the days passed in silence. colt traveled alone, learning the lay of the lonely desert.
the gang never came back.
eventually, the rogue set his sights for the hinterlands once more. there was nothing wrong with going back to the isle, he supposed.
but there was a greater part of the man this time that didn't want to stop for anyone, not hole up for the gang, just keep going and going.
the wide mouth of a basin greeted him, and the tickle of rain over the dry ground cemented his resolve to cross it. just beyond were the teekon wilds, and once there, well. maybe things could reset.
his mind wandered to sadey, to reno. to marston, to gun. to dove. to earp, even boone.
to indra.
the skies changed without him knowing it. the darkness brought thirst, and thirst brought a search for water that ended after a dazed hour without briggs discovering so much as a muddy puddle.
sleep then.
colt woke to blazing light which burnt up the desert in all directions and scorched his eyelids to red blistering. he searched for the shadow of cacti, rock overhangs; anything.
and all the while his tongue scorched for water.
day passed to night. colt found his breath coming harder, and in desperation dug deep into the sand for coldness, coolness; in sickness and with no other recourse, he licked at the grains for any moisture.
another dawn. this time movement was difficult.
but across the basin was the teekons, and every step brought colt closer.
night. day. he hallucinated sadey's voice, jabbered aloud to gun and iseul.
night.
the starlight glittered on waterless earth and a gasping cowboy too weak now to rise.
ah, dammit. a regrettable life? his cracked mouth spread in a final defiant grin.
"i'll be back fer yew, red," colt rasped in a voice barely knowable as words.
witching hour. dawn. red eyes saw no more.
the sun lapped in fire across the still body, which would one day only be more scattered bones in the death-trap for the fleeing traveller.
the gang never came back.
eventually, the rogue set his sights for the hinterlands once more. there was nothing wrong with going back to the isle, he supposed.
but there was a greater part of the man this time that didn't want to stop for anyone, not hole up for the gang, just keep going and going.
the wide mouth of a basin greeted him, and the tickle of rain over the dry ground cemented his resolve to cross it. just beyond were the teekon wilds, and once there, well. maybe things could reset.
his mind wandered to sadey, to reno. to marston, to gun. to dove. to earp, even boone.
to indra.
the skies changed without him knowing it. the darkness brought thirst, and thirst brought a search for water that ended after a dazed hour without briggs discovering so much as a muddy puddle.
sleep then.
colt woke to blazing light which burnt up the desert in all directions and scorched his eyelids to red blistering. he searched for the shadow of cacti, rock overhangs; anything.
and all the while his tongue scorched for water.
day passed to night. colt found his breath coming harder, and in desperation dug deep into the sand for coldness, coolness; in sickness and with no other recourse, he licked at the grains for any moisture.
another dawn. this time movement was difficult.
but across the basin was the teekons, and every step brought colt closer.
night. day. he hallucinated sadey's voice, jabbered aloud to gun and iseul.
night.
the starlight glittered on waterless earth and a gasping cowboy too weak now to rise.
ah, dammit. a regrettable life? his cracked mouth spread in a final defiant grin.
"i'll be back fer yew, red," colt rasped in a voice barely knowable as words.
witching hour. dawn. red eyes saw no more.
the sun lapped in fire across the still body, which would one day only be more scattered bones in the death-trap for the fleeing traveller.
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