Howdy

The night was lit up by fireworks in the sky, the stillness of the desert air broken by the cheering crowd. I stepped out from under an awning and into the dirt road that ran along the center of town, nearly filled with people watching the show. The fourth of July. Seems like a good party, but I felt myself drawn to a two story building across the street.
I never dreamed of the old west before, in spite of the John Wayne movies I've seen as a kid. It never really appealed to me as a setting. But here I was. Moseying. I walked into the building and a bearded man beckoned me over to the counter. I cringed as the jingling of spurs met my ears, and when I got to the counter he tossed me a paper.
He told me a shipment of diamonds was carried off of a train last week, and that there were some suspicious characters that had checked out a room upstairs. He didn't want any trouble, but the reward money would more than pay for any damages, and he would be willing to split it. Generous of him, since I was the one doing the work. I got the feeling I worked there. I didn't realize they had hotel detectives back in those days, but it seemed that was the job.
He gave me the spare key to the room and I set down the paper before starting up the stairs. The explosions outside were muted to a quiet pop in the corridor. Reaching down, I couldn't find a six-gun, and was confused for a moment until I reached behind my back to feel the long bone handle of a bowie knife. I drew it from my belt, revealing a broad blade with a clip point. That'll do.
I held it in a reverse grip with my right hand, using my left to unlock the door. The key clicked loudly in the lock, and I paused a moment. I didn't hear any movement inside. I turned the knob and pushed, standing aside in case of a shot. Nothing. Very carefully, I eased my head around the frame.
Two large beds occupied the center of the room, both unmade, and one a bloody mess with a large man lying atop it. He had several holes in him, and tears in his clothing. He put up a fight, but the blade that killed him didn't seem to have an edge. An icepick, perhaps? He bled out more from the wound on his neck, most likely having his carotid artery punctured. A hard shot with a slim blade like that.
Next to the bed was a short dresser with a large jewelry box sitting atop it. All it's drawers were open, some were missing, and scattered all around were gems of various shapes, shades, and sizes. But no diamonds.
Guess I spoke too soon. In the dim lamplight, a glimmer from the corner by the window caught my eye. It was a small one, but looked real enough. Even if I don't catch the rest of the gang, it could be worth something. I tucked it into my hat and looked over to the window. A boot imprint was visible on the sill, and down below was a long awning that looked to be the roof of the stables. So that's how they got away.
Climbing out the window, I jumped down from the roof of the stables. The flashes from the fireworks overhead caused shadows to dance along the ground, illuminating the hoof prints of their horses. The smoke dissipated further along their trail, the stars and moon overhead would light the way. Sheathing my knife, I saddled the nearest horse and rode after them.
It didn't take long to track them down. There was an abandoned homestead not far from town, and they seemed to have stopped there for the night. I hitched my horse to a tree behind a hill and reconnoitered. One lookout, with a cigarette in his face, and a rifle slung across his back. Piece of cake.
I snuck around from the far side of the house, being careful when passing under the window. Drawing my knife, I cut a piece of rope from a length that was lying on the ground and wrapped it around my left fist, leaving a length dangling. With my knife back in it's sheathe, I took off my hat for a peak around the corner. His back was turned. I ran up, whipping the rope around his throat and pulling tight, garroting him. Though the rope was taught around his neck, he flailed wildly. I managed to cut off enough of his air for him to pass out, but the commotion probably alerted those inside. I'm out of time.
Bursting through the door, I had my knife in hand, and assessed the situation right away. I had four guns pointed at me from four corners of the room. I jumped through the window in front of me just as they went off. Getting back to my feet, I took a peek back inside. That's four of them down. I wonder if the reward needed them back alive.
A shadow from behind had me jump aside, leaving me with just a slash in my arm rather than my neck. He had on a black vest, a black hat, and a large machete with my blood on it. I lifted the brim of my hat using the tip of my blade and spun it back into a reverse grip. He made the first swing. I parried with my blade and turned, using my other hand to catch his head and throw him into the broken window. He didn't go all the way through, hanging over the edge of the sill. And as he came back up, bits of broken glass clung to him. His blade changed hands, and he reached down for his gun. I spun my knife around, readying it for a throw.
When I got up, I had a pain in my neck and a splitting headache. The sun was shining through my windows, and as I reached over for my glasses, I wondered what brought that dream on. And whether or not I had won my quick draw duel.

The High Road

My dreams usually feel like something out of a video game and this was no exception. The details are getting kind of fuzzy now, but for the first part, I was blasted out of a cannon, landed on top of a grassy mesa. It was right up against the side of a cliff face, which wasn't a difficult climb. It did lead to a rocky path that came out to a small village.
It looked like something out of Disneyland, or Thief: The Dark Project. The cobblestone streets were lined with shops. Following it to the right, the path stopped at a railing overlooking a view of Disneyland. Guess I got the first part right, except I was very high up, and there's nothing like this at Disneyland.
I backtracked, following the path up and to the right. Just about all the shops seemed closed, though there were a few that looked open. One souvenir shop even had racks of display swords out front, some of which looked to be as long as I am tall, with two blades. The longer blade was thick at the base and swept up in a long fin shape, about four feet long. The handle was red wrapped in black cord, which ended in a shorter blade with a similar shape, but less than a foot long. Interesting, but hardly practical.
I walked back the way I came and noticed an open door in a side corridor. Inside looked like a cross between an antique shop and a museum. It was a mix of dusty mannequins, ancient armors, wooden furniture and fixtures hand made by craftsmen. The lamplight, faded by the years, casts a yellow glow along the red brick walls. And along one wall, from the rafters to atop a cabinet, was a rack of longbows. Their quality varied from simple to ornate, one of which looked strikingly similar to one I saw in a comic book once.
"I know what you're thinking. It's real."
Hearing that voice, I was expecting Archer, probably an association I made when looking at the bows. But I looked over and saw a young woman, tall, dark brown hair that reached to the small of her back, and luminous brown eyes. She had a lithe figure under a navy sweatshirt with a hood and dark jeans that were quite flattering to her form. She nodded her head towards the bows up on the wall.
"English royalty would sometimes thin their bows so they wouldn't intimidate visiting dignitaries." She told me.
I didn't believe her. For one, the longbow was a peasant weapon. Royals wouldn't use one, save for perhaps when hunting. Secondly, noblesse oblige would probably be a foreign concept to them during the time such weapons would be in use. And "thinning" doesn't sound like an actual archery term or practice, and if it were, it doesn't sound like it would serve any practical purpose. I was about to say so when she walked off, and I found myself following her to another room of the shop.
She ran her fingers along the counter tops as she walked. Her steps were so smooth she almost seemed to be gliding across the floor. She opened a door on the far wall, and I followed her into a narrow white hallway. The door was right in the corner, the hall leading forwards and to the right, with barely enough room for my shoulders either way. She paused after a few steps and looked back past me, to the door I had just came through.
The door opened once again, and out came a photographer with an interesting fashion sense. He was slim as to be almost skeletal, and the short pink mohawk was particularly glaring to look at. I didn't get a good look at his face, his camera came up as he declared that it was time to replace her portrait and snapped away at her.
The girl I was following stood taller and posed as her picture was taken, a very demure look coming upon her face as the photographer snapped picture after picture. This only lasted for a few seconds until he turned around and vanished through the door. That was when I noticed the recessed frame in the wall. I only caught a glimpse of the picture when she had reached in, grabbed it, and carelessly tossed it down the hall. She even stepped on it as though it weren't even there as she continued on, suddenly taking on a hauteur that was jarring, and even rather ugly to witness.
I didn't bother following, instead reaching down to the floor to pick up the photo. Her eyes were brighter than they had seemed when I first met her by the longbows, outshone only by her smile. I wondered how it would feel to kiss her. Then I remembered how she looked and acted just now in the hallway and wondered why I would ever consider that in the first place. Whatever. Folding the picture, I tucked it neatly under my vest, into the pocket of my shirt and walked on in the direction that she went.
I was awakened by a knocking at the door. As I snapped upright in bed, I remembered that I had to help clean out the storage unit today. Going over the dream in my mind, I started piecing together where my subconscious had dug up each part from. The mesa felt like something out of a Mario game from the previous generation, right down to being blasted out of a cannon. The cobble stone streets, and much of the shops was indeed something out of the Thief series, although the area by the swords felt like the marina over at Redondo Beach.
The antique shop was unique. It was unlike anything I have experienced, yet would be something I would very much like to run across in real life. Perhaps I'll get the chance to someday. The longbows didn't bring to mind anything, save for one which did resemble one I saw in an issue of Young Avengers. And then there was the girl.
At first I thought she was Caitlyn, a character in my writings. She sounded like how I imagine Archer would speak, but Cait has hazel eyes and jet black, shoulder length hair. Truthfully, the girl I dreamed up could match up to any number of women I've seen. I'm leaning strongly towards someone I may have seen at work, though it could be anyone. As it is now, I'm having trouble remembering the details of her face, but I still remember her eyes.