“It’s him!”

The screen door of the sheriff’s station slammed open with a bang. Grant snorted upright, yanked from the light doze he’d slipped into like a fish on a line.

“Whose him?” The man slurred. The last tendrils of sleep still dragging at his eyelids seemed to slow the world around him to a crawl.

“The Kid! It’s The fucking Kid!” The man who had burst through the door shouted and every ounce of sleep slugging through Grant’s veins evaporated in an instant.

“Ah, shit!” The sheriff cursed more to himself than the man. He snatched his cowhide hat off the cluttered table he’d been lounging behind and slammed a large hand down on the splintering surface as he pushed by. Grant grabbed his rifle from where it had been leaning by the door before shoving into the screen and bursting forth to the outdoors.

The sun raged across the land like a rabid beast. The street was engulfed in the evening’s ruby flames. The glass windows of every wooden storefront gleamed crimson and the very dust underfoot seemed to shimmer in the twilight heat.

Save for straight down the middle of the wide dirt road where the ground was kicked up in a massive cloud a mile high.

Grant whipped his head to follow the trail up the street. The man just caught a flash of darkness across the fire expanse of sunset before the gray cloud of grime swallowed up the sight.

The sheriff snapped his gaze back around to the guy who’d come screaming into his office. The man- well, no, the boy really - couldn’t have been more than fourteen. A black kid with curling hair kept cropped close to his skull and dirt smudged across his light blue shirt. Poor sap looked like he’d seen a ghost prancing up.

“Get the deputy, tell ‘em to ride around the saloon.” Grant instructed the boy. “Maybe we can still cut this bastard off!” The man jogged across the short porch and grabbed the reins hitching his horse off the pole there. The dark brown leather was warmed in the sun and seared against his hand where he clasped it but the man pulled it free nevertheless.

The creature was a stout thing, a Morgan with many a rough ride under her weathered pelt. Well worked muscles bulged under chestnut fur and tensed for action when the sheriff arrived. The horse’s head dipped slightly and her tawny main ruffled with the action.

The sheriff flung an arm across the old saddle and hauled his weight atop the animal. The tanned leather groaned under his weight but the man had no fear it nor his trusty steed would fail him yet. “Aye, Nellie! After that son’ bitch!” Grant shouted in a growl and snapped the reins.

Nellie spurred into a swift gallop at her rider’s command. Heavy hooves pounded against the dirt road in a thunderous roar. A new wave of dust surged up in the sheriff’s wake and stung at his eyes, pointed needles that he squinted against to see. It clogged his throat and threatened to leave him coughing up his own lungs but he didn’t slow.

Buildings blurred as Grant snapped the reigns down again. The startled gasps of worried onlookers and the boisterous call of men calling their brothers to arms melded with the din of hooves rolling over the land until it was all one great storm of noise. A woman in a white dress pulled her child to her breast. A man in a vest pushed open a door to see what all the fuss was about.

Soon, however, the scenery changed. Wooden shop fronts and clustered houses fell away to open sky. A determined scowl hardened Grant’s features as he broke town limits and met the empty plane. The man leaned forward with a sharp “Yah!” There was no way he was letting that weasel faced rat worm his way out of his hands this time.

Dust billowed up before the lawman and he drove harder. A streak of black smudged the dirt wall in the distance but took shape as Grant gained on the fleeing shadow. Indeterminable darkness took shape and formed the outline of a rider. Black smudges melded into the lean hindquarters of a mount and gray clouds became the figure of a man.

Just a silhouette against the flamelicked sunset - But enough for Grant to know without doubt…

Him.

The Phantom.

The Night Rider.

The Shadow Thief.

The Kid.

As lean and lithe as his horse, The Kid was as quick as him too. A whisp on the wind, some had rumored the outlaw. Others claim he simply wasn’t of this earth; a tormented soul roaming the barren frontier in the dead of night. Unable to be touched by sun or skin. Ethereal.

Grant was not a superstitious man. The Kid was bound to the same earthly laws as everyone else - And he’d broken a hell of a lot of them.

“Stop in the name of the law!” Grant bellowed as he gained on the outlaw. Unsurprisingly, The Kid did no such thing.

A train whistle screamed up ahead. The noise was nearly deafening in its shrill cry, like a woman who’d walked into a nest of rats snoozing in her girdle. Grant glanced to the side and saw the tracks leading out of town nearly under his hooves. They were following its course.

“Ah, shit!” The man growled and dug a sharp spurr into his horse’s hide. The train they were pursuing soon came into sight, it’s metal cars blazing like fire in the setting sun. “Ah, double shit!” Grant huffed and snapped his reigns down. The steel cars glowed in the ruby twilight as the tail end cart took shape on the horizon. Unmanned and adorned with a empty platform, things couldn't have screamed triple shit any louder.

The Kid was nearly upon the train by the time Grant even got close. The iron horse must have just been pulling out of town but it certainly seemed to be gaining speed now. The thing’s metal tires screamed with action as it blasted forward, threatening to draw out of reach before the sheriff ever had a chance. The heavy sound of metal chugging like lightning across the desert deafened the man, leaving nothing but a dull ring in his ears. He could barely hear his own thoughts.

The Kid steered is horse to the side, banking a sharp right. The animal was black as night. Its raven fur gleamed brilliantly in the fire of the setting sun and its sleek mane shone like a gemstone shadow. Smooth muscles rippled under a glistening pelt as the animal raced alongside the train, flexing and tensing with each fluid motion.

Beautiful as it was, the horse still began to slip out of pace with its iron racer.

Grant felt a surge of hope course through him. There was no way in hell the outlaw could jump the train from where he sat. The Kid’s horse still wasn't quite close enough and was only dropping further behind by the second.

This time, Grant would bring the mongrel to justice.

Except, The fucking Kid suddenly started pulling his boots out of the holsters. The guy wiggled his left shoe free from its place and swung it around so he sat facing the train. He gripped the saddle horn with one hand and pulled his knee up to brace his foot under his butt. The man leaned back a bit to do the same with his right shoe. Then, low and behold, The stupid fucking Kid went and pushed himself uprigt.

“What the hell do you think you’re doing?” Grant hollered, roaring to be heard over the horrible noise of the train.

The Kid didn’t so much as spare him a glance. The long end of his black duster coat whipped violently in the breeze and the sleeves of the thing flapped about his arms where he held them out for balance. Brown eyes narrowed over top of a triangular, black bandana pulled over his nose and mouth.

“Don’t you fucking-” Grant began but was cut off when The Kid decidedly ignored him entirely. Big surprise there.

The outlaw bent his knees for a moment before pushing off. His heel spurred off the top edge of the saddle to send his body sideways toward the train. Long legs spanned the air between animal and machine and stretching fingers reached for the edge of the banister lining the platform.

Grant cursed colorfully. There was no way The Kid was making it. There was no fucking way-

The outlaw’s boots slammed into the metal platform with a noisy clatter nearly inaudible over the roar of the train. His hands caught the metal banister and clung on instantly, slender fingers wrapping securely around gold tinted steel to stabilize the man. He pulled himself in tight to the train cart and wasted no time beginning to scale the banister. Safe to say nobody on the train would be taking a little stroll out to the roof to catch some air, Grant supposed.

You had to be fucking kidding. “Stop the train!” Grant called angrily. “Goddammit, stop this damn train!” The man yelled but no one could possibly hear him over the noise of the machine. His horse was already beginning to fall behind. You had to be fucking kidding.

The Kid pulled his boot up to the top of the banister and threw an arm up to grab the edge of the steel panel roof. With a bit of scrambling, he hauled himself over the ledge and drew his upper body across the expanse of metal.

“Fuck!” Grant spat uselessly. He drove his horse on anyway, spurring forward fueled by nothing but spite. A red faced growl twisted his features. The bastard Kid had gotten away from him too many times before. He couldn’t let him get away this time too.

The Kid hauled his butt atop the train cart and turned around. Short, brown hair whipped out from under his black, pinch front hat and lashed sharply around his face. The wayward strands blew over brown eyes that squinted against the breeze but gleamed with the thrill of the chase nevertheless. Lightning danced through his wild eyes and mischief shone brightly in their caramel depths.

He tugged down his bandana to reveal a lawless grin just as untamed and wild as he. Soft, rose dusted cheeks stretched around the smile so hard that they dimpled lightly at the corner of his pink lips.

The outlaw reached back to press a hand against his hat to keep it from blowing away in the ravenous wind. The large, curled back folds of the thing whipped in the breeze as he tipped his head back and gave a clear laugh. The white stampede string twined around the hat flew out behind him and the raven bandana hung slack around his throat where it stretched out with the action.

The Kid crossed the legs of his dark pants so that the heel of his right boot tapped merrily against the toe of his left. A black leather bandolier hung from his right shoulder to his left hip and a thick matching gun belt rested cockeyed on his waist. The dark handle of a revolver could just be seen sticking out of the holster where it drug down a bit farther on his right. Complete with barely visible white undershirt and back vest strapped overtop of that, Grant could understand why the outlaw had been rumored a shadow.

“Maybe next time, Sheriff!” The Kid called gaily, shouting to be heard over the roar of his getaway and Grant’s return curse was drowned out by the shrill whistle of the untouchable train.