Return of the Outlaw by C. M. Curtis

in hard about twenty feet away from the door of the shack. “Julio,” he shouted. “Old man , come out here; you’re leaving right now. Pack your gear.”
    From out of the d arkened interior of the shack the old man charged, holding above his head a rusted saber, a tarnished relic of a long ago war, the legacy of some forgotten ancestor. His mouth formed a mute scream as he swung the saber and charged across the space between the house and the spot where the surprised Jennings sat on his horse.
    There was li ttle time for Jennings to think. He merely reacted, and in his angry state he reacted in an angry way. Pulling his gun, he fired point-blank. The bullet struck the old man in the chest.
    Staggering backward, Julio wore an expression of complete surprise. He fell on his back and lay flat. He gasped a few rasping breaths and the rasping ceased.
    From the instant the bullet struck the old man, Jennings regretted pulling the trigger. His anger was gone now and his insides were clutched by fear and remorse. Jumping from his horse, he rushed to Julio’s side.
    “Julio, Julio, open your eyes, talk to me. You’ll be all right. I’ll get the doctor, Julio, please, please.” But even as he spoke, he knew the old mute was already dead. Though he had never killed a human being before, Jennings had always felt he was prepared for it; but this was different. He knew this had been unnecessary. He had killed a harmless old man. He could have easily spurred the horse out of the way. He could have evaded the old man and dealt with the situation in a different way. There had been no need to kill. He knelt over the body for a time, his head bowed under the burden of his remorse.
    T he sound of hoof beats came to his ears and a jolt of fear shot through him. How could he explain this? What would people think of a sheriff who would do such a thing? He stood up and turned to face whoever was coming, trying to think of what to do.
    There were two riders, their horses cantering across the meadow, rapidly closing the distance. There was no time to move the body, no time to hide the awful deed. Soon everyone in the community would know what he had done. He could imagine the outrage.
    As the two riders drew near, he recognized them as Stewart and Fogarty. He tried to think of something to tell them, some way t o justify himself, but he could not force his mind to function. He had no way of knowing Stewart had witnessed the entire event through his field glasses.
    As they approached the house Stewart called out, “We heard a shot , Sheriff! Are you all right?” Drawing closer, he pretended to discover the body on the ground. Dismounting, he ran to the body and bent over it. He stood up slowly, turning to face Jennings. “Lloyd, what on earth happened? He’s dead.”
    Jennings pinched his forehead between his thumb and fingers, then, realizing for the first time he still held his pistol in his hand, he holstered the weapon.
    “Talk to me Lloyd,” said Stewart.
    “I, I don’t know,” stammered Jennings. “He just came at me. I didn’t have time to think. I didn’t want to kill him. He just came at me with that sword.”
    Stewart exchanged a glance with Fogarty.
    “I know,” said Jennings, “I should have ridden away from him. I wasn’t thinking. It just happened.” He hung his head and said miserably, “Tom, I’m ruined.”
    “No , Lloyd, we can’t let that happen. You’re too good a man. A man should be able to make a mistake without being destroyed by it. This could’ve happened to anyone.”
    Jennings shook his head . “People won’t accept that; you know it, Tom. Maybe they won’t hang me for it, maybe they won’t even make me stand trial, but I’m ruined. My reputation in this place is wrecked. I’ll always be known as the sheriff who shot down a helpless old man.”
    Stewart stepped forward and placed a hand on the younger man ’s shoulder. “Lloyd, you’re not thinking clearly. It’s not fair that a