The smoky air of the saloon drifted round Jake as he rolled the dice once more. He knew what he wanted and how to get it, and he was after the dollars of the other men crowded round the table. He wasn't worried. Give him time and they would all be eating out of the palm of his hand, the women crowding round him at every step he took. He could have his pick of the finest horses, the best guns, but the first step was winning this game.

He threw the dice. Five again - he had won. Easy. Taking the money, Jake strode out of the saloon with a tip of his hat and vaulted lightly onto his horse, giving it a nudge to get going. He had won the men's respect, he knew it and he had no reason to stay. Step one was complete.

***

The lone bang of the gunshot rose into the quiet air as Jake hit yet another can. Six down, four to go. He was getting better and knew he could easily shoot his way out of almost anything.

His horse wasn't fazed by the shots, and only wanted to get home for her feed, straining at the tether and scuffling in the dust. Maybe that was how Jake saw the lone figure, striding confidently on the heat-bent horizon as if they owned the place. Jake bristled. This was his place. Or soon, anyway.

It wasn't the sheriff; it was plain to see that he was a young man, even from that distance. That could only mean one thing.

"A competitor," Jake murmured. He didn't like competitors. He set off towards the silhouette, walking with a swagger to show the stranger that this was his haunt. He left his horse for now; he didn't want it to get hurt if it came to a brawl. He needed a way home, after all.

The stranger stopped, slowly turning to face Jake, one hand at his hip. Ready to draw.

Jake halted, staring out from under the brim of his hat, radiating hostility. The other stood calm and relaxed, yet alert.

"What business have you here?" Jake spoke first. His slightly rough voice was clearly audible even over the wind, his eyes not affected by the stinging sand.

"I come from afar, merely passing through," the tall stranger said. "I'm going to a town further south to drop off supplies, staying here a night or maybe two." He spoke with perfect clarity, his gaze unwavering as he held Jake in its fierce grip. He thought suddenly of an eagle with a desert mouse in its claws and shivered inwardly.

"And you?" The stranger continued. "You walk as if you own the place, yet I know the old sheriff here. Still as much of a drunkard as I remember."

Jake licked his lips and raised his head.

"I, too, am passing through, yet I stay a little longer than you," he lied, never once looking away from the unsettling stranger. "I am a trader, going to the Timber Valley." Another lie.

To Jake's astonishment, the man drew his gun and pointed it straight at Jake's forehead.

"Liar," the man hissed, and the sky seemed to grow darker.

The man has the spirits on his side, it seems, Jake thought as he tried to fight the rising panic within. But I have my guns and my skill.

Drawing his six-shooters against the man, he spun them round each index finger, then rested them comfortably in his hands. These guns had never missed a man yet.

The other's finger tightened on the trigger. Jake decided to use some cunning. Holding out his guns, handles first, he said, "I don't want to fight."

The man looked surprised, but before he had recovered, Jake dodged to one side, bashing him on the head with the butt of his gun. Shots rang out, but they all whizzed away harmlessly into the vast expanse of blue sky. The raven-haired stranger lay slumped unconscious in the dust. He would wake up in about half an hour, Jake wasn't worried. And he didn't want to waste his bullets. There was no need for a fight, the man wasn't worth it.

He strode back to his horse, vaulting on with a creak of the saddle. He expected the man to be heading for Lightning Tree, the nickname for a town in the south with a lightning-struck conifer on its outskirts. He would ride out tomorrow.