Grady pulled hard on the reins, bringing his steed to an immediate halt. He gazed upon the rust-colored canyon walls, the setting sun melting the towering cliffs into molten pillars of hot lava. Searing winds flared off of the rocks, sending sweat trickling down his already worn face. Looking out to the east, he could see the faintest shimmer of the rising moon. He didn’t have much light to lose now.

Pushing himself off his horse, Grady could only grit his teeth as he felt the stinging agony of his wounds. He held fast to the saddle horn for a few moments until the pain became somewhat dull. Looking back towards his mount, the horse seemed to stare at Grady with what seemed to be concern. However, Grady paid no heed toward the beast’s feelings, smacking it on its side to send it running towards home. Once the horse had disappeared, he tried to begin his trek through the canyon. But with his first step forward, Grady crumpled to the ground, desperately clutching his side in an attempt to ease the pain. His eyes drifted towards the object in his left hand, a blood-speckled sheriff’s badge shining in the setting sun with the color of fire. Grady smiled. It really had been one heck of a day.





The sun was high and bright and sky was as blue as ever. The desert flowers had begun to blossom into marvelous bursts of red, and the low brush of the hills teemed with vitality. There were no sounds but the light breeze running across the land. Today was the perfect day to wreak havoc.

Grady gazed upon the sleepy town of Weatherford resting on the hills, completely oblivious to his scheme. Well, most of it. He figured it was best to get going before anyone else thought about claiming the bounty on his head. Placing the last bullet in the barrel of his pistol and tightening his bandana, he spurred his horse into a full gallop. The wind crashed against his face and heard its roar echoing in his ears. It seemed even nature was screaming against his actions, but he didn’t care. He lost that ability long ago.

As the town drew closer, he pulled on his horse’s reins to ease its pace into a slow and natural walk. Not that it made any difference. A jet-black steed with black tack adorned with gold designs stuck out in the dusty streets of the little town. Mothers had already started pulling their children close and shopkeepers began hastily pulling the blinds over their windows. Fear seemed to be on Grady’s side, with the terrified citizens creating a perfect path towards his destination: the Weatherford Bank.

There was a line earlier for people checking into their accounts, but it had mysteriously vanished once he walked into town. Heck, even local law enforcement seemed to be too chicken to protect the place. Grady calmly nudged the door open and found the tellers with their hands up and Sheriff Greystone staring him directly in the eyes. Grady couldn’t hold back a smirk.

“Well, isn’t this sweet?” he snickered. “Y’all Weatherford folk really are welcoming.”

“Shut it, Addison,” the sheriff snapped. “You want to tell me why you’re here?”

“Makin’ a withdrawal. A big one. So, do you mind steppin’ aside while I collect it? That would great.” Greystone let out a violent snarl under his breath. Grady was beaming now. “Aw, come now. My momma taught me to be a wise spender. I ain’t gonna waste it on a single drop of booze.” The sheriff still didn’t budge.

“Don’t give me that Addison. Hands up where I can see them.” The thief was chuckling under his breath.

“Alright, see ‘em now?” Grady smiled, pulling out two pistols from behind his back. He looked over to the sheriff, who was clenching his fist in anger. “Shit Jackie! Where the hell are your guns?” Grady was outright dying with laughter, but still kept his guns steady on the sheriff.

“I don’t think I will be needing them,” Greystone growled. “And don’t call me Jackie.”

Grady took a break from laughing to raise a brow. “Why’s that, Jackie?” he said smugly.

“Someone else was on your tail.” With that, the left wall of the bank burst open, with a brown and white pinto horse and its dusty rider jumping over the rubble and landing before Grady. Now this is who he wanted to see.





“Grady ‘The Shadow Rider’ Addison…” the stranger addressed him.

“In the flesh,” Grady replied with a grin. “It’s an honor to meet’cha, Mister Andy Clayton. Big fan.” Grady looked past Clayton and his horse and called out to Greystone. “Hey Jackie! You seein’ this? The real Andy Clayton is here!”

The sheriff huffed in annoyance, “Yeah. I told him you would be here. He came to kick your ass and take you to jail.” Grady only shrugged.

“As much as I would wanna take a ride with the one-and-only ‘Fire Horse’, I got somethin’ to do.” He looked at his hand, pretending a he had a pocket watch in his grip. “Oh, would ya look at the time. Sorry boys, I don’t have any more time to chat.” Grady fired a shot in the air. Then all hell broke loose.

Clayton’s horse reared in fright, forcing him to swing off its back and onto the floor. The tellers yelped in fright, leaving Greystone to usher them to safety. Grady rolled across the floor and jumped behind the bank counter. Holstering one pistol, he reached into his vest, pulling out a small stick of dynamite, a lighter, and a cigar. He casually lit the dynamite and kicked it over towards the bank’s safe, turning his back from the explosion to light his cigar. The heavy bags of money tumbled out of the safe like a waterfall, some spilling waves of gold as they hit the ground.

“Jackpot…” Grady grinned. He stooped down and snagged two of the bags. He was only one man; he didn’t have the strength or speed needed to carry off all the money. He looked back over the counter to see if all the ruckus had calmed down. It hadn’t. Clayton’s horse was still bucking like crazy, seemingly try to kill its own rider while he tried to get a good shot. However, the sheriff had vanished. Grady then heard the click of a hammer. Swinging around, there was Greystone, ready to fire. Grady quickly slung one of bags off his shoulder at the sheriff, the brute force of the throw knocking Greystone over. He lunged over to Greystone, seizing his prize money and giving the sheriff’s gun a hefty kick across the floor.

“Not today, bucko,” Grady smirked. Looking up from downed sheriff, he saw the two bank tellers shuddering against the wall. With a malevolent grin, Grady let down the bags of cash and pulled his second pistol out.

“Hey Clayton!” Grady shouted. Clayton whipped around to stare Grady in the eyes. The thief then followed it up with, “Pick your poison.”





“Here’s the deal,” Grady explained. “You either let me get back on my horse with my well-earned money, or you shoot me.” This time, Clayton smiled.

“I was hoping for the latter,” he admitted. Clayton’s smile soon faded as he asked, “What’s the catch?”

“Ah, clever man. The catch is that you’re gonna need to shoot through someone to get to me.” Grady took the cigar out of his mouth as he furthered his terms. “You have your choice of the righteous Sheriff Greystone here,” he grinned, pressing his boot into the back of the sheriff. “Or you can just go for collateral damage and dispatch these two innocent citizens.”

“You know I ain’t gonna do that,” Clayton sighed. “I’m no murderer.”

“Who said you were a murderer? If anything, you’ll be a hero! You made an honorable sacrifice in the name of keeping the town of Weatherford safe! Doesn’t that sound good?” Clayton only let out a mere growl. For a moment, there was quiet, but Grady’s impatience soon kicked in. “C’mon, I don’t have all day. I’ll shoot ‘em all for ya if you’d like.”

“No!” Clayton roared. “I refuse to resort to this kind of violence, and I refuse to let you walk away as a free man.”

“Then get your gun out and start shootin’.” Clayton was reluctant at first, yet he still pulled his pistol out from his holster and held it at his waist. Grady could also hear a faint sound of struggling coming from behind him. He still disregarded it and watched for the twitch of his opponent’s finger around his pistol’s finger. Just as he thought he saw Clayton’s grip tighten upon his weapon, something grabbed at the back of his shoulder.

Turning around, Grady found himself in a tussle with Sheriff Greystone once more, both pushing against one another so as to throw the other to the ground. Clayton became confused, not knowing where to shoot. Grady’s malicious smile surfaced again, as he took the cigar from his mouth and pushed its burning edge right into the sheriff’s face. Greystone’s grip loosened as he howled in pain, allowing Grady to grab the sheriff’s collar.

Clayton was more relaxed now. He focused in on Grady’s smug grin, and took aim. He fired at the struggling group with confidence. He watched the bullet race towards the outlaw, burning to end the thief’s criminal career. However, in just a blink of an eye, the tides changed. Grady swung Greystone in the path of the shot, the bullet piercing straight through his heart.



Clayton fell to his knees in defeat. “You…” he stammered. “You bastard!”

“Hey, watch the language,” Grady grumbled. “Kids can’t look up to heroes that swear.” He knelt down next to Greystone’ body and patted down his jacket for valuables. As soon he caught the glimmer of the sheriff’s badge, he yanked it out of the cloth and stuffed it in his pocket. He picked up the bags of gold off the floor and began to stroll towards the exit.

He stopped to look at the distraught Clayton on his way out. “You really are a hero, Andy,” Grady whispered, “and I ain’t sayin’ that lightly.” He whistled for his horse, who promptly trotted in and waited for its master to load its saddlebags. Clayton rose to his feet, clutching his pistol tight in his shaking fist. Grady had swung himself onto his mount when Clayton had gained to composure to face the fiend.

“Have a good one, ‘Fire Horse’,” Grady said solemnly. He ushered his horse out with a click of his tongue and a jab with his spur. Clayton couldn’t take this man any longer. Aiming his gun, he fired at Grady, taking delight as he saw the thief wince with pain as the bullet entered his side. But Grady still rode on at a full gallop, prompting Clayton to follow him in pursuit. But once he had mounted his horse and sped towards the edge of town, the Shadow Rider was nowhere to be seen.





Grady was almost there; it wouldn’t be long. His side seared with ceaseless agony, yet adrenaline still pumped through his veins. He leaned upon the canyon wall for support, but he still struggled to stay upright. As he paused for a rest, he saw it. Grady used the rest of his strength pull himself inside the cave and hastily grabbed the lamp resting upon the ground.

It was not a long trek until Grady found the sparkle of crystals decorating the rock of the cave. A tear fell from his eyes as he watched the glow of the crystals light up the cave, lining his face with blood as he tried to wipe it away. He continued to stumble down to the center of the cave, finally arriving at a clearing of the cave where a small pillar of crystals jutted out from the ground. As he reached the crystal, Grady threw off his hat and bandana, falling to his knees before it.

“H-heya doll,” he stammered, “how you been?” Tears were streaming down his face now, the drops falling off his cheeks like rain. “Thought ya’ might be. The bastard’s dead now.” Grady let out a small chuckle. “Sorry for swearin’. I know you don’t like it. I-“ Grady went into a coughing fit, his breath becoming more labored now. He turned back to the crystal with a pained smile.

“It ain’t nuthin’, sis,” Grady managed. “You- you just keep dreamin’. I’ll be… alright…” Grady chuckled through his choking once more. “I… dunno if I’ll see you on the other side but…” Grady heaved one last breath.

“Sleep easy now,” he whispered. As the last breath left his mouth, Grady closed his eyes with a grin, and collapsed to the ground.





Clayton rode with blinding speed in the direction Grady’s steed had ran from. As soon as the sun disappeared behind the horizon, Clayton arrived in the heart of a canyon, the cool winds of night ricocheted off the dark purple rocks. Lighting his lamp, he dismounted his horse and proceeded through the canyon with his hand tight on his pistol. Checking his surroundings, his light shone on a rust-colored trail of blood. The vagabond had to be close, and weak. Clayton quickened his pace, arriving at the mouth of a cave with extreme speed.

Poking his head into the cave, he observed a faint glow coming from further inside. Clayton grit his teeth in anger, yanking his pistol out of its holster and pulling the hammer down with rage. His nostrils flared, his eyes twitched, and is finger twitched around the trigger of his gun. He stomped through the cave, ready to end that murderer’s miserable life.

As he grew closer towards the light, his eyes grew wide as he gazed upon the magnificent crystals that lined the walls, their shimmers bringing a smile to the vigilante’s worn face. He reluctantly shook his gaze from the enchanting sight and tried to focus on finding Grady. Looking around the towers of shining stones, he could see the figure of a man slumped across the ground. Clayton raced over to it, pointing his gun at the man’s head with a shaking hand.

“Get up, Addison!” Clayton barked. “Get up and face me!” But Grady didn’t stir. Clayton kicked him violently. No response. “C’mon, heathen,” he growled, “Get your-“ Clayton froze. There was Grady’s smile, marred with death and pain. His laugh was gone; his lungs frozen shut from rigor mortis. Clayton began to feel sick. He threw the corpse away from him, rubbing his eyes in an attempt to wipe the horrid sight from his mind. He looked towards the crystals, hoping their beauty would cleanse his eyes. Instead, he found an inscription slashed through the small crystal that read:

Clayton brought his hat over his heart. He also found a note sitting before the grave, addressed to him. It was from Grady. Despite the horrible handwriting, Clayton could just make out:

To Andy,

Feel free to hate me, even if you find this note. But if it weren’t for you, Weatherford would still be run by a corrupt madman. Heck, he even tried to put a bullet through your skull every time he saw you. Still, the threat ain’t over. Leave the badge here. Find a better sheriff. Weatherford needs a new face, one that hasn’t lived under a corrupt system. It needs a hero. And as much as you don’t want to be one, just know that no hero does.

Grady

“Shit Grady,” Clayton murmured. “You could have just said so.” Taking the badge clutched in Grady’s fist, Clayton chucked it into the darkness. As he grabbed his light to leave, Clayton looked back towards Grady’s body.

“Rest well, Addison,” he sighed. “Say hi to Sarah for me.”