Powder River

The shot broke the silence of a quiet day. It was a day where all the rider could hear was the squeak of his saddle as he rode the Wyoming high country. He heard the discharge break the quiet tranquility, and it was the last thing he ever heard. The evening sun was low when the man fell dead from his horse in a lifeless heap. He never knew who had killed him nor had he had time to think about his death for the 50 caliber had killed him instantly. If you had asked anyone about the man they would have told you it was a long time coming. The man’s buckskin horse was well broke and stood over him, and his long haired skinny yellow dog lay down next to his master.