The Devil's Teardrops

An hour later he watched as a rider crested the mesa, headed in the direction of town. The man carefully shouldered his rifle without disturbing branches of brush, and put the front sight on his human mark. The Sharps had a range of over eight hundred yards, though kills had been made at a thousand, like the shot Billie Dixon took during the Adobe Wells Indian fight. That shot covered a thousand yards and Dixon had hit an Comanche War Chief dead center.

The rider closed the distance. The Avenging Angel could make out his mode of dress with a telescope. He wore a tan cotton duster and wide-brimmed felt hat. Under the duster he appeared to have on a short, black, Spanish jacket, a light blue cotton shirt, and tailor-cut trousers tucked into polished, high-topped boots that reflected sunlight. The Avenging Angel thought, He dresses like a dude. but draws a Colt quick-like, and shoots with accuracy. The Avenging Angel took one last look through his glass and noticed the rider's horse seemed to be top quality and moved with a good gait.

As the Avenging Angel mentally measured off the changing distance. The rider came nearer until his frame filled the Sharps' front sight. The Avenging Angel took a deep breath, held it, and slowly squeezed off a shot. POW!  The explosion echoed down into the valley below, and as the powder smoke cleared, the Avenging Angel watched the riderless horse buck-jump a few yards, then stand with reins hanging free. The Avenging Angel couldn't see the man called Falon, for he was lying behind a small mound of dirt. The killer whispered to flying insects "Ah, me bucko, I can see your pretty boot sticking out, and it's moving. Must've got you in the chest, 'cause you're still kicking. Oh, well...not for long," and drew another sight picture before he pulled the trigger. Falon’s boot actually exploded when the lead slug hit it in its arch. The Avenging Angel waited for several minutes, then became fearful that someone might have heard the heavy caliber rifle and try to interfere with his kill. He began to circle around the mound of dirt with caution born from years of hunting men. At first he could see the felt hat laying some feet away, then a hand and arm--they were motionless. The Avenging Angel rose from his crouching position and walked toward his victim. He kept his rifle at the ready, finger on the trigger, but  saw no movement. The Avenging Angel said aloud, "You killed my partner, and I shot you. Next, I'll get yore friend, but he'll suffer longer'n you that's for sure." He took another step and stopped in complete shock.

"I don't think so,"  Falon whispered just loud enough to be heard as he rose from the ground to settle on his right knee while bringing up his Colt revolver. Before the Avenging Angel could react, Falon shot him twice in the chest and once more in the head, which blew apart like a ripe melon. "I can see by your head that you are surprised.  Well, mister, I saw you move before daylight, and knew you'd wait until I got close before shooting. I watched you take aim, and by luck, dove as you fired. And again by luck, you didn't see me wiggle my foot out of my expensive boot that you ruined. Hell, I would've killed you just for that."