It was 1906, the day set on the hottest time of the year. As the sun stretched further and further up high into the clear sea of sky, afternoon approaching steadily, the mid-July weather remained dusty and barren, only the temperature gradually rising. Although the “Wild West” of America had been settled and ventured into by thousands of brave travelers, there were still parts considered uncharted and incapable of holding life – at least that’s what everyone thought. But these were just myths, legends, ghost stories told around the campfire. There were indeed residents; you just had to explore deeper.

If you had lived here for a long time, you would be quite familiar with the landscape: it’s the usual vast expanse of desert and rolling hills. Vegetation of any kind was practically rare, but if you were lucky enough, a shriveled cactus, shrub tuft, or bony tree would poke out of the dead ground like a sore thumb, greeting your weary eyes. The monstrous mountain range could be seen in the distance, casting a kingdom of rock formation and structure. These varied in size, either jutting upwards, disproportionate and deformed, or scaling straight across as a plateau. Ridges pierced along their sides, hiding the trickle of water or, perhaps, habitats for tiny creatures.

Among the silence of the dust land, accompanied only with the occasional whistle of the wind, a figure on horseback appeared upon the horizon. But they were no man, as you may assume; she was a woman. Lucia Mavis was her name, and her character brought nothing but darkness and misfortune. She was often called “the Gunslinger” and that only, most of the time. After getting booted from her position as sheriff not too long ago, she was left stumbling in the enigma’s shadow. But confusion turned to hatred as the same group of men rounded on her, nearly beating her to death; they accused her of treachery for being a minority – although she was originally from Spain – and a woman, claiming that she was unfit for her social status.

But she had managed to escape alive, though only as a bloody mess, too exhausted and too much in pain to move anymore after about a mile. The men had gifted her with over a dozen scars, especially a prominent one grazing her eyebrow, and she loss all of her dignity, and remorse, as a matter of fact. Lucia swore revenge on them; with the burning sensation of payback coursing through her veins with every passing minute, she plotted, and eventually she achieved her retribution. But something changed in her at that very moment. The serene, spirited, ever so benevolent crystal in her soul turned bitterly dark, to the point of crumbling dust. Lucia actually enjoyed her senseless act of violence and immortality, and continued to do so, over and over and over again.

Though she would never hurt the innocent, unless she was really provoked, her guns usually went blazing at marshals and sheriffs. Lucia constantly robbed banks, trains, and people, and had gotten away every single time without a trace. To this very day, she is known as the “fastest gun in America” and a wanted criminal with a bounty of over a thousand on her head. Bounty hunters had attempted to take her down, but it ended with them finding their fate at the end of her pistol.

Lifting her head, and wincing from the cramped stiffness in the back of her neck, Lucia’s eyes scanned around from underneath her dusty hat brim. She patted away some of the accumulated dirt on her clothing and also did the same for her horse’s mane. It had been a rough pass couple of days; her most recent heists were subsequently successful, awarding her with hundreds of dollars. But the newest sheriff and his posse had been on her tail the entire trip. As she took a glance back, she grinned ever so slightly at finally being alone.

She gently prodded her horse’s side with the heels of her boots, urging him onward at a slow trot. Her main priority was to find refuge, particularly somewhere well away from civilization; she had no exact place in mind, and so she continued riding along the bleak pathway, which appeared covered in so much sand that it was vaguely noticeable. The sun’s rays glared down on her, piercing through her thin duster and causing sweat to form in every pore on her body, soaking through her clothes. Her hair, short and as dark as raven feathers, was in disarray, annoyingly blowing into her face whenever the wind picked up.

Upon traveling a few more miles southwest, as judging from the trajectory of the sun, a lone farmhouse stood tall against the desert that framed its shape. Lucia couldn’t help but arch an eyebrow at the scene, stifling a slight snicker that had breached her sealed lips. A farmhouse without the presence of an actual farm or at least a grain soil was an odd sight, and its position in these dusty wastelands was just plain absurd. However, unescorted by a second thought, Lucia snapped her horse’s reins, leading him to the house’s front.

She jumped off and fell to the ground with a suppressed grunt, her duster coat flapping in the wind. After adjusting her hat and pulling the gray bandana over her nose and mouth, she walked up to the entrance, banging on the door with a fist. It opened within a minute and a middle-aged man stood at the doorway, dressed in a casual buttoned shirt and overalls.

“Good evening, sir,” she said coolly, smiling even though the bandana covered her mouth. “Mind if I stay here for a bit?” It was an immediate thought that she previously had no plan to proceed with, but she desperately needed to lay low for a bit, and these farm folk were just the trick.

The man’s face drained of color as he studied her from head to toe, his eyes briefly darting to the holstered pistols on her belt. Taking a cautious step back, he had to grab a hold onto the door to keep his balance, his mouth forming a perfectly straight line against the hard creases of his complexion.

“So, I assume that’s a yes?” Lucia asked, her brow rising slightly, tongue poking into the inside of her cheek.

“Y-you’re… her. T-the Gunslinger,” the man began, his words jumbling as they refused to come out.

“Uh, sure,” she divulged. “I haven’t accepted that little title as my own, so I don’t exactly like it. But it is quite satisfying. Gunslinger,” she repeated the word, grinning in the smuggest way possible. “Yes, it rolls off my tongue like the sweetest candy.”

“You better get out of here!” The man suddenly snapped; the cowardice that once glazed his face had turned to an absurd look of fury. “I-I’m serious, or I’ll call the sheriff!”

“And how exactly would you do that?” Lucia inquired oh so curiously, her eyes burning into the man. Her sugarcoated appearance of kindness and courtesy had shredded down to her true self, and the dark acids of insanity had started to boil in the pit of her stomach. “You can’t just magically call him all the way to the nearest town now, can you? Oh, that’s right, you can’t. It’s not possible. That is over five miles away.” She banged her fist into the doorway frame, fingernails digging into the soft wood.

Disappearing out of her view for merely a second, the man returned with an old shotgun. Lucia allowed a rather loud laugh to make itself known.

“You’re not serious, right? That thing looks like it has seen better days,” she sunk a hand below to her waist, quickly flipping the pistol out of its sheath. The gun’s tip gleamed wickedly in the dying light of the sun.

The man considered not letting his guard down and instead aimed the shotgun directly at her. “D-don’t make me do this. Now go on, git!”

Lucia sighed, rolling her eyes, “You bore me,” and she shot him, straight through the heart, cleanly and efficiently. The gunshot was emphatic enough to make even her flinch as it rang out over the silent desert, and she watched as he fell to the ground, clutching at the bullet wound that seeped crimson through his fingers. Glancing at his body, she let out a huff and rubbed her face, stepping into the house without looking back. This was probably her first – maybe second – time killing an innocent, and all for a pathetic reason. The crime and bloodshed was definitely doing something to her mind – something undeniably drastic.

She wasn’t even a few feet inside before the commotion of panicked screams and whimpers hit her ears and, keeping a firm hand on her pistol, she turned the corner and into a separate room. Although the house appeared largely structured on the outside, the interior was rather cramped, offering a few rooms and a single staircase. And there, cowering behind the ancient assortment of badly designed chairs, was a woman accompanied with two children, both boys. Lucia relaxed the tension along her arms, her face showing little emotion; her fingertip lightly touched the smooth surface on one of the pistols.

“Please… please, don’t hurt us!” The woman begged as she held the two boys closer, her cheeks stained with fresh tears. “Take whatever you want, just don’t shoot!”

For once, empathy was etched into Lucia’s soul, inducing her to completely soften the tightness deep in her muscles. She stared at the three of them, eyes slowly switching to each of their faces: the fear on the woman’s and the utter confusion and indifference upon both of the boys. She suspected they were far too young to even think about what was happening.

Lucia muttered, “I’m sorry,” more to herself than to them, before pivoting around and bolting out of the house, tearing her bandana off in the process. After mounting her horse in a hurry, she kicked him and they advanced, dashing over the sandy plains, until the house was well out of sight. She tugged on the reins, earning her an objective whinny, and leaned forward in the saddle, resting her forehead on the horse’s unruly mane. She had deliberately killed the man back there – all for her amusement, too. She had taken away a husband and father; he was an innocent who didn’t deserve that kind of fate.

“Well, well, having trouble, I see?”

That voice, smoothly tenor and as venomous as the fangs of a rattlesnake, broke through the thick air; Lucia alarmingly picked her head up, turning it to the side. Another horse stood not too far from her, strikingly white, with a rider wearing a smile. It was him, the new sheriff who had been chasing her for the past week. His demeanor was calm and reserved as he led his horse forward, pausing just a foot away. She glared at him, bitterness rising in her core. 

“I bet you thought you had escaped me back there,” he said, pointing at her fleetingly. “All I can is…you’re impressive. Your skills outmatch mine by far.”

He was…complimenting her? Lucia’s glare faded into a bewildered stare; her mouth opened to say something, but was closed as nothing decided to emerge.

“You know,” he began, shrugging. “This would be a good time to say thank you.”

“I have nothing to say to you,” she retorted and grabbed the handle of her pistol, but stopped halfway as the sheriff had his own aim on her, his stupid grin taunting her.

“Not so fast now are you, eh Gunslinger?”

Lifting her hands reluctantly in the air, she said, “So what, you’re just going to kill me? No arrest or trial?”

“Sure, I could kill you on the spot,” his words made her cringe, but not enough so that it was noticeable. “But I wish to propose something.”

“What?” she absently lowered her arms, looking at him in pure consternation. “Whoa, whoa, wait. Before you talk to me any further, what’s your name? I can’t just keep on referring to you as ‘the a****** sheriff,’ or should I?”

With a genuine laugh, he shoved the revolver into the holster on his horse’s saddle. “No, that won’t be necessary. But say, I don’t know your real name. No one does, actually. So tell me.”

“Tell you what?”

Exasperation flicked across his eyes, and Lucia would be lying if she said they weren’t alluring; both were pale green, shining brilliantly under the shadow of his hat’s brim. “Don’t play dumb, Gunslinger.”

“Fine,” she sighed, glancing down and then back up to him. “Lucia.”

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” he replied. “And I suppose you earn a reward. They call me Carter.”

“Who’s ‘they?’” she said immediately, gripping her horse’s reins within her chaffed hands.

“Just… my friends,” he asserted and rubbed the back of his neck. “Or people, in general.”

“Uh-huh, okay. Anyway, what were you saying before, oh, something about a proposal? C’mon, chop, chop, I don’t like to be kept waiting.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” Carter muttered, taking off his hat and setting it behind him, dust floating up from its top. He had trimmed, light brown hair with a single bang that drooped down his forehead. Pushing a hand through those very locks, he said, “Okay, you probably won’t believe me, but I’m telling you, I am dead serious. I’m… not really sheriff.”

“Huh?” Lucia blurted out.

“Yeah, I’m actually… just like you,” he announced, the ghost of a smile upon his lips. “I lied, stole, and manipulated my way to the top, just so that I could become sheriff.”

“What? No, no,” she held up a hand, shaking her head. “Why would you become a sheriff if you’re secretly like that?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I wanted the power and glory without even doing anything, plus did you know that people often call me a casanova?” Carter loosened the bandana around his neck, as well as fixing the lapels of his vest.

“That’s hard to believe,” Lucia claimed while standing up in the saddle for a second, boots heavy in the stirrups. Her horse shifted, but she had plopped back down, smoothing a hand over his broad neck. “So spit it out, cowboy, why did you really come to me?”

“Huh, I’m sure you’ll deny this, but –“

“You’re a pessimist, hmm?” she said teasingly.

Ignoring her comment, he continued after breathing out heavily, “I need your help. Behind the frontlines, I have always admired you, from how you successfully rob the blind to shooting down a crowd of marshals twice your size… it’s extraordinary, really, especially coming from a woman, and I don’t mean that against you.”

“Cut to the chase.” Lucia snapped as she remained a bit skeptical of him, her hand resting on her hip, inches away from the pistol holster.

“All right! I would like to have you as my partner,” he said. “Not in a romantic way, as you may have assumed, but – uh – hmm, kinda like a partner in crime.”

“Are you that desperate?”

“No, not all at all,” Carter interjected, eyeing her with slight animosity. “You see, I plan to betray my posse, whom think I’m their leader and friend. They need to realize who I truly am. It won’t be pretty, but I gotta do it. So now that you know all of this, Lucia, what do you say? I know it’s not as detailed and clear as I wanted it to be, but please. It would be a pleasure working with you.”

Lucia thought for the moment, her gaze drifting out into landscape surrounding them. As the sun set for the arrival of night, its fiery aura disappearing behind the rocky canyons, shadows were cast over the endless reach of wasteland. She smiled ever so slightly. “I’ll think about it.”