Gut-shot and cold, Early rode out.
He wondered why he bothered: if the mob caught him, he’d die quicker. Stupidity, he guessed, flicking the reins. Same stupidity that drove him to cheat at cards. He didn’t think. Soon he wouldn’t think at all.
It was what he was best at.
(Inspired by the prompt of “cowboy” for the August edition of the monthly 50 word story contest at scottishbooktrust.com)