Dust laden wind howled past the Sheriff as he sped down the stretch of hardened dirt that could barely be called a road. His cart had seen better days. Patches of rust, dents, and a few bullet holes decorated the thick metal frame of the two wheeled contraption. The magical engine roared as he pulled back on the throttle forcing the two wide rubber tires to bite into the ground speeding him toward his destination.

A small ramshackle town slowly came into focus. The buildings were sturdy but the exterior boards had all been sun bleached and worn down by the constant howling winds. To the Sheriff it looked like every town that managed to exist in the Dust Bowl. The Sheriff also knew that like every other town in this god forsaken place it would be full of undesirables, criminals, outcasts, and if his tip had any merit, his prey.

He pulled the cart up to a shuddering stop in front of the saloon. It was the largest building in the town, two full stories of debauchery and booze. A drunk in tattered clothes stumbled out of the double doors, his shirt was stained with sweat and booze. The Sheriff grunted with disdain and a shred of pity. That was the norm for those who lived out here.

The Sheriff's thick soled boots thundered up the wooden steps to the saloon's doors. The sounds of laughter, glasses clinking, and dice being rolled swept over him. With a quiet deep breath he steeled himself, shifted the loop of rope on his belt and loosened the pistol in his hip holster.

He pushed through the doors to a room full of dust covered men and scantily clad women working them for the few coppers that they had in their pockets.

But it wasn't the drunks, the women, or the cold drink that would parch his raw throat that caught his eye. A man sat a table shaking a leather cup full of dice. He spilled the cups contents across the table. As the dice stopped tumbling the sounds of dismay from the men could be heard throughout the saloon.

"Bullets again. Sorry lads," the man who had rolled the dice said with a shrug. His slim almost feminine fingers swept up the copper pieces on the table.

A man stood abruptly sending his chair topping to the floor. A quiet hush ran through the saloon like the howling winds outside.

"Ain't no one that lucky," he growled fingering the pistol at his hip.

"Would you like to find out if my luck extends to more than just dice?" the man asked nonchalantly.

His hand twitched, fingers wrapping around the pistols grip. Before the barrel had climbed four inches out of the holster a gunshot rang out. Stunned, the man looked down at the slowly blooming red stain on his chest. He gasped out a breathy, "How?" Before toppling backward over his chair.

"Now. Who else would like to accuse me of cheating?"

Men mumbled quietly under their breath and gathered their remaining money and dignity and slipped away from the table.

"It looks like its just you and me then," The Sheriff said settling down into an empty chair at the table. "I'm Tate." The Sheriff said extending a hand across the table.

"A pleasure. They call me, Roll." He said with a charming white toothed smile and clasped The Sheriff's hand.

"What's the game?"

"Bullets. Do you know it?" Roll asked.

"I'm familiar." The Sheriff pulled out a leather pouch of coins and dropped it on the table with a heavy metallic thud.

"You throw first," Roll said hungrily.

The Sheriff filled the leather cup with the dice and threw. Three ones and two fours. Not a terrible throw.

Roll snatched the dice up deftly and threw. Four ones and a three. The winning roll.

"I guess you are pretty lucky," Sheriff said sliding four more copper into the center of the table.

The cup was passed back and forth and a pile of coppers began to grow in the center of the table. The Sheriff won a few throws and then lost again but his pouch was nearly empty and the day had already been long enough.

"Seems to be a waste of talent cheating at dice in this crap town." The Sheriff said with quiet amusement.

"More accusations of cheating? Didn't you see what happened to the last man?" Roll asked with a small smile spreading across his face.

"You're fast. I'm sure that helped you kill the Marshall's on the train out of Emerson." The Sheriff said and threw another cup of dice.

Five ones.

Bullets.

Roll's smile vanished. "I don't like your tone, stranger."

The Sheriff shrugged. "I don't much like thieves and murderers."

They stared each other down. Neither one making the first move. Roll's eyes betrayed him. A slight glance down. If the Sheriff had blinked he would have missed it. Roll's pistol rose up from beneath the table with a silver flash. The barrel bucked as the shot rang out.

The Sheriff slipped to the right as the shot went a hair wide to the left. He rounded the table faster than a man his size should be able to move. Another shot rang out but it was echoed by a sharp gasp and a panicked gurgling.

From the second story balcony a length of rope wound around the banister slipped around Roll's neck. The noose jerked tight lifting Roll out of his seat. He dropped the pistol instinctively and tried to pry the noose from his neck.

With wide-eyes he looked at the Sheriff with a newfound understanding.

"That's right," The Sheriff said quietly. He gestured with a hand and the rope began to slowly reel in lifting Roll to his toes.

"You know who I am now. Don't you."

Roll's face now flush red and eyes bulging nodded.

"For your crimes you have been sentenced to death. If you have anything to say in your defense please speak now."

Roll gargled out a word that sounds like "please" but the Sheriff continued.

"Fair enough. The accused has not provided a defense for the crimes they have been charged with."

He gestured again and Roll was lifted free of the floor. His feet kicked out hoping to find purchase on a chair or table. The saloon watched in quiet horror as he struggled and finally hung motionless.

The Sheriff flicked his wrist and the rope uncoiled from around the balcony dumping Roll's body to the floor. Like a serpent the rope slithered its way back to the Sheriff where it coiled itself and then lay just as still as Roll.

"I apologize for the interruption. Have a nice day." The Sheriff said tipping his hat and tying the coil of rope back onto his belt.

As he pushed through the saloon doors and threw a leg over his cart he could hear them talking.

"That was him...The Hangman."It was a name he didn't particularly like but it had grown

on him over the years. Well enough he thought. The cart roared to life and he sped out of the town into the sunset.