The truth is, it was evening when it happened, not noon. And they shot the Stranger in the back. Never gave him a chance to draw that ivory handled gun of his.

I remember that he mainly look surprised. I caught a glimpse of the whites of his wide eyes, his mouth open in an o, before I got myself behind a barrel and stayed.

Someone left a flower on the fresh earth of his grave. It wasn’t me. I swear it.