The Sheriff From Little Spring

The sheriff from Little Spring, Wyoming had a reputation for tenaciously hunting any outlaw who passed through his town. Lawbreakers were so rare, in fact, that he had taken to bounty hunting in the neighboring counties. Whenever a bank robber or horse thief saw his white ten-gallon in the distance, they fled immediately. But to no avail. The sheriff from Little Spring never failed once he caught the scent.

The truth was, if he had had his druthers, the sheriff would have been an outlaw himself. His fanaticism was born more out of a sense of jealousy than of justice.

A Town Called Big Nothing

Rufino rode into view on his white stallion. The streets emptied like the receding tide.

He was considered a desperado, a gunfighter who roamed the towns, working for anyone willing to pay. Sometimes he was a bounty hunter, sometimes a cattle rustler, sometimes an assassin. They knew him by his tattoos. On his skin were inscribed the names of each of his victims.

Everyone in town had reason to fear Rufino's arrival. He could be there for any one of them.

When Rufino rode away into the setting sun, every single inhabitant was dead and his skin was considerably darker.

The Chthonic States

I'm thinking I might quit my job.

I'm so old, I remember when we only had 51 states. But after the war, the Chthonic States moved underground. That's where we got the 63 we have today. It feels like a separate country if you ever visit, though not many people do.

I only go there hunting bounties. The laws are different down there and you're allowed to carry weapons still. Packing heat doesn't make you feel safer. The government leaves you alone but you've got to worry about angry citizens.

It's good money, but it's no longer worth my life.