miss Sally, once he heard of his childhood friend’s death after being thrown off his horse during a cattle drive to Wyoming.

Miss Sally, so lost in her own grief from losing her husband, had taken One Eyed Jack in, cleaned him up, dried him out and supplied him a room in the barn and food to fill his belly.

As time passed, he became one of the family. He tended to the fields and animals, as well as fixed fences or anything else that needed to be done. He was invaluable to Miss Sally. She had come to rely on him and in turn, One Eyed Jack had found peace that had eluded him since his family’s brutal murders.

Angel burst through the front door, his senses immediately being assaulted by the smell of freshly baked apple pie.

“Mama!” He shouted. “Mama! Look what I caught!” Miss Sally turned from the stove, smiling broadly at her son. Her heart caught in her throat. He looked so much like Tim. Sometimes it hurt her to look at him.

“I declare Angel Tiller. I do believe you caught the four biggest fish in that fishin hole! We’ll eat like the Governor tonight.”

Angel flushed with pride at his mama’s praise.

“Now, you go on out to the barn and help Mr. Jack clean these fish, and I’ll finish the rest of our supper.”

He headed back out the door, intent on showing Mr. Jack his catch. As he approached the barn door, he heard the thundering of hooves off in the distance. Apparently, One Eyed Jack had heard it too, because he walked out of the barn to stand next to Angel.

“Looks like we have visitors boy,” he said gruffly.

As the riders approached, Jack realized they were not of the friendly variety. The leader was sitting astride a tall black stallion. His jet-black hair pulled back in a braid and secured by a leather strip, fell almost to his waist.

He and the rest of the riders were all wearing bandanas that covered most of their faces.

The men surrounded Angel and Jack. Jack reached out and pulled Angel closer to him.

“Well, well, well, the leader spoke. What do we have here?”

He looked back and motioned to four of his men and shouted “go on up to the house and see what’s there!”

One Eyed Jack stepped forward and demanded, “Just what the hell do you want?”

“Why old man, ain’t nobody ever taught you no manners?” With that, he took out his pistol and aimed it at Jack. “I wanna see you dance old man” and he lowered the pistol and shot near his foot. Jack stood his ground, so the leader took another shot, this time near the other foot. “Dammit man. You deaf? I said dance!”

One Eyed Jack spit on the ground and said, “you ain’t worth the effort it takes to move.”

“Now, you just go takin all of fun out of everything old man. I don’t like that. I don’t like it at all.” The leader lifted his pistol, and shot Jack right between the eyes. Angel watched in horror as Jack crumbled to the ground, much like a stuck pig. He landed on his back, blood pouring from his wound, and his sightless eyes staring up at the sky.

Angel heard a scream from the house. He automatically turned towards the house and began to run, only to be brought up short by a hand at the scruff of his neck. “Where you goin boy?”

Angel kicked his boots and landed the tip of his foot on the man's shin.

He was immediately backhanded, and knocked to the ground by the man that was holding him. “Looks like this boy needs to learn some manners too, don’t he Stalking Wolf?”

All of the other men laughed. The leader they called Stalking Wolf crouched down next to Angel. The sun hit the blade of the long skinning knife he held in his hand. Angle felt the cool side of the blade touch his face just before it sliced a jagged line from the corner of his eye to down below his jaw.

Angel turned his head and saw his mother being dragged out of the house by three men.

“Boys!” Stalking Wolf shouted. “It’s time for us to have a little fun. It’s been a long time since I had me a woman.”

Angel attempted to rise up on his knees and go to his Ma but the leader pushed him back down and put his boot on his chest.

“Hold on there boy,” he snarled.

The last thing Angel remembered before he lost consciousness was hearing Stalking Wolf whisper, “when you dance with the devil, you’re bound to get burned.”

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Stalking Wolf stood behind the trees and watched Big Bill and Emily standing on the porch.

He felt his hatred grow, building, until he felt out of control. He felt the heat move to his loins as he watched Emily laugh out loud at something her father said.

He hated Big Bill with a passion. He had since the day he had met him. Since the day he was hired to accelerate the smaller ranches into shutting down, and moving elsewhere. Stalking Wolf hated everything about the Lazy B Ranch. It should have been his. It will be his. Emily will be his as well.

He smiled to himself as rubbed his chin. If the truth were known, Stalking Wolf hated everything about the white man. They had taken everything that had once belonged to his family. His people. Because of them, most of his tribe had disbanded, if they hadn’t been killed first.

He got some sense of satisfaction when he raided the other ranches, burning them to the ground, scalping the men, raping the women, and torturing the children. After all, it was nothing that hadn’t been done to his people.

But as Stalking Wolf and his men rid the area of Lazy B’s competition, the ranch only grew. Big Bill controlled the area now, and had the power. It was a power that he wanted to have to himself. It was his land. His land dammit, and no white man deserved to have it.

Soon that would all change. Stalking Wolf would own the ranch. Bill could easily be eliminated. Fat old bastard that he was. He had special plans for Emily. One day she would be his, and would rue the day she had spurned his advances. He shivered with pleasure at the thought of owning her body, and subjecting her to unspeakable horrors, before he turned her over to his men to finish her off.

Just then, he spotted a rider in the distance, and moved further in the woods, completely out of sight.

Emily was taking down the laundry from the line, when she spotted a lone rider heading toward the ranch. She watched as he rode toward here, his pace unhurried. Her Pa stepped out on to the porch, letting the screen door slam behind him.

“I’m looking for Bill Callahan,” he stated. Bill looked at this tall man, dressed from head to toe in black and said, “that would be me.”

“I’m the Gunslinger. I heard you were looking for me.”

Bill nodded in agreement. “I’ve got a job for you and I hear you are the man to take care of it.”

“I need to feed and water my horse.”

Bill pointed him in the direction of the barn. “When you’re done, come on back to the house. My Emily here has made up a fine pot of stew with some biscuits.”

“I’d be much obliged,” he replied. “I’ve been riding all day and could use a bath and some food, and a good nights sleep. Tomorrow we can get started.”

He headed off to the barn with his horse. Bill called after him, “wait, what’s your name? I can’t rightly be calling you Gunslinger in front of my daughter. It’s just not proper.”

The Gunslinger looked at Bill, and then over to Emily. He slowly moved his eyes over her and Emily felt herself blush.

“The name is Tiller. Angel Tiller.”

Emily gasped, “El angel del muerto,” she murmured in the Spanish she’d learned in finishing school. He continued to stare at Emily, running a hand down the jagged scar on his face, before he turned away and headed toward to barn to tend to his horse.