The Gunslinger
The man in the black hat was looking for the gunslinger.
He’d been to a town or two and had yet to find him.
Something told him he was close.
That and when he stopped a man in town the man said the gunslinger lived here.
He strode into the tavern.
“Whiskey barkeep,” the man said.
The barkeep obliged.
The man knocked the whiskey back.
“Know where I can find the gunslinger?” the man asked.
“Oh you don’t want to do that.”
“Yes I do.”
“Well if you feel like radically shortening your years the gunslinger is the man sitting in the chair under the mesquite tree at the far end of town.”
“Much obliged.”
The man turned to leave and asked, “What’d you reckon my chances?”
“Slim to none.”
“Good to know.”
The man in the black hat sauntered down to the edge of town. It wasn’t much of a town so it was a short walk.
He found a man sitting under the tree.
“You the gunslinger?”
“Yep.”
