The Man On The Run

Wyatt lay in his bed with a revolver in his right hand. His face was drenched in sweat, his palms red with blood. The sound of horses approaching the house in which Wyatt was located, sent a shiver down his spine. He quickly sat up and got off of the bed and approached the window. He saw six men on horseback riding from afar. He looked down at his revolver, empty. He approached a cupboard, searching for ammunition. He rummaged around through the drawers but was not successful. Wyatt approached the body and searched it. He threw the body onto its stomach and found a pistol in its back pocket. He quickly snatched the gun out of the pocket and checked for bullets. There were no bullets in the gun. "Damn." Wyatt muttered. He then walked towards the house's back door and ran for his life. He didn't look back at the men on horses, so it was unclear whether they spotted him or not. He was panting hard, still not looking back. Wyatt felt safe, until the first shot was fired. A bullet came right past him, just missing his torso. Wyatt looked back for only a second, catching a quick glimpse of the men as he did so. He then looked back and ran quicker and quicker. His legs were shaking as he ran, the hill which he was running upwards was steep enough to tire him out. He then heard more gunshots, except no bullets were flying past him. He didn't look back again. He just ran up the hill more until the gunfire was beginning to quieten down more and more.