[ WP ] `` I do n't owe you a fair fight ''

The desert sand swirled as the winds began to shift. It was afternoon and the sun shone high overhead, burning the dry, cracked desert floor. Somewhere a cicada shrilled its cry into the air. 
 
 The gunman in black, still on his knees from when the standing gunman had found him, stared into the dirty water of the spring. He'd die here. 
 
 `` I found you.'' The voice of the standing gunman was soft, the words leaving his lips with purpose and a cleanliness to them. Tucker was twenty-nine now. It'd taken him nine years to find the man before him. 
 
 `` You got me, kid,'' replied the crouching man, still staring at the small amount of water that remained in the spring. `` You got me dead to rights.'' He licked his lips. `` I always knew you would, too, if'n I was tellin' the truth, boy. You're a good kid, your father would be proud.'' 
 
 Tucker pressed the barrel of his gun against the back of his captor's head. `` Do n't you mention my Pa, Clive, you do n't deserve to speak of him.'' 
 
 Clive and four others had waited outside of a saloon till John, Tucker's father, had come out near dark. They unloaded a shotgun and three pistols into the unsuspecting man before he hit the ground. The only thing left sounding in the air as his body hit the floor was the running feet of the four men. Tucker had hunted all of them down, and Clive was the last. 
 
 `` Stand up, Clive. I want to look you in your eyes.'' 
 
 Clive stood up and turned slowly. 
 
 Tucker had changed since he'd last seen him. Instead of the skinny, scrawny boy that had confronted him in a bar eight years ago, he was a tall, strapping man with a chiseled jaw and mean, dark eyes. 
 
 Meanwhile, Clive was soft and plump, his eyes dim and dark, heavy bags underneath them. He'd been hunted for the last nine years, and being hunted had a way of eating at a man. `` Truth is,'' Clive admitted, `` I'm glad you've finally caught me, Tucker. I'm tired of running.'' 
 
 Tucker stared at the man in front of him. `` I do n't owe you a fair fight, Clive, but I'm going to give it to you.'' Tucker dropped his gun and threw a strong right at Clive's right temple. 
 
 Clive saw the punch coming too late and rolled away, the punch rolling off of his temple. He rocked back on the heels of his feet and then fell to the ground. He rolled back and jumped to his feet only to be met with a flurry of jabs from Tucker. They cut at his cheeks and slammed into his gut. 
 
 Suddenly Clive shifted to his right and feinted a left, following it with a stiff uppercut. The blow sent Tucker flying backwards. All Clive could see was red, and he charged, head down. 
 
 The two men went to the hot, desert floor, rolling and exchanging blows. Clive was a big man, and his speed was deceiving. He recovered his feet first and sent a flying kick towards the scrambling Tucker. The kick connected, breaking several ribs and sending Tucker back to the ground. Clive went in for another kick and Tucker caught it, twisting it until Clive had to fall in order to save his balance. 
 
 The two men swiftly rose to their feet and circled each other like wild cats. Clive charged and Tucker moved quickly to the side and brought a heavy elbow onto Clive's shoulders. Clive swung around and hammered Tucker with three successive punches. Tucker reeled back from the powerful blows, and Clive followed it with a left hook and right jab to the chin. Tucker ducked another hit and with a double-handed fist swung at Clive. The hit slammed into Clive's left cheek and caused him to take a half-step back. 
 
 Tucker moved forward and then the two men were toe-to-toe, slugging each other with everything they had. Clive faltered and Tucker smashed his lips with a right hook, causing the man to step back. He jabbed him three times quickly in the teeth and followed it with a wide, powerful haymaker. 
 
 Clive fell to the ground. Tucker, swaying in the desert heat, stumbled to his gun and holstered it. He wiped blood and sweat out of his eyes, flexing his hands and stretching them. 
 
 Clive struggled to his feet, face bloodied and broken. 
 
 Once he was standing, Tucker yelled out. `` *Now! *'' 
 
 Clive's hands fell and his gun was clearing leather when a bullet smashed into the label just below his left pocket. Another bullet sent him flying back, and his gun fell back into the holster. 
 
 Tucker stood over the man he had hunted for the last nine years and holstered his gun. `` You got more than my Pa,'' he said, spitting out blood. `` And you could n't even manage that.'' He turned and walked away.
