Silas rode into town as the sun bled across the sky. The sheriff met him at the hitching post, arms crossed.
“He’s in the saloon, Silas,” the sheriff said.
Silas nodded. “Ain’t here for trouble.”
Inside, the man he sought nursed a drink. “Didn’t figure you’d show,” the man muttered.
“You killed my brother,” Silas said plainly.
The man sighed. “I was doin’ my job. He pulled first.”
Silas rested his hand on his holster. “That so?”
The sheriff stepped inside. “Let it go, Silas. Your brother robbed that bank. I was there.”
Silas’ fingers twitched. The town had its law, but blood demanded reckoning.
The saloon was silent. The man at the bar didn’t move, just waited.
After a long breath, Silas stepped back. “Guess the law’s had its say.”
He turned, walking out as the weight of his vengeance settled into the dust behind him.
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