He didn't have a home. He never stopped riding. He didn't have a destination. He didn't have a name, he never knew anyone long enough to need one.
It was just past noon when he road into Harper. The town was quiet. If it weren't for the footsteps of a few locals across the wood walkway and the faint conversations of the horses, Harper may have been mistaken for a ghost town. He tied the painted horse to a post by the trough, and dipped his kerchief into the water. As he wiped his unshaven and blistered face, he took a long sweeping look across the town. His gaze cut through every window and shadow. His observations were mathematical, evaluating every object and person. His eyes settled on the bar. Tying his kerchief loosely around his neck, he crossed the dusty boulevard of the quaint town.
He stepped onto the wooden walkway without making a sound. He walked as if he hadn't left the sand. Silently. He startled those who had their backs to him as he passed. Locals grew quiet as they noticed the stranger. They watched him, waiting to see what kind of trouble he might cause. They were disappointed but relieved as he peacefully entered the bar.
The room slowly went quiet. The men at the bar turned there heads to inspect the newcomer. The card sharks looked up from their hands. The wide, fake smiles faded from the madams faces, and the banjo slowly grew silent in the corner. It was very apparent to him that this town did not receive many visitors. He ignored the stares and strode towards a stool at the bar. The bar tender, clearly nervous, glanced around the room before serving the stranger.
"Welcome, what can I get ya?"
"Bourbon" He mumble, not matching the barman's gaze or friendliness.
The barkeep reached for a bottler under the counter. The stranger let out a low, disapproving grunt and pointed to a bottle on the shelf above the bar.
"That's a mighty expensive shot, sir. That bottle is mostly for show" He chuckled.
The stranger laid some coin out on the table, surprising the room of onlookers as well as the barman. The card sharks exchanged interested, conniving glances.
"I want the bottle"
The barkeep quickly gathered the money, and retrieved the bottle from the top shelf.
"I'm Johnny," The barman said as he placed the bottle at the strangers place. "What do they call you?"
"Glass"
"Well that's a strange choice for a name."
"I'd like a glass."
"Oh, my apologies stranger." Johnny placed a smudgy tumbler down on the bar.
He opened the bottle and poured himself a very liberal serving of bourbon. He tipped his head back and downed the drink as quickly as it was poured.
"Well I can see you have a great appreciation for fine liquor! Am I ever gunna get your name?"
He shook his head, "No."
He took his bottle and started for the door. The banjo ever so slowly started to pick up, most in the bar felt more at ease as the stranger began to leave.
"Hey Glass" Came a call from the back of the room.
An ugly man sitting at the single poker table, with a yellow grin on his face, had his mind set on getting the rich strangers money.
"Care to put some of that bourbon money on the line?" The ugly cowboy motioned to the table of cards.
He didn't look back. He only slowly shook his head, and continued for the door.
"What? Are you afraid you'll loose?"Him and his three cohorts laughed.
"If you won't play cards, I'm sure I can get your money some other way..."
He stared out the open doorway, preparing for what he knew would happen.
"Jed don't do this" Someone said to the ugly one. It didn't matter.
Jed and his boys went for their guns. The rest of the room jumped into whatever cover they could find. Before Jed's gang could take aim, the stranger had spun and fired on one of them. The man on Jed's right was hit in the neck. Blood splatter distracted Jed while the stranger fired again. The man on Jed's left was hit, a bullet just grazed his shoulder, he fired back hitting the stranger in the arm. Without flinching he shot "left" in the chest, killing him. Jed finally fired, missing the stranger completely. The door frame splintered as he shot Jed in the head.
He lowered his pistol, and slowly walked over to the bodies. The whole bar slowly peaked from behind cover, no one was willing to be the first one up. He bent over Jed's lifeless body, and pulled four bullets from Jed's belt. He slid them into place in his gun, replacing the cartridges he had just fired. He collected some coin from Jed's pocket. He placed the money down on the counter as he passed.
He walked back down the wooden walkway without making a sound. No one was outside to stare at him now. He made his way across the dusty boulevard, and climbed onto his horse. He rode off opposite the direction he came.
He didn't have a home. He never stopped riding. He didn't have a destination.
He didn't have a name, he never knew anyone long enough to need one.
