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The sun sets on the prairie, its fading light casting ruddy gold shadows on the far-reaching, towering clouds above. Sage and shortgrass stand still in the breezeless evening. Jackrabbits twitch their noses, looking attentively for predators.
The jackrabbits scatter as a horse rushes by like a strike of lightning. The horse’s rider, seated above, leans hard as he pushes her forward, pays the jackrabbits no mind. He has no interest in that sort of game. He hunted one thing and one thing only – one man. The only man he’d never killed.
That hunter was Mad Dog, and his quarry was The Sundown Kid.
Mad Dog hated to admit it, even just to himself, but this had been the roughest search he’d ever undertaken. He wasn’t sure whether he liked the idea of The Kid leaving him breadcrumbs to follow every time before this one, but there’d been no such luck this time. He’d covered his tracks too well. It was as if no living soul had seen him. No put-out cigars, no horseshoe prints, no scraps of meals. Not even a pile of goddamn horse dung.
He was good. Mad Dog knew that about him. He’d almost say he admired it. But recently, it was just frustrating. It was like a woman fleeing the coop and taking everything her man owned with her. It was just… impolite.
When he’d finally stumbled on just one, just one single clue, he’d leaped on it like his very namesake. A man matching The Kid’s description, headed southeast from a ghost town three days ago. Vagrant had seen him, by chance.
Too long. Too far. Too vague. But it’s all he has.
He won’t stop for anything now. He wno’t stop until his horse keels over dead and him with it. He knows this is the one. He’ll get his duel. He’ll get his duel and The Kid will be dead and that will be the end of it all.
So suddenly he pulls back on his reins and startles his horse, he sees it, just barely visible against the orange and purple hues of the sun. The rising smoke, far away on the rising mesas. A campfire, plain to see. It doesn’t make sense, making a campfire that visible to onlookers. It’s not like The Kid. It’s far too sloppy.
He won’t ignore it. He won’t take any chances.
He pushes his ride harder, faster.
When he reaches the mesa, he doesn’t even hesitate, or try to find a smoother slope to climb its surface. He can tell just by looking that it isn’t so steep that he can’t make it. He jumps off his ride, grabs onto the rocky surface, and starts to pull his way up, taking every foothold and handhold he can get. It’s surprisingly easy. It almost gives itself to him, like even the Lord’s Earth herself won’t stand in his way any longer.
He pulls himself up over the rim soon enough. Doesn’t reach for his revolver – just looks past the campire, still burning. Not a trace of life up here. No creature comforts. Not even a horse, strangely, which gives him a moment of pause.
There’s just Sundown, sitting as casually as he always does, one leg slack, the other bent at the knee. Mad Dog buries the grin that threatens to split his face and saunters over. Just five seconds and it already feels so familiar - like old times.
He pulls out the revolver now, spins the trigger betweem his fingers with practiced ease, then puts the barrel under the rim of his hat to raise it.
“Thought you’d outsmart me this time, I see,” he says with a smirk. “You know it don’t work like that.”
No response. No surprises there. How many times has The Kid not said a single word to him? He truly must be an awful lover.
“You almost had me too,” Mad Dog admits. He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, but presses on. “Ain’t like you to slip up like this. You going easy on me or something, Kid?”
No response. Still just what he expects.
“Well, I didn’t come all this way for you to give me the cold shoulder. Draw.”
The Kid doesn’t move.
“Draw.”
Mad Dog notices, for the first time, that The Kid’s eyes are closed. He almost sees red, and not even from the sunset behind him. He tracked him this long, after all this time, and The Kid doesn’t even have the decency, the respect, to be awake for it?!
He raises the revolver and points it straight between Sundown’s still closed eyes.
“Draw, you son of a bitch, or I’ll shoot you dead right now!”
The Kid doesn’t move or respond.
That’s all Mad Dog can take. He shoves his revolver back in its holster, rushes over, and shoves his shoulder, a yell already rising to his throat.
And The Kid collapses like a stack of playing cards. He starts falling backwards, then his own gravity pulls him onto his side. All Mad Dog can see, as he stares blankly down, arm extended, is The Kid’s poncho, a pile of clothes. The Kid’s hat flops off the back of his head, the scant wind ruffling his gray hair.
No.
No.
No no no.
Mad Dog is on his knees next to him before he can even think. He rolls him onto his back, scans his body (not the body, Mad Dog reminds himself, his body, Sundown’s body) for any sign of injuries, bloodstains, even a fucking snakebite, if that’s what it takes.
Not a thing. He examines Sundown’s face. It’s wet with sweat, still fresh. He must have collapsed less than an hour ago, maybe even minutes ago.
But there’s no sign of breath.
Mad Dog feels like the world is sideways. This just isn’t… it’s not possible. The Kid can’t just go and die, damn it! He can’t just go and leave him with nothing! He can’t just end their game just like that! What the hell is he supposed to do now?! He can’t even get revenge on the bastard who did him in because, of all things, the bastard who did in Sundown is the Lord above?!
He won’t allow it. He won’t.
He leans down over Sundown’s body, over his face, and roughly yanks his mouth open. Still no breath – not even the familiar smell of whiskey and cigars.
Well, if he has to breathe life into him like the Lord breathed life into Adam, so be it.
He presses his lips against the other man’s, and exhales. Raises himself for another breath, leans in, presses his lips against Sundown’s, exhales. Over and over.
Sundown doesn’t breathe out.
“God damn it,” Mad Dog says, and it’s not even a bark of anger. It’s so quiet he can barely hear it himself. “God damn it, you… you bastard, you fucking… you can’t…”
He raises a fist and brings it down onto Sundown’s unmoving chest.
“You owe me!”
Nothing happens. The only thing Mad Dog has is the tears falling onto Sundown’s chest. It feels like a joke. He’s never cried in his whole damn life, no matter how bad things got. Didn’t even cry when Ma died. And here he is, turning into a mess in front of the only...
He hears a cough.
Mad Dog doesn’t raise his head. Just the death knell of a corpse. Everything they had, everything Sundown was, and he dies with barely a whimper.
And then he hears an achingly familiar voice, gentle as a pond and as rough as a current.
“You ain’t supposed to be here.”
Mad Dog has to choke back the cry of relief that threatens to overcome him. He tries his best to look proper again, even with the tears still fresh, and looks The Kid in the eyes. The Kid’s eyes are half-lidded, and his gaze is distant. Mad Dog tries not to think about that.
“Ain’t a place I’d rather be,” he says. “Promised I’d be the one to do you in. I don’t break a promise.”
“That so,” Sundown says. A short pause, and in the same flat tone, “Better shoot now then.”
“That’s not how we play this game and you know it,” Mad Dog says. “We duel like men. I didn’t come all this way just to shoot a…” Mad Dog swallows. “A dying man.”
The Kid breathes out. He looks peaceful, Mad Dog thinks. The thought makes him even angrier, somehow, but it’s not directed at The Kid in the slightest. All he can think of is the unfairness. The idea of The Kid dying like this is so unlikely, so absurd, it might as well be a piano falling from the sky.
“Had a feeling you’d say that,” Sundown says.
The Kid doesn’t say another word, but he doesn’t need to for Mad Dog to understand what he hasn’t said aloud. It’s ridiculous. It’s also the only thing that makes sense.
“Well, you did a shit job,” Mad Dog spits. “Anyone could have put a bullet ‘tween your eyes by now.”
“I had a cat, you know,” Sundown says. It’s said like a reply, even though it has nothing to do with what Mad Dog just said. Mad Dog narrows his eyes – he feels like he’s being mocked. The Kid loves to talk like this, all riddles. Like he knows more than anyone. More than Mad Dog.
He doesn’t speak over him, though. Just lets him talk. He’s never heard Sundown talk about himself, whether he’s telling the truth or not.
“Cat lived fifteen years, maybe. Vicious, mean little thing. Thought she was unkillable. One day, she was just gone. Couldn’t find her anywhere.”
Mad Dog had never heard The Kid talk this much about anything. He tried to speak, to make some remark. Nothing came.
“Turns out she hid in the rafters,” Sundown says.
And then The Kid goes silent again.
“Let me see if I understand this metaphor,” Mad Dog says. “You’re the cat?”
“Maybe,” Sundown says. “Maybe I just wanted the view.”
Mad Dog wrenches his eyes away from Sundown and looks at where the setting sun had been moments ago.
“Sun’s already set, Kid. Afraid you missed it.”
“Not that view.”
Mad Dog turns back towards The Kid, and follows The Kid’s gaze.
The stars.
“We’re already dying, Mad Dog,” Sundown says. “One day, there’ll be none of this.”
“Heaven’s eternal, Kid,” Mad Dog responds. “Whether you believe in that kind of thing or not.”
“Surprised you do.”
Mad Dog scoffs.
“Enough chit-chat, Kid,“ he says. “Tell me what I can do.”
Sundown, once more, does not reply. He just cotninues to stare straight ahead, not at Mad Dog, but at the stars above.
“I’m saving your life,” Mad Dog insists.
“If you say so.”
“So we can have our duel,” Mad Dog says. It sounds ridiculous even to his own ears – saving a man’s life just so you can take it. Even a man like The Kid wouldn’t understand. It’s not about common sense. It’s a need, like breathing.
The Kid says nothing.
“I said, tell me what I can do,” Mad Dog says. “I ain’t quitting on you, and you ain’t giving up the ghost on me.”
“We’re already dying, Mad Dog,” The Kid says again. Mad Dog’s mouth sets.
“This ain’t like you!” Mad Dog demands. “I know you a damn sight better than that! You telling me that’s it?! After everything we’ve done been through?!”
“Yep.”
“Then get up,” Mad Dog snaps.
“Don’t think I will.”
“Get up and die a man’s death.”
“Don’t have to get up for that.”
Mad Dog stands to his feet. Once again, he draws his revolver and aims it at The Kid’s chest.
“I’ll do it,” Mad Dog says. “It ain’t righteous of me. But I will.”
“Mhm,” Sundown says in response.
Mad Dog concentrates. Centers his aim. Right at the heart.
His hand is shaking like a leaf.
No, not just his hand. Everything. His legs feel like he’s drunk.
“This how you want to go then?” Mad Dog demands, grinning a grin that doesn’t feel like a grin anymore. “Shot through the heart?”
“Not how I want to, no.”
Mad Dog steps forward, even though Sundown is right in front of him. Sundown still stares at the night sky – doesn’t even look his direction.
“Then why’d you do it?!” Mad Dog yells. His voice doesn’t echo off the mesa, off the prairie. It just goes on and on, forever. “You must’ve known you were at death’s door! How long? Why didn’t you tell me, goddamn it?!”
“Already told you why,” Sundown replies.
“God damn you,” Mad Dog says, lowering his revolver.
“He sure will,” says The Kid. Mad Dog picks up the slightest difference in his voice. It’s starting to sound delirious, distant. He looks closely and sees the sweat starting to roll down The Kid’s brow once again, the slightly labored breathing.
He won’t allow this to happen. He won’t.
“The Lord ain’t allowed to take you,” Mad Dog says. “Ain’t nobody allowed to have you but me.”
The Kid barks a laugh. Mad Dog has never heard him laugh once, and it startles him.
“Like a lover, huh.”
Mad Dog blinks in surprise. His cheeks grow warm, in spite of himself, and he lowers his gaze and dips his hat to hide his face.
“Lord have mercy,” he says, softly.
“You ever wish you’d been born a woman, Mad Dog?”
It’s a strange thing for The Kid to say, Mad Dog thinks, even considering his current state. But somehow, in that moment, the question makes sense.
“Sometimes,” he admits.
“Thought so.”
Mad Dog doesn’t look up.
“Just. Stand up, Kid. If we’re dying men, so be it. Let’s end it right.”
The Kid says nothing. Mad Dog still doesn’t look up, half afraid of what he’ll see.
“Alright,” Sundown says.
There’s a shuffling, and a grunt of exertion. The hat that fell off Sundown’s head gets picked up off the ground. Mad Dog still doesn’t look up. He doesn’t look at Sundown at all.
“Ten paces,” Mad Dog says, turning around and holstering his revolver. He hears footsteps, and without looking, knows Sundown is behind him.
Sundown says nothing further. Mad Dog starts to walk.
“One.”
“Two.”
“Three.”
“Four.”
“Five.”
“Six.”
“Seven.”
“Eight.”
“Nine.”
Mad Dog doesn’t even breathe.
“Ten.”
He whips around. For a brief, split second before he reaches for his revolver, he sees Sundown cradling his side with his left arm. Then there’s a flash, an explosive bang that makes Mad Dog’s ears ring. Not even a second later, Sundown collapses onto his knees and falls forward. Plumes of dirt and dust rise around him, then fade into the air.
There is no more sound. Mad Dog can’t even hear himself breathe.
It takes Mad Dog a long, long moment to realize that he didn’t even raise his own gun.
It takes Mad Dog an even longer moment to realize his hat is laying upside-down a few feet away, a hole in it at just the right angle to go through the brim and miss his skull.
He knows without even looking.
Sundown is dead.
“You son of a bitch,” he says, almost a whisper. Then he yells, shattering the silence. “You son of a bitch!”
Sundown does not reply. Once more, there is no sound anywhere.
“Couldn’t even do me the decency of taking me with you, huh?” Mad Dog finally says, much more quietly. He feels somehow perfectly calm and incredibly furious at the same time. He doesn’t know what to make of it, what to call it. It’s like an entirely different emotion than either, one he can’t possibly name. “Betcha thought it was some kinda mercy, didn’t you? Making me keep living in a world without you.”
Mad Dog pulls his gaze from the body. He doesn’t want to look at it any longer. He feels he should bury it – that it’s the right thing to do. But some part of him feels it’s the wrong thing to do too, so he won’t. If he had to put the thought into words, it’s as if Sundown belongs to the world. To be eaten by buzzards, to be a meal for coyotes, until he’s nothing but bones melting in the sunlight… when he thinks of it like that, it doesn’t feel right to hide his body six feet under.
“Well, I’ll have my duel one day,” he says as he walks away, away from the campfire, back towards his horse down in the prairie below. “A proper one. That’s a promise. And I don’t break promises.”
Of course, there’s still no sunset to greet him as he stares out over the dark, silent prairie. There’s nothing to greet him at all. Everything’s behind him now.
And yet he’ll keep living. He won’t take his own life. It’s not cowardice that stays his hand. It’s not even a sense that there’s anything for him to look forward to now.
Only two things are allowed to kill him: The Lord and The Kid. And now there’s just The Lord.
Mad Dog breathes in, then out.
One day it’ll all be gone.
“See you in hell, cowboy.”