The Man With No Bedroom

This post is for the group story-mentor. It's also the next installment in "The Man With No Name” Saga.

@michelle.gent said:

Tell me something about where you sleep – you can’t get more personal than that.
I don’t mind if it’s fact, fiction or a mixture, tell me as much detail about your bed, bedroom, sleeping quarters as you possibly can.

Blondie

He pulled the horse to a halt and slid from the saddle. He unhooked the saddle and slipped it from his faithful steed’s back. There was a slit in the rock that served as the entrance to his lair, and just inside was a small boulder that seemed like it was designed to be a saddle rack. He shuffled into the cave, straining against the weight of the saddle after a long day, and stiffly dropped the saddle into place. “The Man With No Name” couldn’t be seen in just any saddle, and since he pushed his equipment hard, he always took good care of it.

The day's ride had been a rough one. Fortunately, he had gotten back before dark. The sun was getting low in the sky and would set soon. He didn’t like being on the move after dark; too hard to know who else was out there. For a man who brought darkness to the eyes of so many, he much preferred the light.

The cave wasn’t much. Most people wouldn’t even call it a home, but the cave on the backside of Sand Hill was just perfect for the pistol-wielding Bounty Killer. He liked the solitude, and the fact that there was only one way in. That meant fewer sightlines to check, just one big one. “When you live by the sword, you die by the sword.” The same thing was true for guns. You couldn’t be too safe, so it was best to have a hideout where you could see people coming.

The horse had been with him through a lot and knew the routine as well as No Name himself. There wasn’t a need for a tether; the only grass in those parts was close to the cave. Besides, the two of them had an understanding; they had each other's back. While the horse started in on a clump of grass, Blondie brushed him until he shined; didn’t want a burr causing the horse to get jumpy when the bullets started to fly. Blondie stroked the muscular brown beast’s nose and gave him a lump of sugar, then he headed into his house of rock.

“Blondie.” He didn’t much care for that moniker, but as No Name was given, people just referred to him by the color of his locks. They could have just as easily called him “Diamond Eyes”, “Legsie”, or “The Nose,” so he just took it in stride… a long, very confident stride.

The cave was still dimly lit by the sun, but Blondie lit a candle and set it on his rock “mantle.” He scanned the room out of habit; just a quick inventory to make sure everything was in order. In the back corner there was a makeshift bed of soft hay. He had one blanket to put over the hay, and another to sleep under. He didn’t have a pillow, but that was ok. He just slept with his head on a folded shirt. This made it easier to know what to wear the next day.

He had a short stool to sit on and a small, low table on which to clean his guns. In the corner opposite the “bed,” there was a chest where he kept a few clothes and his valuables. It was locked, but there wasn’t really a need for it. Who in their right mind would steal from “Blondie?” Besides, no one knew about this place except for him and the horse.

He sat down and carefully went through his routine of cleaning his precious instruments. A well-functioning pistol could be the difference between life and death, so he always took good care of them. He didn’t have any food for dinner, but he had stopped earlier at a monastery where he ate a small meal: beef soup… minus the beef. Times were tough and didn’t make an exception for anyone. By the time he had finished cleaning and polishing the guns, it was well-past dark.

He reclined onto the bed and pulled one of the rough blankets over himself. The ornate pattern closely resembled the one on his poncho. He didn’t bother to remove the poncho, or his boots. He’d just have to put them on again in the morning. Also, it tended to get cold at night. Although he wore his gun belt, his now-clean pistols were on the table. Besides, he didn’t need them right now. He had a special gun under his pillow for night time.

It was an ornate, short-barrel revolver designed for ladies because it was small enough to be concealed in the fashionable dresses of the time. It had an ivory handle inlaid with gold. It was only accurate at short range, but you couldn’t get more short-range than a tiny cave. If he ever had the need to fight in the confines of the cave, this gun would give him his best shot. It was a special piece that had been with him many years and that he cherished. He always held it fondly and its mere presence gave him peace.

He reached for the precious pistol under his shirt-pillow as he prepared to blow out the candle, but his hand returned empty. He threw the shirt aside and searched around frantically, but couldn’t find his priceless treasure.

It was GONE!

Someone had been in his house!

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I hope you enjoyed this installment. If you liked it, please feel free to upvote and comment below. I'd love to hear your thoughts.

@themanwithnoname

Image sources 1 l 2 l 3