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Weekly Contest #24
“Water…please, I need water…help…they’re after me,” the man rasped, slumped into his horse’s mane, one hand grasping it weakly as the other waved a battered, empty water canteen in the air. His wide-brimmed hat was perilously close to toppling from his head. Both steed and rider were coated in grime and fine red dust from travelling the frontier plains. The harsh, dazzling sun had done its work, beating them into thirsty submission. “My name is…Silas ‘Sureshot’ McLeod,” he coughed, trying to look around. “You must have heard of me.” Silas an...
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