In the annals of the West, there are many disreputable characters, criminals who cared for nothing more than their own welfare. But there were also many good people, those who desired to improve their own lives and the lives of others. A small group, however, inhabited the gray area between the world of right and wrong. Occasionally, some of those famed on one side of the law stepped over to the other side for purposes of well or ill.

Branson Carmody: Man of the West is a tale of how the fates of two men become intertwined over a number of years through meetings and encounters that always get left unfinished. Just as one tries to escape the shadow of his past, the other is determined to resurrect it. So connected are their paths that they're bound to cross again, sometime and somewhere. When they finally do, it'll mean a closure for both, but only one will live to realize it.

There are times when moving to the right side can be just as dangerous as staying on the wrong.

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            “Well ,look who it is,” Visco said, offering a wide smile containing not an ounce of friendliness. “I heard you settled out this way somewhere. Been a while, hasn’t it?” He swung his boot at the dirt street and kicked up a cloud, which blew Carmody’s way. “This windy out where you live? I might come and see what you made of yourself. I hear you got a little farm, nice wife, even a kid. Nice house, too, I’ll bet.” He paused to let his last comment sink in.

           “Right you are, Visco. Haven’t seen you for what…three years, almost four?” Carmody said.

           “You know why? You wanna know why you haven’t seen me for so long? Hey, Lance, Darby, shall I tell him why?” The two men didn’t reply but merely exchanged glances and laughed. “I’ll tell you why. ’Cause of you. Dirty scum like you. You chased me all over south Texas and Mexico. Didn’t get me, though, did you?”                                    

            “No, didn’t figure it was worth my time after I cleaned out your gang,” Carmody answered calmly. “You never were much good alone. Didn’t hear anything about you after I left you hiding behind that woman and her children in Mexico. Tales of your bravery never spread very far, I’m afraid.”

           Carmody stood a few inches taller than Visco and had a thicker body, a result of the last few years of outdoor work on the small farm where he’d settled his family.

           “Where’s your gun, Carmody? And what’s with the sling?”

           “I don’t carry any longer. Busted up my arm in an accident three years ago. Those days are over for me.”

           “Well, they ain’t over for me. You get yourself a gun. I ain’t leavin’ this town without settling with you.”

           “You’re too late, Visco. You had a chance to face me more than once, but you ran away each time, and you kept running. Last time you had the opportunity, I left you hiding behind a woman’s skirt. Remember? I do.”

            Visco’s jaw quivered in anger, but he didn’t reply.

            “Believe me when I tell you those days are over for me. You go your way, I’ll go mine.”

           “My way is through you, Carmody,” Visco said, his voice rising. “You better be packing next time I see you.”

           Carmody shook his head. “Won’t happen, Visco. You had your last chance a few years ago, but you chose to run rather than take me on. You had a choice, and we both know how you chose.” Carmody turned away and put one leg up on his buckboard wheel.

           “I chose to run,” Visco spat, and he bolted forward and grabbed Carmody by the shoulder supporting the sling. He spun him around, grabbed his shirt front, and threw him into the dirt.