The Bounty Hunter (In Progress!)

Charlie woke up about 30 minutes before dark. The endless, monotonous desert was replaced by a blackness only enlightened by the faint orange glow of the sunset. The usual silence of this area was replaced by the howl of a coyote and the nightime rattle of a nearby snake. Time to get moving. Charlie was completely refreshed and, oddly enough, for the first time during his journey, relaxed. He put out the fire with the surrounding dirt, stuck a piece of jerky in his mouth, put his hat back on, and mounted his mule; who seemed most anxious to get out of there after hearing the coyote's mournful wail. Smalls rode steadily but cautiously down into the canyon and was able to successfully reach the bottom before everything turned pitch black. When the mule stopped to drink from the Rio Grande, Smalls listened intently. He could hear laughter echoing down the canyon, the laughter of two drunk Mexicans. Smalls grinned and started snaking down the canyon. He was so excited to recieve his prize finally, he had no idea that he was this close to the town! Once again his mind flashed to the money and all that it would give him. He would be able to buy a ranch, hire some wets, and quit this damn business of hunting and killing. Make no mistake, Smalls was a professional at what he did, but that did not mean he enjoyed it. Sure, Charlie Smalls was a dog; a mean, cynical, greedy son-of-a-bitch; but if there was one thing he was not, it was a sadist. His daydreaming, (or nightdreaming) in this case came to an abrupt stop when the drunken Mexican laughter ceased with a loud shrill cry of a woman. In a flash, Charlies head went from the glory in his head... to the gun on his hip.