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The sun bore down on them like God Himself was staring.  It hanged high like a marvel in the sky with its power eradiating heat onto the poor souls of this wretched dust ball.  And on this dust ball in the middle of the western frontier was one fight.  One last fight of a tired old man.  A fight the old man had not asked for, he did not look for and he did not plan on fighting.  He looked up, his weathered features showed a hint of beauty, a hint that maybe Adonis had come back to grace this Earth with his grace one more.    His hands were wrapped in old rags sitting atop an old six shooter that still craved the blood of the young and old, man and woman, boy or girl, human or creature.  He looked around at this shit of a town and saw young and old standing around eagerly awaiting the coming duel.  Beer, whiskey, smokes, and the like were passed around candy.  Children stood behind their mothers legs wanting to see why everyone was so excited.  The Old Man did not want to do this…He didn’t want to keep feeding this monster on his hip.

            The young shooter at the edge of town looked across at his opponent.  He was the fastest shooter they said, but by the look of the Old Man, he had nothing.  This young Shooter was hired, because he was the best.  He knew it and that is why they hired him because they knew it as well.  His hands were the fastest.  He had proved it in San Lans and he would prove it again here.  The Old Man had been biding him off for weeks.   Finally, after the Thunderstorm he finally gave in to his challenge.  High Noon Saturday.  It was perfect.  The whole county and hell, the whole territory had a chance to come out and see how good the Shooter was, and how the myth of the Old Man was nothing more, but what Legends were made out of. 

            The whole town and the whole territory had shown up.  They had a weeks notice to and by God, they showed up.  No one knew anything of the Old Man, but the whispers and the stories they had heard as an young one.  “He” once fought off WHOLE SLINGER, a 20 man gang, all by himself.  “He” shot and killed the entire Matheson family and bathed his gun in the blood of the children.  “He” was actually the Prince of Lies, no, no they whispered no, he had sold his soul to the Devil for that gun to make his the fastest, straightest shooter the world had ever known.  No one knew for sure.  All anyone knew was that the Old Man was about to fall and their Champion would be held high….

            The Old Man looked up at the town clock.  It read 5 till Noon.  He hadn’t much time.  He had to convince the Shooter to give it up and head home, that he wasn’t worth the money.  “SHOOTER!  You might think you are the fastest and you might be.  You want to kill me because that is what you have been hired for,” his raspy voice rang out for all to hear, “You don’t know what you are getting yourself into.  I can help you.  I want to help you.  I want you to live on God’s Green Earth, not six feet under.  You need to just walk away.  I won’t think less of a man of you.  And if don’t matter what any of these pieces of spit thinks.  They ain’t anything, but cowards bringing you into something that never concerned you in the least.  I don’t want to kill you.  It’s the gun.  The gun she cries and begs for your blood.  It will kill you.  It is faster and it is more commanding then any bitch in this world or the next.  You don’t want to become just another soul to it.  Walk away now and you