A Glorious Sunset

Dust was dominant over the withering desert town. Signs hung in nearly every window proclaiming bankruptcy or sale. The few residents in town were already packing their bags to move on to better horizons. At the north end of the main street a lone saloon still catered to the wandering cowboy’s thirst. Within, the lone bartender was preparing to close up shop when someone let the dust drift in.

She was an old woman, burdened by many packs and pouches beneath a dust old poncho. “I’m sorry ma’am,” the bartender began, “but I was just closing up, please come back tomorrow.” There was a long pause between the two before the woman responded, “I’m waiting for someone.” The bartender shook his head and was about to usher her out when a big man in a long duster entered the saloon followed by two men in similar attire.

In an instant the bartender was in a better mood, “Bart, great to see you, have a seat while I get the saloon cleared out.” An attempt to usher the old woman out of the room was hindered as the bartender was hefted up and flung like a rag doll behind the bar. “Gloria!,” the big man’s voice was like the boom of a gun, “You old whore! I thought you up and died!”

“You should know, Bart, that whenever the sun sets it will rise again the day after.”

“It certainly ain’t been a day, Ol’ Gloria,” the bandit laughed, “Last I saw you was some years ago. I must’a missed yah then, but Bart Brady don’t miss twice.”

Gloria brought the table up onto its side in time for it to take a shotgun blast and splinter to pieces. Her poncho flew into the air and another shotgun blast tore it to pieces, but left Bart’s crony with the boomstick open to a revolver bullet to the gut. She had an assortment of pouches strapped to her waist and twin bandoliers full of bullets crossed across her chest. Bart and the remaining man circled around behind the bar, bottles and glasses exploding around them.

The revolvers in her hands were beautifully crafted, speckled with dirt and ade as she was. They screamed at the glasses and their words shattered them. Bart’s man was quick to retrieve his pistols from their holsters and take aim from around the bar. Gloria rolled beneath a table to reload just in time for the man’s words to shatter the wooden floor where she had been crouched.

Her revolvers restocked, Gloria stood up with a flurry of bullets. One met with the rising bandit’s face. The others pelted the area around Bart before the big man rose and in one fluent motion retrieved the rifle from its place on his back. Gloria’s revolvers clicked and she cast them to the ground as she rolled behind a beer barrel.

The scope of Bart’s rifle followed her, but it did not fire. Gloria pushed the barrel over and sat behind it, She quickly retrieved a derringer from one of her pouches and rose up. The two fired at the same time with perfect aim. First Gloria fell back, then a split second later Bart followed. They lay a moment in quiet, breathing heavily.

The bullet that struck Gloria had gotten lost in one of her pouches, but the force had carried her to the floor. Bart lay behind the bar with his breath caught up in his chest and struggling to get out. The two rose and looked at each other tiredly. Bart was bleeding out his chest and using the bar fro support. Gloria was recovering quickly and she leaned down to retrieve a large combat knife and rushed the big man.

Bart was well known for his strength and easily flung the old woman through the window. In a spray of glass, Gloria landed in the dirt, her bones breaking easily in old age. She was defeated and as he came out of the saloon Bart knew it. “I finally got yah, you old hag. You’re dead now Gloria and I’m gonna make sure you stay dead.” Bart leaned down, the blood from his wound dripping onto the old woman. He coughed and his eyes widened as blood bubbled up on his lips. Gloria had jabbed a jagged piece of glass into his throat.

As Bart fell down upon her she could see the sun setting beneath the horizon behind him. It was beautiful, a myriad reds and oranges with a deep purple blazon across the sky. Gloria had seen many sunsets in her long life, but none had been as glorious as this portrait of a dieing day. The dark haze of unconsciousness encompassed her; the broken bones and suffocating weight of Bart Brady were too much for her.

Some years later as the dusty west was being won and old woman wandered into town with the sunrise. She was loaded down with pouches beneath a dusty poncho. As the woman walked down the street she pulled the strap of her rifle to a more comfortable position. The wind caught her poncho and revealed a great many pouches around her waist, as well as two bandoliers crossed across her chest. As the sun rose up into the sky it was sure thing that eventually, it had to set yet again.