She appeared on the horizon like a mirage on a hot sunny day. She came with no horse, no wagon and no donkey. Only the two legs the Lord gave her propelled her into our little town.
She wore the colors of black and white as if they were branded into her skin. Her habit shadowed her face while her skirt billowed around her. Her bright eyes were sharp, like a hawk. Many an eye turned at her passing down the dusty street. Many an evil man cowered under that gaze as she passed them by.
About her waist hung a gun belt. Well-worn was the leather and the steel of the Colt Peacemaker gleamed in the sun. From one wrist dangled a string of prayer beads made of darkest ebony. A single cross hung at the end and it swayed with the movement from her steps.
She read the signs emblazoned above each business on our main street as she passed them by. The Feed Store, The Bank and others were left in her wake. She came to a stop in front of the only saloon left in our dying town, The Bronze Dogie.
She pushed through the grimy saloon doors and into the darkened interior. The place reeked of tobacco smoke, sweat stained bodies and the effects of too much liquor. She peered at the bleary faces as they stared back at her. With a slow, practiced motion, she swept the road dust from her habit until it reflected in the dim lighting.
The left saloon door swayed from her passing until the hinge broke and it clattered loudly to the wooden flooring.
(image courtesy of https://pixabay.com/)