A Single Shot, for TheSonOfDisaster

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Historical Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic
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Submitted: August 04, 2011

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Submitted: August 04, 2011




Thunderous hoof beats echoed across the prairie. Spurring their horses forwards, the gang made off with their riches. The train heist went off without a hitch, it was flawless, and the men couldn’t believe their luck. They slowed as soon as they were out of sigh from the train, and dropped out of their saddles. Dropping the money bags, the largest of the group, Big Pete as they called him, grinned his stupid grin.

“We got us lotsa moneys now boys!” he chuckled dimly. He dumped out the green bills and began to count them, getting to around six or seven before starting over. Thomas, the brains of the operation if you will, sighed and trudged over to help the slow fellow out. Only Jonathan stayed in the saddle. He scanned the horizon, stopping to stare intently at a lone figure moving towards them at a ridiculous pace. He wiped the sweat from his brow, covered his eyes with his hand to provide them with shade, and tried to figure out who the figure was. It couldn’t be the law, not this quickly.

“Boy, we shure ‘re rich now, boss!” Big Pete beamed with pride at the money he had collected. Thomas laughed and patted the man on the shoulder. Yet Jonathan said nothing, intently staring in the distance. The figure was growing closer, and it was clear it was a lone horse and rider.

“Pack it up Thomas, and get Big Pete on his horse, we need to move, and fast,” he muttered. Thomas was skeptical, but said nothing. He packed the money back into the bags and tied them to his horse. Proceeding to help Pete into his, he finally swung himself into his saddle a good minute later. The figure was closer still, and Jonathan was uncomfortable.
The gang took off across the prairie, headed back towards the train tracks from which they came. However, their horses were tired from the sprint away from the tracks earlier, so the figure was able to draw closer. A loud crack shot forth from behind them, and Jonathan watched Big Pete tumble from the saddle. Jonathan whirled his horse around, to see the figure coming on them as fast as a bat out of hell. Jonathan was frozen by fear, even though he could feel Thomas tugging on his sleeve. The tugging stopped as another crack pierced the air, and Thomas tumbled, blood spewing from his chest.

The figure slowed right in front of Jonathan’s steed. He was dressed in all black, save the red sash he wore around his waist and the red bandana covering his face. A large silver belt buckle shone in the afternoon light. Jonothan mumbled,

“Who…who are you..?” The figure grunted, and rumbled his reply with a voice that sounded like stone scraping on stone.

“The Son of Disaster, you fool."

Jonathan tumbled from the saddle as a single revolver round spun through his skull. The man then proceeded to gather up the bags of money, attach them to his own steed, and made off across the desert, in search of another band of unlucky fools.


For TheSonOfDisastor 

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