Riding the train in my old western chaps, a cowboy doing cowboy things in a cowboy way. We're riding into the next town where we'd stop for the night because it was too dangerous to ride the train into the darkness. A train full of passengers including women and children, a few random cowboys, a couple of old drunks sawing logs.
A storm blew up out of nowhere, as it does so often in the old west. We were soon engulfed in the storm which frightened the children and the women who were shielding them from a cruel world. Looking out the window i could not see much - bare desert and tumbleweeds blowing around furiously in the wind. Between cracks of thunder and flashes of lightning appeared what looked to be a massive Indian sitting on a pale horse. A second flash later he was gone.
Figured the saloon at the next town would be a nice place to unload, so i tipped my hat over my eyes to try and sleep this one off. Another flash and bang jolted the train. Child in the seat ahead of me pointed to the window desperately trying to get his mothers attention, "Geronimo" he said. I pulled my hat up to look and there again i noticed an Indian sitting on the pale horse - same one i saw just a bit ago.
This time the Indian is holding something in his hand. Lightning flashes and it appears to be someone's severed head. Another flash and he's even closer to the train, and he is holding my severed head in his hand.
Startled i leap out of my seat and pull my pistols instantly and began shooting with both revolvers out the window at the ruthless savage - but he is gone and apparently so am i.
I look around the train and it is now completely different. A modern day train full of tourists taking pictures of the old west scenery - and now apparently me as well, as i stand there in the aisle pointing at the window with both hands screaming obscenities at the trading post we happen to be passing by.