Dust On My Saddle (Drabble)

He dropped from the horse, spurs jingling. Turning, he rolled his head, delighting in the cracks and pops as his vertebrae realigned themselves. His gaze perused the nearly empty street before him. No one met his blank eyes.

He headed for the saloon, dust falling from his coat. Shouldering through the swinging doors, he bellied up to the bar.

“Whiskey?” asked the barkeep.

“Double,” his reply, glancing around. “Lookin’ for Elrond. Seen ‘im?”

“Sheriff? He’s up the road, in Rivendell, waitin’ for the posse.

The stranger nodded. Tossing a coin on the counter he left for a meeting with fate.