Red

‘There weren’t always dragons in the valley.’

Red said nothing. The silence sat unsated. Weighed down by the hot noonday air. Restlessly watching the two opposing figures of the horsemen. The stranger was right. It was high summer, and Red could see the last hint of green had long been scorched away in all directions by the tyrannical sun overhead. His horse shuffled at the dirt nervously. So did the horse of the stranger. Dragons didn’t belong in these parts. But the big city keeps getting bigger. Pushing the ranchers out further out into the dust. And the ranchers they push the wildcats, the bears and the – Thwack!

The stranger slapped a sweaty right palm against his neck and gave off a look of stunned surprise. As though he’d never expected to hit what he was aiming at and wasn’t too pleased as the sensation either. After a quick inspection of the palm-sized crumple of scales and ooze in his hand, the stranger flicked the remains of the dragon from his fingers to the path below. The critter fell where it was flung with an uncharacteristic thud almost lost in the cushion of dirt that covered near everything in the valley. It was a big one. Not as big as the city folk with their tall tales would have you believe mind. But a real porker nonetheless.

About a dozen more of the resentful little reptiles hovered acrimoniously around the stranger’s head. Puffing tiny yellow spits of flame in his direction, before following the trajectory of their free meal. Bickering at the edge of the lonely trail where the two horsemen lingered. Eyeing each other intrusively. The drone of more and more troublesome leathery wings filling the hot air around them.

‘Where you headed?’ the stranger offered the sweltering stillness. Still rubbing away the few shimmering scales that lingered, gore-stuck to his neck. Red didn’t answer. Where he was headed depended entirely on the stranger. Where they were both headed for that matter. ‘You goin’ to Waterdown you come too far,’ the stranger went on. ‘There’s a fork not an hour back up the path that’ll take ya clear out the valley. Have you there by sunset. Ain’t nothing that way,’ the stranger hoisted a thumb over his shoulder, ‘but empty valley, all the way to Ridgeback. Not e’en a drop a water neither. River’s all dried up. Just dirt and sand and –‘ a splutter of flames peppered the ear of the stranger, ‘and damn dragons that’s what!’ He removed his ragged board-brim and swooped it ineffectually around his head.

The dragons had taken a keen interest in the two horsemen, much to the stranger’s dismay. Their numbers swelled about them. Making the oppressive heat all the more claustrophobic. They circled in squadrons, that Clumped together in flights. Bloating, until they were a swarm of tiny scales and claws and heckling tails. Hovering uninvited over the scene.

The jerking movement of the stranger and his hat made his horse fluster and shuffle itself uncomfortably on the narrow path. Bringing into Red’s eyeline for the first time, the profile of the man and his horse. Red cocked his head, casting two keen eyes over the stranger. Before resting them on the man’s left hand. It was wrapped several times over with a blood-spotted handkerchief.

‘That looks nasty,’ Red declared, with as much sympathy as a Fangspitter-cactus. The stranger wrapped the reigns of his horse self-consciously around the offending hand.

‘Damnedest thing, cut it bad breaking camp s’mornin.’

‘hmm,’ said Red.

‘Looks worse than it is really. Don’t hurt much at all now.’

‘What’d you say your name was?’ Red asked. The stranger eyed Red.

‘I didn’t, it’s Jed though,’ He offered. Wearily enough for Red not to believe him.

‘You should get that checked out, Jed,’ said Red. ‘Can’t be too careful.’

‘You right I s’pose,’ the stranger replied. Red having made up his mind that Jed did not exist. Not here, not on this path, not in this valley anyway. The stranger went on, ‘I’ll be sure and see Doc Layton over in Waterdown. Get it patched up proper.’

Red smiled. He finally knew where he was headed.

‘Doc Layton,’ said Red, ‘that’s not Walter Layton by any chance?’

The stranger eyed Red. As if unsure whether he was happier with a mute outsider or a talking one.

‘Nawww. No that’d be Ben,’ he offered in a tone people take on when they get tired of company, ‘Ben Layton. I don’t know no Walter Layton.’

‘Shoot,’ said Red, ‘I was close.’

‘Close?’ said the stranger.

‘Well, Ben’s short for William ain’t it?’

The stranger’s brow furrowed, taking on the same tanned troughs and peaks of the surrounding valley. He stiffened in his saddle. Made one or two motions as if he was about to speak. Then gave up on the idea. Giving the punishing heat and the oppressive beating of dragon wings the floor.

‘Tell me something,’ said Red, ‘when you see Doc Layton,’ he paused looking the stranger up and down as he spoke, ‘you planning on giving his horse back?’

A sudden crack pierced the tedious drone of the dragon swam. Which evaporated into the arid blue sky in all directions. A pleasantly acrid smoke twirled from Red’s revolver. The stranger’s gun fell impotently from his outstretched hand and into the dirt. Followed closely by the thud of the stranger himself. Following him, his saddle bags, and his kit. Last but not least, a ragged broad-brim swooped lazily down over the dead man’s face. The stranger’s horse took off at a canter, leaving Red alone with the sad pile on the path. Probably making its own way back to Waterdown. All the happier with the load off its back.

Over its initial shock. The swarm off circling dragons descended once more. Swelling like a storm cloud over the fallen stranger. Some of the braver ones even stooped to land and scurry over the dead man like starving salamanders.

A glint caught Red’s eye. ‘C’mon Seamus.’ He tucked his side arm away and steered his horse in for a closer look. The leather flap of an over-stuffed saddle bag hung loose on the dusty track. The initials W.L. stamped in the leather. From that loose opening, a small, twinkling river of yellow poured. Small enough, that Red decided to leave it to the gathering swarm that crawled and snapped and squealed over it.

He steered Seamus’ clicking hooves in a wide arc around the scene, unmolested by the quarrelling mass and made his way down the lazy path into the charred valley below. There weren’t always dragons in the valley. Red mused. But there was now. And that meant only one thing.

Gold.