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Johnson slowly approached the chair in the corner of the dusty room. He gripped it tightly and hurled it right into Wagstaffs head. Doc Johnson pounced on Wagstaff, grabbing him by the skull and smashing him into the window. John Wagstaffs face was now badly dented and cut, with dark cherry red blood slowly dripping down his cheek. He managed to lug himself up but was too weak to fight back as Johnson wound up another death blow into his gut. Johnson dug his nails into Wagstaffs neck, got a solid grip, and hurled him out of the Sheriff’s office onto the dirt ground.
It was a hot and sticky day in Southern Texas. The year was 1910 and John Wagstaff had just lost everything. He had been fired from his deputy position and was the laughing stock of the town. He had spent 5 years trying to track down Red Baxter, the meanest and most wanted man in the entire state. Baxter has robbed every saloon west of Houston. Sheriff Doc Johnson finally got fed up with Wagstaff after he let Baxter get away for the 10th time. All Wagstaff had left was his trusty silver horse, Sun Up. When Sun Up was just a little baby Wagstaff rescued him from a burning barn. A large burn mark on Sun Ups right leg is the only evidence of the incident.
John Wagstaff lay face down on the hot Texas dirt, lifeless and worn down. Sun up strolled nonchalantly over to his friend and rested beside him. He stuck out his long saliva filled tongue and slobbered it across Wagstaffs gnarled face.
“Sun Up!” Wagstaff hollered. They gazed into each other’s eyes; Wagstaff almost felt like Sun Up was saying something to him. “What is it?” whispered Wagstaff. Sun Up gazed up at the bright blue sky then slowly turned his head to a piece of paper on the dirt. Wagstaff, confused, walked over to the paper. Their were no words on it, just an image. An image of a man who made life a living h*ll for him. It was Red Baxter, both Sun Up and Wagstaff knew that if he brought that man to justice he would be known as a hero for the rest of his life. Wagstaff nodded at Sun Up, jumped up onto his back and sped off into the distance.
Red Baxter approached the doors of the Rusty Nail Saloon. His dark black hair drooped over his face covering a deep scar under his left eye. He pushed the doors open and the bustling saloon turned silent. All that echoed through the room was the clatter of his dirt coated boots against the crooked wood floor. His weathered hat shaded his yellow eyes which shot fear through the minds of those who dare stare upon them. He lumbered towards the bar and gazed into the bartenders eyes.
“Scotch with no ice!” he belched. The Bartender, shaking with fear, quickly poured the gentlemen a glass. Baxter picked up the glass and downed the scotch like it was water, jaws dropped in amazement throughout the saloon. Baxter reached into his pocket and pulled out a shiny coin. He flipped it into the air, landing it directly in front of the bartender.
Meanwhile, outside in the dry Texas air, Wagstaff and Sun Up were headed for the nearest saloon, The Rusty Nail. Wagstaff gazed towards the Saloon. He recognized Baxter’s horse right away. Sun Up slowly but surely strolled towards the saloon when, Bang! A gun shot in the distance startled Sun Up sending Wagstaff spiraling to the rocky ground. Red Baxter walked out of the saloon, hopped onto his horse and took off into the distance. Wagstaff pulled himself off the ground and ran after Baxter. He wasn’t going to let him get away like the previous times. Wagstaff, huffing and puffing, knew he would never catch him on foot so he pulled out his pistol. Fingers trembling, face sweating, Wagstaff aimed down the sights and pulled the trigger, sending the bullet through the air. The bullet seared through the wind clipping the side of Baxter’s horse. Blood splattered onto the dirt but Baxter and the horse continued forward without flinching. John Wagstaff had done it again; he had let the enemy get away, all because of Sun Up. He jumped on Sun Up and rode to the spot where he had shot Baxter’s horse. Blood covered the ground and marked a long trail which continued forward for quite a ways.
“Do you think this will lead me to Baxter?” whispered Wagstaff. It was his only chance; he kicked Sun Up and rode off into the distance following the trail of blood. The trail went on for miles and Wagstaff began to lose hope. He kept on pursuing as the sun slowly sank down under the horizon. Sun Up began to slow down for no reason. “Come on!” hollered Wagstaff. Sun Up looked up at his friend, closed his eyes, and collapsed onto the cold rugged earth. Wagstaff yelled for help, tears rolled down his cheeks, nobody was insight. Wagstaffs only friend was gone, his trusty sidekick, forever lost. He pounded the earth in frustration, screaming viciously until he collapsed with exhaustion. As he gazed up at the stars he thought of all the memories he and Sun Up had shared. Sun Up was always there for him, even at the lowest of times. “This is all Red Baxter’s fault!” Wagstaff exclaimed. He picked himself off the ground and continued to follow the blood. Giving up was not an option for the cowboy, after all that has happened, he wasn’t going to stop without a fight. He walked on foot for miles until the trail disappeared. He scanned his surroundings and noticed a big dark run down house sitting on a ridge a few hundred yards away from him. Wagstaff closed his eyes and could her some faint noises coming from that direction. He slowly crept towards the house, nearly blind do to the darkness. His only source of light was the bright stars and the shimmering full moon. As he approached the house the noises grew louder. The windows of the house were smashed and full of dirt. The wood stairs leading up to the door squeaked at each step. Wagstaff reached for the door handle, the door slowly screeched open by itself. The inside of the house was totally destroyed and clustered with old tools and logs. Wagstaff searched the house and noticed a light seeping through the bottom of a door. He opened the door, revealing a long staircase leading down as far as the eye can see. The noises grew louder as Wagstaff ventured deeper into the house. He noticed a flaming torch at the bottom of the stairs. He gripped the torch and shined it at the area in front of him. Gold bars and coins lay stacked on top of each other throughout the room. He tip toed towards the gold in caution, suddenly, a cold breeze tickled the back of his neck, Wagstaff sprung around and found himself staring face to face with Red Baxter.
Baxter, abruptly, pulled a knife out of his pocket and slashed it across Wagstaffs chin. Wagstaff, badly cut, lunged himself at Baxter and tackled him to the ground. He grabbed Baxter’s hair and smashed his face into the floor. Red Baxter ripped his head away from Wagstaffs clenched fist, chunks of hair from Baxter’s head fell onto the ground. Baxter quickly jolted towards one of the gold bars. He picked one up and hurled it towards Wagstaff, clonking him in the mouth. Wagstaffs pistol fell to the ground along with a few teeth. Wagstaff was trapped, their was no way out.
“Any last words?” growled Baxter. He pointed the gun at Wagstaffs head and began to pull the trigger when a bright beam flashed in the room. A figure appeared from the shimmering light. The figure swooped towards Baxter, slashing his arms off and sent him colliding into the wall. The bright figure picked up Wagstaff and carried him out of the house. The figure had long silver hair and a large white robe.
“Who are you?” Wagstaff exclaimed. The figure stared at him then gazed up at the stars. The figure slowly bowed his head at Wagstaff and lifted his robe revealing a burn mark on his right leg. Wagstaff stood motionless as the figure smiled and slowly rose up towards the sky. Wagstaff stared at the sky for along time without saying a word. Finally, he muttered “Goodbye Sun Up.”