Adventure of death bug 1

Death bug walks beneath a white, pitiless sun, boots grinding through salt and red sand. Heat shimmers over the desert, hiding the next ridge until it is almost upon him.

A bounty hunter crests the ridge: a broad-shouldered middle-aged man in a dust-gray coat, brass goggles, and a red scarf knotted at his throat. One ear is notched clean through.

He does not draw. Instead, he lifts a black signal pennant and snaps it three times toward the country beyond the next rise.

Far off, answering whistles cut through the heat. Shapes shift beyond the ridge, mounted and waiting, while the hunter starts down toward Death bug with measured steps.

Their huge bounty has turned the desert crossing into a live pursuit. The hunters spread across the horizon, and every route forward seems to be narrowing.

Death bug surges up the slope, boots tearing through salt and red sand. The bounty hunter reaches for his revolver as the bug closes the distance.

His robotic arm clamps onto the hunter's dust-gray coat. Blue-white current cracks across brass goggles and red scarf, dropping the broad-shouldered man rigid into the sand.

The black signal pennant slips from the hunter's numb hand. His revolver remains holstered, while the answering whistles falter beyond the ridge.

Mounted silhouettes wheel in confusion against the white sky. One horse screams and sidesteps, breaking the hunters' clean line across the crossing.

Dust settles around the unconscious hunter. For this breath, the narrowing pursuit opens, leaving Death bug the ridge, the fallen bounty hunter, and the startled riders beyond.

Death bug bends over the fallen hunter and pulls the revolver free from its holster. The weapon is heavy, sun-warmed, and ready in his grip.

He turns and raises the revolver toward the riders beyond the ridge. Their horses stamp and toss dust as the broken formation faces him.

The lead rider is a lean middle-aged woman in a tan duster, black hat, and blue neckcloth, with a silver star pinned crookedly above her heart. Her wind-burned face is framed by dark hair beneath the hat.

The other riders check their reins. One lowers his rifle, another raises both hands, and the horses settle into nervous snorts beneath the glaring sky.

Death bug lowers the revolver and grabs the unconscious bounty hunter by his dust-gray coat. He drags the limp man across salt and red sand toward the high rock.

The riders remain mounted and tense, watching the revolver swing at Death bug's side. No one follows as the high rock rises above the crossing.

At the rock's shade, Death bug leaves the bounty hunter on firm ground, his brass goggles dusty and his breathing steady. The black pennant lies abandoned below.

Death bug walks away from the other hunters across the open waste. Behind him, their horses snort and stamp, but the formation does not pursue.