Breck's Last Job

This item was written for
Froggy's BIG
(A different kind of cop story)
CONTEST

Breck Coleman jerked his head back suddenly and opened his eyes wide, trying to force himself awake. His horse slowly continued its leisurely pace as Breck looked around to determine how far he’d traveled. He knew he should have stopped long ago, but he was anxious to finish this job, his last, and get back home. He shook his head and patted his horse’s neck, more for his own reassurance than for the horse’s.

Streaks of red and orange filled the sky as the sun began to set behind the hills. If he rode through the night, he’d be in Sweetwater before morning but he wanted to be wide-awake when he faced Buck Gordon.

Buck Gordon was as mean as they come. When he killed a sheriff in Oregon, the bounty had risen so high, it looked like his time was up, but Gordon managed to just disappear. Then Breck had received the letter from Sweetwater. Mary begged Breck not to take the job, but Breck merely gave her that slow smile and promised he would return.

Better to get some sleep now and ride into town in the daylight, Breck decided. A gentle pull on the reins brought his horse to a stop and he looked for a good place to set up camp for the night. As he searched the surrounding area, the familiar prickly feeling on the back of his neck warned him that something was not right. He strained to hear the sound that didn’t belong but there was no warning rustle before the shot rang out in the cool evening air.

He rolled off his horse and reached for his gun as the bullet dug into the hill behind him. His horse trotted away, startled by the sound, while Breck found cover behind a couple large boulders at the foot of the hill. In the fading light, his eyes scanned the hills around him searching for some clue as to where the attacker was hiding. The seconds passed slowly while he sat motionless waiting for something to happen. As the darkness closed in around him, he heard the faint sound of retreating hoof beats then the night became silent.

Breck sighed and began to relax but did not leave the cover of the boulders. He’d let his guard down. It had almost been his last mistake. He knew he couldn’t let that happen again. As he berated himself for his carelessness, his horse silently walked up to him and snorted softly.

“Hello, old friend,” he said. “Sorry, I don’t think we’ll have a fire tonight.”

---

Buck Gordon sighed as he leaned back in his chair and lifted his feet onto the corner of his desk. He read the letter in his hand again then looked over at the man standing on the opposite side of the desk.

“How’d you get a hold of this?” he asked.

“Sally slipped it out of the mayor’s pocket when he was at the saloon yesterday.”

“So our good mayor’s expecting someone, is he?” Buck slowly folded the paper then slid it into his vest pocket. “Don’t suppose he’s lookin’ for a new sheriff, do you?”

“What’re gonna do, Buck?”

“Nothin’. Let’s just see who comes to town.”

---

Breck was on his way before the sun rose. He figured that Buck Gordon had sent the person who shot at him last night, but he doubted Gordon wanted him dead. It had probably been just a warning. Gordon was fast, mean and arrogant. He probably wanted another chance to remind folks just how useless it was for anyone to go up against him.

The warm sun had been at Breck’s back for a couple hours when he rode into Sweetwater. The people in town only stopped a moment to glance at him as he rode down the dusty street then continued with what they had been doing. He rode past the sheriff’s office and noticed the two deputies sitting outside. Two deputies, he thought, tough town. The deputies seemed to pay no attention to him as he continued down the street to the saloon.

He dismounted and tied his horse at the post outside the saloon. Before he went inside, he touched the side of the horse’s head and the horse touched his nose to Breck’s ear in response. Breck took a deep breath and casually entered the saloon.

The men inside watched in silence as Breck walked up to the bar. The bartender set a small glass in front of him and filled it with the bottle in his hand.

“On the house,” the bartender explained. “We don’t get many strangers here in Sweetwater. Breck nodded then picked up the glass and emptied it with one swallow.

“Thanks,” he said. He turned around, leaned back against the bar and glanced around the room at the men who were still watching him. No one in this room was going to try to stop him, he thought. He reached for the glass the bartender had refilled then slowly swallowed the warm liquid. The whiskey sent warmth through his chest and washed away the dryness in his throat. Breck tossed a coin on the bar then walked out as casually as he had walked in.

Outside, Breck moved past his horse and into the center of the street. He turned and began to walk down the street. He moved with a slow, steady tread and, though he kept his eyes straight ahead, he was aware of the movement just past his periphery. A few of the town’s people scurried through the nearest door, but the rest stopped where they stood and prepared to watch what would happen next.

Breck came to a stop when a man walked out of the sheriff’s office and stepped into the street. The two deputies got up from their posts and followed the man into the street. When he stopped and turned to face Breck, the deputies took their places on either side of the man. The long sleeves of his white shirt seemed to glow in the morning sun. His dark eyes stared at the man who had dared to enter his town and he smiled.

“What brings you to Sweetwater, stranger?” Buck asked.

“I have a message for you, Gordon,” Breck told him.

“From who?” Gordon asked with a snicker. Breck did not answer. The two men stared at each other in silence. The sun behind Gordon gave him the advantage. Breck kept his eyes focused on the shiny star on the breast pocket of Gordon’s black vest.

It was only a few seconds before both men seemed to draw their guns simultaneously and two shots rang out. As Breck flinched, the two deputies drew their guns. Breck fired again and one of the deputies fell to the ground. He turned his attention to the second deputy who immediately raised his hands in surrender.

Gordon had not fired a second shot. He still held his gun in his hand and his smile seemed to be frozen on his face. Breck watched Gordon as he sneered in disbelief then also fell to the ground.

Breck returned his gun to its holster then slowly walked over to Gordon. He reached down and pulled the star from Gordon’s pocket then turned and slowly walked back to his horse. He looked down at the bloodstain on his shirt where Gordon’s bullet had grazed his arm then slipped the star into his pocket before stepping up into the saddle.

“Time to go, ” he said quietly as he mounted his horse.

The townspeople watched Breck as he slowly rode down the street. No one made any move to stop him. He stopped at the end of the street when he noticed a man in a black suit. Breck removed the star he had taken from Gordon from his pocket and tossed it to the man. The man nodded to Breck and Breck nodded in return as he left Sweetwater.

---

Breck stopped for the night near a small creek. The cool water from the creek soothed the sting where the bullet from Buck’s gun had split the skin on his arm. He made a small fire and the creek provided the water for his coffee. After he finished his supper of beans and hardtack, he broke up a couple more small tree braches to keep the fire going for a little while longer. In a couple days he would be home. Home. He had a home. He had used the money the Mayor of Sweetwater had sent him to pay off the little farm he had bought and Mary would be waiting. His town would be waiting.

He reached into a pocket and pulled out a shiny, metal star. Almost as shiny as the ones up in the sky, he thought.

“Sheriff Breck Coleman,” he murmured. “Imagine that.” He returned the star to his pocket and laid down to watch the stars.

The soft sound of the creek would insure a peaceful night’s sleep.

**

1507 words