Beat The Clock.

September 26 - West

The two elder cowboys strolled over to their stalls, hands resting easy on their six-shooters. The night had been jaunty and the women pleasant, but the two partners knew it was time to head out to another town before the Marshalls were on them. Still, it was a hardship to leave such lively festivities just when they were getting started.

Earl swept his hat off his head in one hard swipe, letting the hat dangle on the cord wrapped under his chin. Looking at the situation before his sight made him feel old. With slumped shoulders and lower aching back, he walked over to his partner-in-crime and gave it to him straight.

"Well, " Earl said as he stroked his near white beard. "The horses have run off."

Hank snorted as if Earl was pulling one of his pranks. However, when Earl's serious expression faded, Hank knew they were in deep. Stomping over, he peered into the empty stalls and cursed, only to stomp right back out.

"The horses are missin'."

"Yep."

"Stolen?"

Earl shook his head no. "I'mma thinkin' they ran off all on their own accord."

Hank ran a calloused, wrinkled hand down his tired face. He was way too old for this kind of thing. Sighing, he looked over to a man he had come to know as a brother. They had little choices as to what to do next.

"Go back in to the bar?"

Earl made a small whooping sound, slinging his arm over Hank's shoulders. Their paces matched each other's as they head back in for some warm beer, loose women, and cheated cards.