Draw!

It’s high noon, and i stand face to face with the most wanted man in all the united states of america, his grim visage pinned to a cactus nearby, a bounty underneath it reading, “Wanted, dead or alive. Abraham lincoln. Reward, One hundred thousand dollars.”

I locked eyes with the former president, his stare filled with determination and i knew that both of us had too much at stake to die here, I could tell that much just from the cut of his jaw and how he was already grabbing his implements of destruction.

I steeled myself, focusing my reflexes and my reactions for the trial to come. I may have just been some punk bounty hunter coming after the great and terrible Lincoln, but I sure as hell wasn’t going without a fight.

A small bead of sweat trickled down my forehead, i’d like to believe it was the midday heat, but I knew deep down that even my efforts to calm myself hadn’t stopped my nerves, this was a life or death situation after all. And to his credit, lincoln had no signs of that stress on him. He was calm and collected and I felt small and insignificant, like I was the next name on a long list of others he’d sent back to our maker.

“DRAW!” the Sheriff yelled, signaling for us to begin, I whipped my pencil up to the canvas and began to draw the basic lines that would compose our subject for today, a common native to the deserts, the Pygmy short-horned lizard.

I rushed as fast as I could to complete the basic sketch, since I was far better at painting and colouration then I was at drawing the basic outline. I quickly threw a glance at my opponent, and I grew very fearful when i saw he had already moved on to the next step as he had brush in hand.

I redoubled my efforts, finishing my sketch and fumbling with the brush as I hurried to catch up. As soon as paint touched the canvas though, it was like I was a whole new man, my tools sailing across what would be my work of art with dexterity and grace, though i knew that alone wouldn’t bring me victory here.

The Pygmy lizard was certainly not the most difficult thing I had had to paint, so i spent a moment adding a little flair to my canvas with the addition of a rock and also colouring the background to look like arid scrubland. I snuck a look over towards my opponent once again, trying to deduce how far along he was by the look on his face, and the way he was painting, but he was like a statue, with nothing that gave away his progress

I was surprised that with how fast he completed his outline, lincoln did not finish before me, but I rose first shouting to the heavens.

“Let God be my judge!” I yelled, signaling that I had finished. Lincoln took note of me briefly, but seemed in no rush to call his work done just yet.

I stood there sweating paint drops, though the afternoon heat wasn’t the cause of my perspiration as I waited for the minute he had to finish his painting to be up, the tension rising to almost unbearable levels as Lincoln sat and worked. Time beginning to do funny things in my head, as every second felt like it took an eternity, the world slowing down as I could only watch Lincoln sit there, collected as ever.

I fought my impatience waiting for the Sheriff to make the call of his time being over, and right as he began to draw his breath to speak, Lincoln sprung up, and with the waiting over I realized that he had counted down and waited till the last second, taking every precious moment he could to improve. I cursed under my breath, hoping the penalty for waiting that long would give me an edge over him.

“May God be my judge!” Lincoln said in that fancy voice that someone of his station would have... or at least former station.

We revealed our paintings, Lincoln having decided to make the background of his be a sandy waste with only a single twig poking out of a dune. The Sheriff looking over the both of them, and the tension rose once more, but this time I could tell that Lincoln was sweating in his boots, same as me.

Suddenly, my painting burst into flames, a clear sign I was the loser. I dropped to my knees and I felt my internal organs begin to shut down, but I stayed up for as long as i could before my muscles gave out under me, and I was left staring up towards the sun.

“Any last words?” the Sheriff asked in that kindly way people do when they are talking to the dead and dying. I shook my head, my last words would take too long to say, I got too many regrets.

“Then allow me.” Lincoln said as he leaned over, his head blocking the sun, my fading eyesight not even able to make out his face. “You made two crucial mistakes. The first was not planning ahead, and the second was a weak outline.” My eyes closed as he walked away and I resolved to give him one better the next time I saw him. He deserved it for being so high and mighty.

I laid in the town square and expired, having failed to get justice for the townsfolk, and losing my pride in the process, as even the quickest draw in the west was no match for Lincoln’s skills.

I got mighty comfortable in my position on the ground, after all I knew I was gonna be there for a while, All I sought was a little respite from the dust blowing around in the light breeze.

I felt the question posed to me, what would I do for a second chance, and I answered, loud and true, That I would face any trial, no matter how big or small, for that second opportunity.

“Good” I heard the Sheriff say and I regained my sight, the eerie dark of the night filling my vision, only punctuated by the moon’s radiance. And I sat up, a gentle breeze blowing away the loose covering of sand that had begun to form on my person.

I took a look around, trying to get my bearings and I saw a few familiar landmarks. I was laying in a small overhang located squarely in blood gulch, testified by the two small forts some opposing groups of bandits had built to try control the area. Out of the corner of my eye I saw a huge wall of brown stretching all the way up to the sky, and I began to recall this night vividly.

My first instinct was to take cover in the nearby cave system, but I knew this would mean the loss of my wife and child, my only family. So I took off running, determined to not let the same fate befall them again, no second chance would matter if I let that happen.

I ignored the nearby bandit hideouts, sadly it would take to long to scavenge inside of the base for a weapon, as even now I could feel the wind begin to pick up, and I knew I was already losing the race against the sand storm.

So I kept my path simple and ran to the exit, climbing up the hidden trail obscured by the vegetation. It was not a route I spent much time on, but luck was with me and I made it up the slope without any trouble and so I praised my lucky stars while I could still see them as I ran back to home.

I knew the way back well enough to know that the next obstacle I would face was a large crevasse, and also that the only bridge across it was a mile down the way. so I looked back to check on the storm’s progress, and as I suspected, there was no time to make a detour that big. So I turned back, looking dead ahead as the rift in the desert came into view, and i gritted my teeth with determination, preparing to burst into a sprint when the time came.

The wind started to pick up, clutching at my duster as if it was trying to pull me into the storm and devour me. But no way I was letting this storm rob me of my second chance so I kept on running. I estimated the distance to the edge, counting down as i prepared my body for the obstacle I was about to hurdle.

Fifty feet, forty feet, thirty feet, I broke into a sprint, pushing myself to the limit as the distance between me and the crevasse closed rapidly. I did a small hop to preserve my momentum, landing right on the lip and coiling like a spring, releasing all that tension into one giant leap, shaking the rock and causing some stones to fall into the gap, though they were pushed back out again by the howling winds ripping through the fissure.

Time slowed down as I soared over the chasm, and I had the opportunity to think about just how crazy I was for trying to jump what was about a twenty one foot divide and as I began to maybe regret my course of action, I hit the apex of my jump and realized the wind coming out of the crevasse was assisting my flight, so I cleared any doubt from my mind hoping for the best and readying myself for the landing, time moving at it’s normal speed once more.

I stuck it, rolling into the impact and getting up quickly. I’d like to think it was my determination that had carried me thus far, but I could not deny the involvement of a pinch of luck as well.

The sound of the howling wind brought me back to earth as I felt the desert sting of sand pelting my back, reminding me I still had a long way to go. I reckoned about a mile still before i hit the cross road, provided I found the highway nearby and stuck to it all the way there before the storm engulfed me.

Knowing I couldn’t out run the massive wall of dust much longer, I took a good look at my surroundings, memorizing the position of the nearby objects in relation to each other, One of the first things my ma had taught me when I began to learn the art of the draw. I setup a network of reference points, then worked out the quickest way to get back onto the road, memorizing the directions I would have to blindly walk in order to not go astray.

The storm began to overtake me, so I slowed from my breakneck pace and conserved my energy for the long trek back home, I’d be no help after all if I showed up on the doorstep dying for air. I kept to my course, knowing that the only thing between me and a horrible death out in this storm was the path I had already laid.

Following it was no easy task though, the wind was strong and I had to fight it every step of the way, and many times I nearly lost my footing to the treacherous desert sand beneath me. And i suddenly realized I had missed my mark, the momentary panic almost making me lose the mental map that was my only ticket to safety, but i carefully walked back a few paces, sticking my arm out and feeling for the rock that i had missed. I was happy that i had caught it so quickly, no telling how bad it would have been if i had even just taken another step.

After I recovered it wasn’t long till my foot sunk into the ditch the marked the roadside, though it was filled with sand, it was enough to lead me home. I had no time to praise my lucky stars though and I had to keep moving, or be swallowed by the desert, never to be seen again.

So I kept on walking, doing my best to put one foot in front of the other while staying in the ditch. Precious time being lost whenever the road curved and I had to find the ditch again before continuing.

The storm continued to try and force it’s way into my mouth, attempting to fill every orifice with dust and sand, so I pulled a bandana from a small pack in which I kept useful oddities, like screws and string in, and quickly covered my mouth with it, using my arm as best I could for the rest of my face.

I doggedly put one foot in front of the other, keeping pace as my endurance slowly withered away. I don’t know how long I walked like this, with the hind howling in my ears and trying to drive me mad, my skin stinging from the all sand and the occasional small rock thrown in for good measure. But i do know my heart skipped a beat when I saw the sign for the cross roads. Home was just around the bend, and I never could have been happier to see that.

So I ditched the road, heading up the path i knew so well, barely needing to check my bearings and make sure I was on the right course, the prospect of getting my second chance to save my family invigorating me and giving me the stamina to break back into a run as I crested the rise, since I knew my home was just down the hill.

The sand below me proved treacherous though, and I slowed my pace for fear of tumbling down the hillside and possibly hitting something, once I arrived at the base of the hill however, I resumed my sprint, my home quickly coming into view.

I ran up to the door, stopping myself before I threw it open. “He could already be here, I got to go in carefully.” I thought to myself as I crouched down, carefully pushing the door open and sneaking inside.

There was no one in the living room, which was good as it allowed me to remain hidden for as long as possible. I snuck quietly towards the bedroom, as even though the wind was loud, it was still louder outside than it was inside, so I tried to tune my footsteps to the house creaking and shaking from the storm.

I slowly cracked open the bedroom door, peeking inside to see if there was immediately anything wrong. I could see my wife and child sleeping in the bed, but I couldn’t make out anything more in the darkness.

I began to slip inside, peering as hard as I could into the darkness, hoping to see any danger before it happened, but I was suprised when someone slammed the door on me, my shoulder taking the brunt of the impact as it was caught between door and frame.

I tried to pull my arm back, but a powerful hand grabbed it as pain erupted in my shoulder, and my arm went limp. The attacker then threw the door open, trying to surprise me with a sudden attack. But I was ready, and I caught the arm he was swinging with, and in the relative darkness i could see he was wielding a paper mache knife, no doubt the tool he had used to murder my family.

I panicked as I tried to figure out how he knew I had returned, slowly coming to the realization that he must have heard the change in how loud the wind was when I opened the door and then when it went back to normal confirmed that someone had entered the house.

He continued to force the knife down and I struggled against his strength, slowly giving ground as he forced me to the floor, and inched his weapon ever closer to my throat. With no need to continue holding my useless limb down, he took his other arm and pushed with it as well, using both of his against my one, driving his knife into my chest.

I slowly died, laying there and bleeding out, the man who I guessed was Ulysses S. Grant (As I had found out from a wanted poster he had left in my house after killing my family.) cutting my throat open to make sure I stayed down.

Again I heard the sheriff’s voice I as I started to get comfortable,

“Now have you learned something?” they asked, again in that kindly voice.

“I learned that this was all pointless” I replied, venom in my words, but that venom faded as realization dawned on me, “So there’s no point in beating myself up over it either, I don’t have to carry the weight of thinking I could have done something if I arrived as fast as possible.” I spoke quickly, fearing that my time was rapidly coming to a close. “I may have lost something important, but I cannot hold myself responsible for it.”

It was a great weight lifted from my chest, and I swear I could feel my wife and child smiling down upon me.

“Looks like the devil’s palm is spared a victim today.” The sheriff said very matter of factly, but I could tell he was happy as well. I felt the texture of the ground change underneath me and my eyes opened again.

It’s high noon, the midday sun blinding me as I laid in the dusty town square where the showdown with lincoln had occurred. I jolted up, causing shock in the nearby pedestrians. Some ran away, others recovered from the surprise and continued on with their day, but one man came over and helped me to my feet.

“I figured you’d gone to the devil’s palm, so I told the townsfolk to leave you be.” The source of the voice was a wizened old man, his tone made me think that he too had gone to this “Devil’s palm” as well.

“Thank you kindly sir, though i’m not sure what you mean.” I replied, curious what he knew.

“Well they say it’s kind of a limbo, a last chance for people to change their ways before heaven… or hell.” He said somberly, and my suspicion grew stronger. “They also say some come back to the land of the living after their trial, and those that do are gifted strange and bizarre powers.” I nodded, wondering if I had been the recipient of one of these gifts.

I stretched out my hand, flexing it and getting a feel for my muscles again, dying twice made it feel funny to be able to move again and I grabbed my hat off the ground as a test, to make sure everything was still working. I turned to the old man, unconsciously staring into his eyes with an intense fury, one question burning in my mind.

“Do you know where lincoln went?” I asked him, but realizing I didn’t want to make him uncomfortable I softened my gaze.

“Why do you want to go after him, I doubt the Devil’s palm will let you go twice, and he’s already bested you once.” he replied, unperturbed by the funny look I had given him. “What would make you so desperate for cash that you’d go after him?”

“A tombstone or two.” I said in return, pulling the brim of my hat down. And something clicked inside the old man.

“He stayed the night here, then took a train heading to the next town over, not more than thirty minutes ago, you take the horse you rode in on and you might be able to catch up.” he said hurriedly, and I took it as him giving his blessing to go chase Lincoln down.

I ran over to the post I had tied Slow dancer to, noting the small kid feeding her an apple, and they shied away as I approached.

“It’s okay, I don’t intend to do you harm,” I said, putting on as charming a smile as I could muster, “I’d like to thank you for taking care of dancer here while i was out cold, what’s your name son?”

“Johnny sir” he replied, standing up straight and looking me in the eyes, not so scared now. “I also walked her around a bit leading her around the post so she don’t go limp.”

“Well i’ll be, you know your stuff.” I said surprised by the kid’s knowledge, “you’ll make a fine rider someday, and your horse will thank you for it.” I reached for my wallet, pulling out a dollar bill and handing it to the young boy. “Here, take this for your services.” Johnny’s face lit up, and he thanked me profusely before running off, heading down main street and into the local tack shop.

I smiled as I watched him go, wondering if my daughter would have turned out just like him, given enough time around me of course. I clenched my fist, the thought strengthening my resolve.

I untied Slow Dancer while I explained the situation to her, asking her to run faster than ever before, so we could catch up to the train. She whinnied and started pawing at the ground, and I knew she was ready to get going. So I mounted snapping the reins and shouting.

“Let’s catch ourselves a president, HIYAA” Slow Dancer reared up on her hind legs letting out another whinny in agreement, before bolting like a professional racehorse out the gate. The pedestrians watched us go, a few of them cheering as we kicked up a dust cloud out of town.

We followed the train tracks closely, Slow Dancer being just as determined to catch that train as I was, her endurance rising to a level I didn’t know she had in her, and it wasn’t long before I heard the sound of the train rumbling in the distance.

“Good job girl!” I shouted in excitement, keeping a watch for the train itself to come into view. Slow Dancer whinnied in response and put on a burst of speed that I thought would be impossible for how long she had been galloping already.

“Just a little further!” I said to Dancer as a train whistle sounded, just as we started to go around a large mesa, and I guessed it was around the bend. I did my best to encourage her on this hard ride, “Keep on going!” My hunch proved true and I saw the train just up ahead, with one slight problem. The train was crossing over a bridge, that didn’t have room for a horse and rider, there was another bridge for trains going the other way, but I already tried my luck with jumping that canyon and I wasn’t sure I wanted to try something that gutsy again. but we were coming up fast, so I had to choose quickly.

“Alright Dancer, pull ahead of the caboose just a bit, and i’ll jump on. Then go back to the town we started from, try and find that nice kid to take care of you while i’m gone” I relayed the plan to her as we approached, swallowing hard to overcome my fear. I swear she winked at me, and I just hoped that the plan got communicated as I got out of my stirrups, standing shakily on top of my horse and coiling to jump.

I estimated the distance and waited as Slow Dancer began to pass the caboose, until I saw the opportunity and lept off of her in such a fashion that would make professional trick riders proud.

My jump’s aim was true and I landed on the caboose’s porch, the force of my jump causing me to slide off the other side, and I barely reached out and grabbed the railing, leaving me hanging over the abyss, rethinking whether or not I had a fear of heights.

I heard the door above open as I hung on for dear life, a wiry man (who I assumed was the rear brakeman) coming out and standing above me.

“What’s you doing, jumping onto our train?” he asked nonchalantly, kind of like he was asking the time of day.

“I’m a bounty hunter” I replied, “Looking for a man named Lincoln, heard he boarded this train when it left the station.” The brakeman thought for a moment before sticking out his hand, an offering to pull me up, one which I gladly took.

“Dunno much about Lincoln, i’ve seen the wanted posters sure, but I only today got to see his brutality first hand.” He said as he went back inside and I quickly followed him, shutting the door behind me. “Do the passengers a favor and put him down will ya.” I could hear a hint of anger in his voice, and I figured I didn’t want to ask about “Lincoln’s brutality”. I nodded in reply, the Brakeman grunting in approval. He pointed towards the door as he climbed back up to his perch, wishing me luck as I exited the caboose.

I made my way down the train, spurs jingling with every step as I scanned the aisles for my quarry. I must have looked like a grim specter, perhaps even the grim reaper himself if I let my ego do the talking. The train staff leaving me well alone as I carried out my mission, one good look getting me from train car to train car, third class to second, second to first.

I figured he’d be in first class, with an head as big as his I doubted he’d settle for less and lo and behold i was correct. I found him in the dining car being waited upon by nervous staff, the other passengers giving his table a wide berth. The waiters gasped, but Lincoln hadn’t noticed me yet.

“Lincoln! Devil’s palm didn’t want me, It’d rather have you instead.” I said, challenging him to a rematch. Lincoln took a sip of his coffee before pushing puck in his chair and turning it around to face me.

“Didn’t take you for the kind of man who liked the feeling of their organs failing.” he retorted, “I’ll make you regret wasting your second chance trying to take down me.” He pondered for a moment, “You can choose the subject this time, only fair since it was my choice last go round”

“How about this chinese gentleman sitting here,” I said pointing to one of the passengers sitting in the dining car, “With your permission of course good sir.” The man in question nodded and stood up, striking a pose and allowing us to get a good grasp of his features.

He was an elderly gentleman with the face of a model, strong jawline, full lips and a gaze of hardened steel with muscles to match. I knew us artists had supernatural protection from harm, but I seriously wondered if this man could have taken Lincoln’s head off in a single blow despite his age.

I set up my easel and canvas, feeling like I had a good handle on our subject’s appearance, Lincoln across from me doing the same, the air thick with tension. We waited for the sheriff’s call to begin, both of us steeling ourselves for the final showdown.

“Draw!” the sheriff shouted and we were off. I choose to do a full body painting, incorporating the dashing pose the fellow had struck. It would be tricky if Lincoln chose to only do a bust and completed his work very quickly.

I quickly ran over a plan in my head, having taken Lincoln’s words to heart, I wanted to make sure I got his face right, without leaving the rest of him suffering in quality, I also decided to add a dash of colour to his outfit, going all in with the model I believed him to be.

I resisted the urge to look over and see what Lincoln was doing, focusing on my work and not distracting myself by worrying where my opponent was. My pencil experiencing the same dexterity and grace I enjoyed while painting as I focused on getting the outline down, the momentum carrying over when I switched to brush.

I started at the head, working hard to do justice to the man’s stunning features. then I moved down to the torso, doing my best to keep a consistent quality without spending too much time on it.

“Let God be my judge!” Lincoln said nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair and watching me intently, no doubt waiting for me to start squirming. I ignored his obvious taunting and got back to work, finishing up the arm I was working on and moving down to the legs.

I kept my resolve, determined not to crack under the pressure of the impending time limit as I counted down, budgeting the remaining seconds for each leg in my head.

“Fifteen, fourteen, thirteen, twelve,” Lincoln counted down, trying to get in my head but i didn’t let it get to me. He continued, every number being said with more mockery, but when he got to five I leaned back, not saying I was done, but relaxing nonetheless. He looked angry for a moment, but quickly regained his composure, right as I announced that I too had completed my painting.

We turned our easels so that not only could the sheriff see, but as was customary so that our subject could see as well. And I took the time to check out his picture, while the judging commenced. As I suspected, he had chosen to go with a bust, looking to time me out by finishing quickly and he seemed annoyed that his strategy did not work. As for the actual painting, he had focused on the eyes, trying to replicate the intense gaze of our model, personally I felt like he had made the man’s stare far more menacing than it had been on his actual face.

“You both flatter me.” He said embarrassedly, and at the very least I was happy that he liked it.

I waited for the judge to make his call sitting in tense silence, Lincoln keeping his cool as I sweated, betraying my nervousness. I didn’t want to actually waste my second chance on him like he had taunted me before we begun.

The tension even extended to the other passengers as we waited for the call to be made, the Sheriff thinking long and hard on who the victor was. Then just like that it was over and Lincoln’s painting was incinerated. I let out a long sigh, and I realized I had been holding my breath without thinking.

“Damn you...” Lincoln said as he fell to his knees, clutching his chest.

“Any last words?” The Sheriff asked, and it felt good to have the tables reversed.

“I was the most powerful” --cough-- “man in the united states.” he sputtered, his voice wobbling as he fought to speak, “Before and after I faked my death, how could some” --cough cough-- “Lowly bounty hunter” --cough-- “scum, beat me.” He laid still and took a moment to catch his breath, “My heart and actions are utterly unclouded. they are all those of ‘justice’” --cough-- “I did everything, for the united states. What motive could you-”

I walked over and stood above him, interrupting him before he could go any further,

“You talk too much, all I want is a couple of tombstones.”