Another clear, cold dawn rose over Snake Falls. From behind twitching curtains frightened faces peered out for as long as they dared. On the dusty street a lone tumbleweed tumbled on by.
‘You there, Sheriff Hawkins?’ came a young, angelic voice.
I blinked into the rising sun. A graceful shadow edged slowly past Molly Finnegan’s Saloon. Iron spurs jangled softly on the creaking, wooden walkway.
‘It’s me, Billy,’ I replied. ‘You come to give yourself up, son?’
The shadow paused; a distant horse neighed.
‘Yeh, sure. That’s right, Sheriff’.
A squawking crow circled above. The shadow moved forward once more.
These words form my entry into Friday Fictioneers photo prompt challenge.