The only thing I hear is my spurs jingling with each slow step down a wide, dirt street and the surrounding buildings moaning in the gentle, desert, spring wind. Everything is bright and pale but I can only focus on one thing: my foe. Their hand lays resting on their weapon holster as they look at me between the small gap between their bandana and their large hat.
I talk with an edge in my voice, “You don't wanna do that, son. Not here. Not in my town.” I spit to the side so they know what I really think of them.
Their eyes narrow and the top of the bandana raised as if they are smiling.
I lay my hand on my holster and narrow my eyes in response.
To the untrained eye, we pull our weapons and throw them at the same time, but I am skilled. There's no being as good as me in the entire region. I dodge their banana by jumping far to my right but I hit them so square and hard in the face they fall down. More fruit starts flying out of the buildings on either side of us.
I jump into a horse water trough to get out of the line of fire. I hold my breath for as long as I can. When I come up and shake the water off of my head I see the rapscallion just escaping the pile of fruit they were under and running out of town.
“It won't be the last we see of this fool,” I say to myself as I wake up.