Dusk Saddle

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          Dusk lay in the dust on his back in the sun of the hot Arizona desert.  The unforgiving rays swept into every dark dry crack and crevice of his face.  He squinted against its harsh rays unable to move from its inescapable heat.  It's funny he thought how something so far away might end up killing him.  Just like people could be so far away, and end up killing you.  That was how he had gotten into this whole mess.  A woman well a girl really had sent him a letter.  A girl that had no business being where she was, or sending letters to men like him.  It was a short message but nothing good ever happened quick. It struck a chill with him like cold lightning up his back.  It read Alessa Estrange Redlands1888.  Copper Belfry Old Straw Mill.  Date post marked November 15 1892.  Dusk new a Mirage could lead you on a pointless chase to your death, and so too could Miss Alessa Estrange.
      Now he sat on his back while his hands fought against the rebellious blood that pushed out of his veins against the fleeting strength of his muscles, Hoof step, and trumpet of Cavalryman, along with the garbled and cursed language of Mexican Soldiers rose nearby, and Dusk drew the dessert canopy over himself once more, with his eyes slowly fading, he slowly drifted away.  They say near death, life flashes before your eyes, but for men such as Dusk so close between, life, death, reality and dreams Dusk found himself at the beginning of the end, in an old town on Conrada street in west Escondido.
      Dusk drew into town on his Black horse Bramble, and he had one thing on his mind.  A drink he'd been out of the company of man and woman for 9 weeks, and working laboriously under the name of James Hannon. The drive of cattle across the ranges of New Mexico through Arizona to California had exhausted him of such comforts, and paid well.  Three hundred and fifty dollars now sat within the confines of his possession.  Now he was going to spend it on the one thing that brought solace to his mind a well poured drink from a steady hand.  The Capricot Itinerary sat just across at the end of the road with its dark windows and saloon doors looking like the expectant yet hopeless gaze of a wanton stranger.
     Dusk was unfamiliar with the town, and even less of the saloon.  He tied his horse to the hitching post, and embarked through the swinging doors of the saloon.  Inside the musty smoke of cigars and sound of chips falling on mahogany fell away to the silencing footsteps of his boots.  The bartender wore the traditional vest and black sleeve garter, and he warily eyed dusk as he approached through the tavern doors.  The three men playing cards at the table behind him paused, and their gazes fell upon him with stark and intense resentment.  The bartender broke the silence first, "well stranger we happen to be closed this evening.  This here's a meeting of some of the local businessman if you would come back tomorrow he stated gravely.
     Dusk knew cut throats, thieves, and marauders when he saw them, and all three of these men playing cards behind him flooded his senses with every caution, but it had been an arduous nine weeks of rain and muck in the mountains, and dry rotting heat through desserts.  So as he reached the bar in front of the bartender his voice cut through the air  "Don't intend to stay long."  The bartenders eyes quickly strayed to the three men and back to Dusk.  A trickle of sweat immerged from the corner of the mans temple and swept down his chin  as he fumbled for the bottle of Coffin Varnish with one hand and steadied and aimed the Peterman four gauge shot from behind the bar at Dusk.