penthius

As the boy looked up from the patterns he'd been scrawling in the dust in front of the saloon, the skin of Mitch's neck tightened. The kid didn't look the least bit scairt of the big man with the guns. He just nodded his head a little, gunslinger to gunslinger, before he went back to making those eye-bending swirls in the dust. Mitch shook his head a little, trying to clear it from the confusion that those patterns made in his head, and faced the saloon again. "Rosty, you yellow-bellied coward," he shouted, "get your ass on out here and face me like a man! You know that I'd be a'coming for you soon's you made the mistake of laying a hand on my sister. You knew that I'd be a'coming for the killing as soon as you heard she'd kilt herself from shame!"

Inspiration: "Ode to Billy Joe" by Buddy Merrill
Story Potential: High, I think? I am confused.
Notes: So, the kid's Death. Maybe. Or maybe the kid's some sort of shaman/wizard who saves Mitch from Death. Not sure if this is a fantasy or a western, either. Still, the idea clings to me like trail dust.