I watched him running across that rocky plain, my eyes squinting in the sun. He weaved around rocks, hopped over patches of cacti, and churned his boots in that bow legged way he had.

I needed the money.

The horse was hungry and getting leaner every day. My etched leather gun belts didn’t have a single spare shell in them and the guns they fed were near empty. I was low on everything but people shooting at me.

So, I pulled the rifle up to my shoulder and worked the lever. I closed my eye, focusing on the front post as I centered it between his shoulders. Pure instinct. Years of practice, years of training, and years of testing myself. I needed the money, so I fought the instinct and aimed low. A knee should do it.

The rifle kicked, another precious bullet flying across the plains. He howled in pain as he wheeled off balance into the scrub brush.

“Enough! Enough, goddammit! I aint even got no bullets left!” He yelled. “Stop your fucking shootin’, for Christ’s sake!”

“I’m bringin’ you in, Al!”