A Gunslinger's Withered Flower

The shots resounded with strange clarion as they echoed across the icy pond and were swallowed by the surrounding trees. The chill winter air cradled our breaths as we ducked amidst the thick timber enroaching on the pond's shore.

I glanced around the tree trunk which hid me and saw a flash of leather chaps dashing betwixt the trees as bark exploded inches above my head. The splinters bloodied my brow and I dropped to the ground and crawled beneath two shrubs adjacent to my cover and plugged three more cartridges into my repeater, filling it to capacity.

I counted only three of the O'Bannon gang left, as I had learned they were called in my pursuit of the degenerates who had beat me and took my wife so unceremoniously from this mortal coil. An hour earlier I had descended upon their camp; a small farmhouse in the mountains of which they had overtook, killing the original inhabitants and leaving their bodies out in the cold and snow. I had seen the remains of the family when I circled the property before kicking in the front door and eliminating four of them immediately as they sat at a table in the main room drunkenly playing cards. A fifth man had come running from the kitchen brandishing a large skillet when I filled his chest with the other two cartridges left in my Colt. Reloading my pistol, I had watched through the windows as the other three men came running to the house, drawn by the sudden commotion in these still mountains. Having fired shots through the windows, they retreated and began firing at the house, keeping them occupied while I slipped out the back and flanked them. Returning a steady volley of fire using my Winchester repeater and my Colt Peacemaker, I was able to drive them into the woods beside the frozen pond where we are currently playing a cat and mouse style hunt.

Now beneath these shrubs I hide, blood dripping from my forehead as I watch two leather boots hesitantly approach the area I had just so recently occupied. The toes of the boots turned and faced me not a foot out from my nose and I angled my Winchester repeater mere inches away in silent retaliation. Just then I considered the protrudence of my legs as his left foot pinned my right ankle to the ground and a gruff voice said, "Poor hiding spot partner."

I squeezed the trigger and watched as the assailant's right foot erupted in a flurry of torn leather and crimson. In that same moment he fired his pistol, just grazing the top of my left shoulder. The sharp pain of it quickly subsided as it grew quite warm with flowing blood. With an anguished howl he dropped to the ground grasping his mutilated appendage and I stood with a grunt putting my rifle right in his face and pinning his shooting arm down with my left foot.

"Ah, Ethan Pellner, you scum. I've heard lots about you while tracking you lot across these mountains." I growled between clenched teeth. "That mining camp back 'round the last pass had nothing but kind words for the right hand of Charlie O'Bannon."

"I'll..." Is all he managed to get out before I swiftly slapped him with the grip of my heavy iron Colt. Two teeth spilled out with the tiny river of blood flowing from his lips in striking juxtaposition to the bright white snow that surrounded us. I kneeled down pressing my right knee firmly into his gut as I slung the rifle over my shoulder and loosed my hunting knife from it's holster across my back. With my left hand I held his head firmly peeling his eyes open and stared into the soulless orbs as I dragged the blade across his neck feeling the warmth flow over the crook of my elbow and further painting the landscape in the hues of roses.

Sheathing my blade I grabbed the late Ethan Pellner's silver gripped LeMat revolver in my left hand. I recounted the use of LeMat pistols by the Confederates in the war which only fueled further disgust of the body which lay before me.

Just as I began to stand my back seared with pain and hot crimson flowed across it. Falling onto the body of which I'd just slain I heard the echoes of the gunshots, which presumably had just felled me in a twist of irony; and I chuckled as the crunching snow of footsteps approached, and as soon as they stopped, I knew they were within reach and gave a mighty kick back. My foot, connecting with a presumable knee, declared by the cracking of bone and holler of pain, went straight back and crumpled the man. Smoothly I stood and swung my rifle from my back into my grip and leveled the barrel at the brow of my cowardly, and fearful, subject.

"Craig Whimbledon, you limey piece of buffalo pie." I snarled after assessing the very english visage of the man.

"Kill me now you sod or I'll-"

With a ringing blast of my .38 calibre Winchester repeater I emptied the limited contents of the bastard's head onto the stark white of the landscape.

No sooner than this moment transpired, I felt a whoosh of air beside my right cheek and heard the sharp echoes of gunfire behind me.

Throwing myself to the left, in a very awkward fashion and dropping my repeater, I landed on my hip and with determination rolled to the right and grasped the LeMat pistol and rolling back scooped up my rifle and dashed for cover behind a wide pine. Gathering my equipment, I stuck the newly found pistol in my gun belt and brandished my rifle ready for an assault.

Wood splintered and bark took flight as a cacophony arose from the madman O'Bannon dual-wielding Colts firing rapidly and recklessly in my direction. Those twelve shots felt like a hundred as wood and debris flew past me joining the bullets in an aerial ballet. The moment he paused to reload I sprung out, freeing the LeMat pistol and firing the twelve gauge barrel directly at him, but the smooth-bore grapeshot abandoned their target and shred only the forest around him in some miraculous maneuver. We both stood dumbfounded in a stare locked by disbelief and combined hatred. Just as suddenly as the shroud of confusion had come over us it dissipated and resumed our battle. He loaded a sixth and final cartridge into one of his colts as I fled toward the bank of the pond firing the remaining eight shots in the LeMat behind me with zero accuracy. I tossed the useless hunk of metal and secured my repeater in my arms while I crouched down toward the edge of the tree line and waited as I heard O'Bannon's thumping steps come right into my reach. I swung the rifle low and hard straight into his shins and watched him spill out onto the ice, his two pistols skating far out of reach. He scrambled to his feet and awkardly staggered in a paradoxical slippery fashion over to one of the pistols and tumbled over picking it up on the smooth ice. With a steady gait of determination I walked over to him. One solid foot in front of the other, joined by the metal ticking of the spurs made for an ominous approach. I shed my leather duster and rifle, depositing them on the ice as I drew my pistol. O'Bannon, now standing with solid footing leveled his Colt, aimed directly at my chest, and pulled the trigger with a very unsatisfying click of metal for he had chosen to grab the empty one.

He glanced nervously towards the other loaded pistol lying not twenty yards away and as his gaze returned I was there before him, occupying his entire line of sight. With a satisfactory crack I whipped him in the face with the barrel of my Colt and holstered it as I watched a line of blood form on his cheekbone, steam wisping away in the wind from the warmth of the blood pumped from his cold, dead heart. He grabbed me by the shoulders and threw me to the hardened surface of the water and I took advantage of my lowered position by kicking his ankles out from under him. We wrestled on the ice, trading blows and grunts of pain as we punched and slid our way along the cold surface of the pond. Eventually I gained control and maneuvered him underneath my knees and wailed on him in a flurry of fists and fury sobbing the whole time calling out the name of my beloved as my fists landed hardly on his face and the ice next to it. Knuckles bloodied and face flush with fresh tears dripping from my beard I stood up and over him and began kicking until he caught my boot and pushed my leg aside. In a swift and surprising gesture O'Bannon was able to roll over to the loaded Colt and swiveled on the ice to face me and emptied all six rounds into my chest.

I calmly walked over in my steady gait and stood before him, laying on his back and shivering from the cold. I looked at his face, the blood streaming from it, and the pale red outlines of his teeth as he spoke.

"How can ye still be standing there?" His bewilderment only strengthened by his accent.

I planted my feet firmly, standing over him and shadow cast upon him as he lay there beaten and bloody.

"Ho-, How can this be?!" He yelled as I leveled the barrel of my Colt .45 Peacemaker directly in his face.

"You cannot kill the spirit of vengence." I said coldly.

The echo of the gunshot resounded with a strange clarion as it was carried across the icy plain and swallowed by the surrounding trees that enroached on the glassy shore of the pond.

Freeing the marigold from the breast pocket of my vest, it was now in full bloom and shown in all its glory of sunset hues. Only one of it's thin petals wilted and fell twirling to the ground as the bullet wounds closed. I lifted my face to the sky feeling the dwindling heat of the sun as it slid behind the mountains casting colourful schemes upon the mirrored surface,on which I stood, matching the hues of the beautiful flower that I kept next to my heart.