Colt's hand trembled as he pressed the bloody bandana against his side. Wasn't supposed to end like this. Not with him bleeding out behind some godforsaken saloon in a town whose name he couldn't even remember.
Three weeks earlier, I'd been sitting in Sheriff Reeve's office, boots up on his desk, cleaning my nails with a pocket knife.
"You sure about this, Isaac?" Reeves asked, thumbing through the stack of wanted posters. "Going after the Rawlins gang ain't exactly a Sunday picnic."
I shrugged. "Been tracking Colt Rawlins for what – eight months now? Got closer than anybody. 'Sides, that reward money's just sitting there waiting for me."
Truth was, it wasn't just about the money. Never had been. Colt Rawlins had put a bullet in my brother two years back during a bank job in Sweetwater. Tommy wasn't even supposed to be working that day. Just my luck.
Reeves tossed me the poster. "Your funeral. Just don't expect no backup when you find yourself outgunned and outnumbered."
"When's that ever stopped me before?" I folded the paper and tucked it in my vest pocket.
The sheriff snorted. "You ain't immortal, Isaac. One of these days, your luck's gonna run dry."
"Yeah well, today ain't that day."
Took me nearly a week to pick up Rawlins' trail again. Man moved like a ghost when he wanted to, but his crew – they weren't so careful. Especially Blackwood, that drunk fool who couldn't help running his mouth in every saloon between here and the territory line.
Found him in Eagle Pass, three sheets to the wind and bragging about some job they were planning.
"Well if it ain't Isaac Fletcher," Blackwood slurred when I sat down across from him. "Thought you'd given up chasing us halfway through Arizona."
"Just taking my time," I said, pouring myself a whiskey from his bottle. "Where's Colt?"
Blackwood's eyes narrowed. "You still sore about your brother? That was business, nothing personal."
My hand twitched toward my gun, but I kept it steady. "Everything's personal when it's family. Now, where is he?"
"He'll kill me if I tell you."
I leaned forward. "I'll kill you if you don't. Difference is, I'm right here."
Two days later, I was camped in the hills overlooking a rundown ranch house where Rawlins and his boys were holed up. Four of them total – Colt, his brother Jed, some new kid I didn't recognize, and Tucker Mills, the meanest son of a bitch this side of the Mississippi.
Smart play would've been riding back to get a posse. But smart wasn't exactly my strong suit, and patience even less so.
I waited till nightfall, when they'd all had their fill of whiskey. The new kid was on watch, but he was green – kept nodding off every few minutes.
Wasn't hard slipping past him. Even easier putting my gun to Colt's head while he slept.
"Rise and shine, Rawlins," I whispered.
His eyes shot open, hand reaching for his revolver until he felt the barrel pressed against his temple.
"Isaac Fletcher," he said, voice hoarse. "Been a long time coming."
"Get up. Slow."
But nothing's ever that easy. Something must've alerted Tucker, 'cause next thing I knew, the door burst open and all hell broke loose.
I took a bullet in the shoulder before I even made it out the window. Colt escaped in the chaos, and now here I was, three days later, still tracking the bastard even with my arm barely working.
Finally caught up to him in this no-name town. We faced off in the middle of the street like in those dime novels, but real gunfights ain't nothing like the stories. They're quick, messy, and usually someone's dead before they even realize what happened.
I got him. Clean shot through the chest. But he got me too, bullet tearing through my side before he fell.
Now Colt was slumped behind the saloon, and I wasn't doing much better, leaning against the hitching post across the street.
"You satisfied now?" he called out, voice weak. "Got your revenge."
I pressed my hand against my wound. "Wasn't about revenge."
"Bullshit," he coughed. "Your brother was in the wrong place. Wrong time."
"He was nineteen."
"We all die sometime."
I pulled myself up, stumbled across the dusty street toward him. Each step felt like fire. "Some sooner than others."
When I reached him, he looked up at me, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. "You know you're not walking away from this either, right? We're both dead men."
I slid down next to him, too weak to stand anymore. "Maybe."
"Then what was the point? You chased me across three territories just to die alongside me?"
I pulled out my badge – the one I never told Sheriff Reeves about. The one from back east that I'd kept hidden these past two years.
"Because some things are worth dying for," I said. "And some men need to answer for what they've done."
Colt's eyes widened slightly, understanding finally dawning on him. "You're a goddamn marshal."
"Was. Came out here looking for a killer. Found one."
He laughed then, a wet, terrible sound. "All this time... thought you were just some bounty hunter."
"That's what everybody was supposed to think."
We sat there in silence for a while, two dying men watching the sun sink toward the horizon.
"Your brother," Colt said finally. "He pull a gun on us?"
"No."
"I'm sorry about that. Truly am."
I didn't say anything. Didn't need to.
The town doctor found us there an hour later. Colt was already gone, and I wasn't far behind. But somehow, I held on. Guess Sheriff Reeves was wrong about my luck after all.
They buried Colt Rawlins in an unmarked grave behind the church. And me? Well, I woke up three days later with a hole in my side and a future I hadn't planned on having.
Sometimes I wonder if it would've been simpler if I'd died there with him. Justice served, case closed. But life ain't simple, and neither is justice.
So now I wear my badge openly, and I keep riding. Because there's always another Colt Rawlins out there, and someone's gotta bring them in.
also posted on my X handle (@ lailas_pen)
