A distant clatter of hooves interrupted the conversation, and they both looked up toward the end of the valley where several riders were advancing, kicking up a cloud of dust.
June adjusted her rifle sling while Wade slowly unbuckled the safety on his well-worn revolver.
“I guess our reputation is traveling faster than we are,” June said calmly, belying the tension of the moment.
“Stories always travel ahead of the men who make them,” Wade replied, remounting Ghost.
The unknown riders were getting closer, and the midday sun shone off the barrels of their guns, clear signs that the conversation would likely end soon.
June remounted and looked at Wade with a firm resolve that reflected a decision made without words.
“Then let’s keep riding,” she said. It seems the desert isn’t finished with us yet.
Wade tilted his head slightly, spurred Ghost on, and rode toward the horizon where dust, violence, and new stories awaited, to be written under the same unforgiving sky.
Leave a Comment