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Mad Dog for sure knew better than to turn his back on the most dangerous man west of the Missouri, but Lady Luck, prone to bizarre and morbid twists of humour as she was these days, hadn't left him much in the way of choice."I got a proposition for you," the Sundown kid had said, three days ago, and Mad Dog had just about fainted with surprise."Well I'll be damned, Sundown, if that isn't nine whole syllables you've chose to grace me with!" His grin turned sharp, even as his hand kept caressing the handle of his Colt Buntline. "To what do I owe the eloquence?"A resigned huff. "You've heard of Penny Dread?" Down to six syllables. Now that was more like him.Mad Dog nodded suspiciously. Funny little name. Mean old customer. Nasty for a bandit, and that was saying something."Been tracking his gang since Patience Town," the Sundown Kid said thoughtfully, and paused, like a man about to wade into the deep end of the pond. "Could use a second pair of hands."Mad Dog watched the Sundown Kid across the sun-dried grass, the cracked and sizzling ground. Noon beat down on his face from above, and in the shadows of his wide-brimmed hat, the colour of his eyes matched the sky. By every law known to mankind, they should have drawn by now.But then he tipped his hat at the Kid, and his pleasant grin returned. "Sure," he said. "On God's green Earth, why not?"He patted the handle of his Buntline reassuringly — she would have to wait for satisfaction a while longer. Plenty bastards in the West more lawless than the Sundown Kid, and if joining arms was what it took to track them down... well, the wise did say to keep your friends close and your enemies closer. But this, perhaps, was still too close.The dust storm howled outside. The night was pitch-black, but the fine sand mixed into the wind gave the darkness a sickly copper tint, and the little hunter shack in the middle of nowhere was barely fit to house a chipmunk; it rattled and shook against the onslaught of the elements. Outside, the horses were sheltered in a hastily constructed lean-to, their heads wrapped up against the dust, and truth be told, Mad Dog would much rather be out there, but even he disliked the thought of being trampled in his sleep by his beloved Goldie. Inside, they'd done their best to plug the seams of the shack with straw, but even so, there was barely space enough for one man to stretch out on his bedroll, let alone two.Mad Dog cradled his revolver against his chest. The warmth against his back he couldn't escape dwelling on served as a grating reminder that he'd done far more than turning his back on the most dangerous man west of the Missouri. Why, they were cozier bedfellows than some of the more intimate company he'd sought out during his brief stays in East Coast cities."Didn't take you for the sort to fidget in your sleep," Sundown remarked, as the wind kept howling. His voice was as dry as the fine sand that drifted through the cracks.Mad Dog gritted his teeth. It felt unnatural to face away from him, like backing up into a nest of vipers. He spared Sundown his jab regarding the number of syllables — three days spent tracking the bandit gang had confirmed that Sundown was, occasionally, capable of prolonged human speech — and caressed his Buntline like a talisman."Goldie's not used to such inclement weather," he responded lightly, and there was a snort, from Sundown, so faint that Mad Dog would not have heard it were he not pressed up against him, back to back."You worried for your horse? That's it?" Mad Dog felt the rumble of Sundown's through his spine. Gravelly and difficult to read, but unmistakably amused.He bit down on the first confused, irritated retort that came to his lips — the bizarre urge to deny, and be defensive, as if the Kid's derision meant a damn thing to him. After all, why shouldn't he worry for his loyal steed? When it came to punishing evildoers, she was his legs, as much a part of him as the Colt was.
"A gentleman takes care of his horse, Kid," Mad Dog hissed back. "It's only the honourable thing to do. Not that a lawless man like you might understand."
A snort. "Right. You're the very picture of chivalry."
The mockery in his voice boiled his blood, sent Mad Dog sitting up like the pack he'd been using as a pillow had transformed into a rattlesnake by some foul magic. He glared down at Sundown's form, the hazy outlines he could make out from copper darkness. The Kid had left his hat on a hook by the door, and his shoulder-length hair, sandy in both senses of the word, spilled free and tousled across the cushion of his rolled-up poncho.
Mad Dog seethed down at him. "Last time you took a shot at Goldie, it took me three days in the desert to track her down again." he hissed accusingly. "You're lucky that bullet only grazed her!"
"Or what? You'd kill me?" Even in the dark, he saw the smile.
He shot the the Kid a glare he could only hope the man could see. "One of these days, you know I will. A man cannot run from his destiny forever, Kid!"
Another snort — but no longer quite so mocking. He'd chipped the armour, there. Down on his bedroll, Sundown was shifting, turning to lie on his back, even as Mad Dog sat upright next to him. For a moment, they only stared at each other.
"Would you have rather I shot at you, instead?" the Sundown Kid asked seriously.
"Of course I would!" he shot back, so indignant he was shaking, feeling as though he were losing the last scraps of his sanity. "I've said to you as much! And more than once!"
"You're a goddamn fool," Sundown growled back. Still supine on the bedroll, he shook his head morosely. "An animal can be replaced." Before Mad Dog could sputter, he kept speaking, "A human life is lost forever."
"Some human lives are better lost," Mad Dog retorted, before he could think too hard about what those words said about him.
It seemed the Kid didn't quite know how to answer him, either. So at least in the respect of landing a blow with his words his opponent couldn't shrug off, his response had hit the mark.
The Sundown Kid was still looking up at him with a thoughtful kind of mood, and Mad Dog wasn't too sure what to make of that. The man had propped his head up on his folded elbow, at ease. As if he weren't inches away from someone who'd made it his mission to end his life.
"Funny thing about destiny," the Kid said conversationally, when the silence and the howling sandy wind had gone on long enough, "there's more than one way out of it, in all the folk tales. Ain't that right?"
"Don't patronise me, Kid," Mad Dog replied with irritation. "There's no need to indulge me like I only speak one language."
"All I'm saying is, perhaps we should stop shooting at each other," the Kid responded wryly. "If you cannot bear to see your horse get hurt."
"Didn't take you for a coward, either," he hissed, though his heart was no longer quite in this diatribe. "Taking advantage of my heartfelt feelings for the animals to escape your punishment? Now that is low. And while we're on the subject of escape and destiny, the Bard, of course, has said it best: What fates impose, that men must needs abide—"
"It boots not to resist both wind and tide," the Sundown Kid finished with a soft nod, while Mad Dog was stupefied into silence. Outside, the winds that had cornered them here howled and whined and battered the shack with sand, as if the very elements conspired to punctuate his words for theatrical effect. The Kid looked thoughtful. "I was once a civilised man, you know. I hope you don't end up like me." He reached out to lay a dry, scalding palm across Mad Dog's cheek, and his wheels still spinning as they were, he didn't even think to stop it. "It would be a shame."
A man was best served by keen awareness of his own weaknesses. He'd known himself to be weak for poetry... but even then, Mad Dog could feel his face was burning, and he found himself thinking the most unseemly thoughts as the moments ticked on, and Sundown's hand stayed where it was.
Just when he'd finally worked up the nerve to do something completely mad, it fell away, and the Sundown Kid sighed softly and went still and supine again.
Mad Dog lay down as well, his back to the Kid. The heat of the man's palm lingered on his skin like the burn from a bullet graze.
The night was late; they both needed their rest if they planned to make headway on the morrow — God willing, the dust storm would subside. Unable to find his sleep, Mad Dog shifted and fidgeted until he turned around to lie face-up, beside the Sundown Kid, their elbows brushing.
It was only then, lying side by side, that he drifted off.