The White Revolver: Prologue and Chapters 1

"What? What happened?"

"Well, he pulled his gun, it was pure white, white as the driven snow. It looked like it was a piece of polished ivory, not even like a real gun, more like just a carving of one. But then he blew both them boys down in only one shot!"

Hank looked into Zed's eyes and showed no emotion. But the look of trepidation on the bartenders face was beginning to sink into his stomach.

"You got some tall tales, crazy old fool? I might be interested if I were drunk enough."

"I'm telling you the God's truth Hank, got no reason to lie, he came right up to me afterwards, and asked if I had seen you. I thought I'd have swallowed my tongue. But I didn't tell'im a thing Hank, don't you worry, not one bit. But he said he'd be a comin back tonight to meet with ya"

Hank grabbed Zed's shirt collar in a flash and brought his face so near to his own that the hair in Zed's nostrils curled at Hank's breath.

"And how'd he know I'd be here tonight" Hank hissed furiously.

"He he just knew is all? I swear I didn't tell'im anything, I swear Hank" Zed reached for the whisky bottle with a shaky hand. "Here, have a drink on the house? I just was tryin to warn ya is all Hank, that's all"

Hank snatched the bottle from Zed's hand and drank directly from its mouth, showing he didn't need Zed to tell him what was on the house. He put the bottle back on the table after a long swig and glared a wicked incandescence into Zed's eyes.

"If a black man with a white revolver comes stickin his nose up in here, I'll show you how to deal with him."

As if summoned by his mouthing the words, the saloon doors flung open and in walked the black man with the white revolver. As Zed previously described, the entire place fell silent. Hank had his back to the door, sitting at the bar, but he saw Zed looking over his shoulder, his normally beady eyes as wide as silver dollars. Slowly, Hank turned to look at the man who sought him. When he laid eyes on him, his first reaction was fierce terror, but it faded away after an instant.

He was certainly the blackest man he had ever seen. Most black folks weren't really black at all, just different shades of brown, but this man was as jet black as burnt tar. He was so dark, that the light seemed to avoid him. A large man, at least six foot two, and looked to be about two hundred pounds. He wore dark clothes, the regular garb of a rider, all except for his boots and his hat, which were as white as the revolver that sat holstered by his waist. His eyes were fixed on Hank, and as Zed had said, he looked meaner than any man should be able to look with only one face.

After a long minute of perfect silence, the black man with the white revolver took a seat at a table near the door. His glare never left Hank. He seemed to be probing his mind and soul with his gaze. Hank frowned in anger, the man's glare feeling like an intrusion. He didn't like being intruded upon. He was always the intruder. He stood up and downed a quarter of the whisky bottle, leaving it almost empty.

"You just watch" Hank murmured to Zed as he approached the table near the door.

He stepped to the stranger and looked down on him.