By Ryan Rahman
Lee Kerr sat on the porch with his evening coffee and pipe, watching the sun drop behind Dry Pines. He heard the horse approaching before he saw the rider. When the man finally came into view, Lee knew right away who it was.
It was Nate Brodie.
He fell off the saddle and hit the dirt as he dismounted. Lee didn’t get up to lend a hand. Just sipped his coffee and puffed away. Nate coughed as he pushed himself up and dusted off.
“This horse don’t let go of shit,” he muttered. “Still mad at me after all these years.”
“Not surprised. You’re drunk.”
Nate grinned and took a long pull from the bottle.
“Damn right I am. And it’s good to see you too, Lee.”
Lee puffed on his pipe.
“Something tells me you didn’t come all the way out here to catch up.”
Nate nodded. He reached into his coat and pulled out a folded piece of paper. He set the bottle down on the rail and slowly unfolded it.
“Remember Dickie Forsyth?”
Lee didn’t even look. “What about him?”
“Wanted. Dead or alive. Five hundred bucks.”
“Didn’t I kill him in Guthrie’s saloon?”
“You got him in the collarbone. He managed to stumble out of there,” Nate said, slurring slightly. “You were pretty drunk that night. Hell, we used to get wasted all the time in Guthrie’s. I’m surprised I even remember that night! Anyway, I heard he’s in the area. Lying low after some bank job over in Hope County.”
“Where’s he now?”
“Word is he’s holed up near Mackinnon Valley. His cousin’s got a ranch out there. Figured we could ride out. You and me, just like old times.”
Nate grabbed the bottle and took another swig. Lee gazed at the hills.
“I’m done with that kind of work.”
“Come on. What do you mean you’re done? This is an easy job. Remember Sleepy Newton and Lucky Irvine? You dropped them both without blinking. Sleepy couldn’t see for shit and Lucky wasn’t so lucky after all. People still talk about you. You know that? Even at our age, you still got a reputation.”
Lee looked down.
“Sleepy didn’t need to be killed. Lucky got married right before I ran into him. Made his wife a widow in only a week.”
Nate blinked. Kept quiet. Lee gestured toward the Colt 1873 Single Action Army holstered on Nate’s hip.
“You fire that thing lately?”
“Still works.”
“When’s the last time then?”
Nate shrugged.
“I dunno, twelve, thirteen years? Don’t matter. It never let me down before, it ain’t gonna let me down now. Besides, with you joining me, we can’t lose.”
Lee shook his head.
“I said I’m done with all that. Somehow, I managed to find peace here in Dry Pines. I’m not interested in reliving the old days. And if Dickie is still alive, you may wanna make sure your gun’s in good shape. He might be old as we are but he’s still an outlaw. If what you said is true, take him seriously. And his cousin. If it’s the one I’m thinking of, you should take him seriously as well.”
Nate rolled his eyes and laughed.
“Lee… you worry too much, you know that?”
Lee closed his eyes, pausing before he opened them again.
“I’ve sinned enough already. God already took Julia from me too soon. Punishment. For all the lives I took. I know I’m goin’ to Hell, but I don’t wanna make my stay any longer than it has to be. I’m sittin’ this one out. Just make sure your piece still fires.”
Nate narrowed his eyes.
“You’re really done, huh?”
Lee looked up at him.
“I am.”
A pause.
“Fine. You wanna see if this old thing still works? If I still have it in me?”
Lee didn’t say anything. Nate drew his Colt and turned toward the porch post where an old cast-iron horseshoe hung from one of the nails. He cocked the hammer and fired without taking the time to aim properly. The bullet struck the horseshoe, ricocheted, and slammed into Lee’s gut before he could even flinch. He dropped his cup and pipe and the remaining coffee splashed across the porch floor. The sound he made wasn’t pain. It was more like surprise. Disbelief. Annoyance. He pressed his hand to the blood seeping through his shirt. Nate stared as the gun still smoked in his hand. Lee looked at him, trying not to wince. Nate just stood there, eyes wide.
“You stupid fucking idiot.”
Nate slowly stepped back. Lee drew his Smith & Wesson Schofield before he could react in time. One shot. Nate fell back, tumbling down the steps. The bottle shattered against the boards. Lee leaned back. The pain was quickly setting in. Sharp. Hot. Relentless. He looked at the blood slipping past his hand and winced as he shifted on the bench. He stared upward and breathed out slow. Then turned his eyes to Nate’s crumpled body. Same stupid look on his face. The Schofield slipped out of Lee’s hand.
“See you in Hell, friend. Real soon.”
