The old cowboy’s silhouette danced on sandstone behind him as he turned over and regarded the younger man across the fire. “Come sun up, you and me’ll head into town and see what’s what.”
The younger man grumbled an affirmative and nodded off almost immediately. His dreams were dark and foggy, with vague images of creatures beyond comprehension and evil thus far unknown. He woke still shuddering but forgot why by the time he stowed his blanket in the saddlebag.. He stoked the fire and cooked the morning’s beans and bacon while he let the old man sleep a few minutes past sunrise.
Soon enough, the old guy rolled over, farted, stretched, and stood with a creaking of bones and grunts of pain. He got to the fire just in time to accept his breakfast with a nod of thanks.
After breakfast was cleaned up, the old cowboy said, “A redskin chief I met years ago lives hereabouts. He knows a thing or two about witchcraft and he oughta be able to help us out.”
The young man didn’t respond as he stowed the tin bowls away, but he didn’t like the idea of involving one of them Injun folk his pappy had warned him about.
They rode through a small town with wary eyes upon them the whole time. Stopped off to fill their canteens with water from the community well, then passed on without a word to anyone.
Once they were back on the trail, the older man grumbled, “Creepy, don’t’cha think?” He waggled his eyebrows and smiled before spitting a long stream of brown juice into the dust.
The younger cowboy regarded the new spot of mud a moment as they passed, then said, “Yup, creepy. You s’pose even one o’ them folks is still alive?”
“Oh yeah. I reckon most of ‘em are. Tough to tell the difference between dyin’ and dead though.”
It was well past noon when they turned off the well-trodden path, headed for a stand of rock spires in the distance. The sun was reddening when they rode into the Indian village. The old cowboy dismounted and limped over to a large teepee where he was let inside.
Darkness fell before he came back out, an Indian chieftain trudging along behind. The younger man was sitting cross-legged, watching hobbled horses graze nearby. He turned his head and his eyes went wide. The Indian held a glowing orb of light in his hand that caused the younger man to shield his eyes and shuffle backward in fear.
“You ever seen a thing light up bright like that?” the old cowboy said. “Like the moon it lights up!”
“Sure as shit!” the younger man said, still crab-walking backward until his shoulders ran into one of the community’s teepees.
The older man turned to the chief. “What’d the kid say it was again?”
“Toopuni okama windayroo,” the bronze-skinned elder said in a gruff voice.
“Hm,” the old cowboy said, rubbing his stubbly chin. “Kid’s talking madness if you ask me.”
He regarded the younger man, who had gathered his courage and stood in the face of that terrible glow. “So there’s a little Injun kid here who can supposedly tell the future and such. Talks to dead folk, I guess. Not that I ever seen any reason to talk to any o’ them creepy things. But, my friend the Chief here says the kid wanted us to have this. Says it’s a telegraph you don’t gotta tether to a wall,” he said, gesturing at the glowing orb. “Says he can talk to the future with it if’n he wants to.”
The younger man swallowed. “What the hell for? Ain’t there enough trouble right here, right now?”
The older man considered this for a long moment, then nodded. He turned back to the chieftain. “No payas windayroo,” he said, “me okeemy kas.”
The old Indian closed his eyes and raised his hands briefly in an attitude of prayer. After another moment, he put his arms down and stared directly at the younger man. “You keepee head, boy. No lookee dead men’s eyes, sabee?”
The young man nodded. He felt sick and found it hard to swallow as he stared.
“You no listen dead men’s speak, sabee?”
Another nod.
The old Indian turned to the older cowboy and sighed. “You. You no see two suns. You stay with dead mens. You sabee?”
The old cowboy grinned his lopsided grin and said, “We’ll see, brother. We’ll see.”
The chieftain clapped him hard on the shoulder and nodded. Then, he took the infernal orb back to his tent without another word.
The old cowboy motioned for the younger to follow him and they both got back in the saddle to head toward the quiet, suspicious town they’d passed through. The ghost town. “You know,” he said as a shooting star cut the sky above, “without the Injun kid’s help, we’re heading in blind.”
“I know,” the younger man said. “I’m okay with that.”
The old man nodded and spat a black wad of chaw. “Reckon it’s my turn t’make the vittles.”
Four days later, the younger man limped out of the desert—bloody and haggard, sunburnt and nearly dead of thirst, according to the passing stagecoach driver who collected him.
In the nearest town, the local midwife nursed him back to health. He was plagued with what she guessed were terrible nightmares. He’d thrash under the covers and rave about dead men, eyes of fire, screeching voices calling his name. Sometimes, he’d cry in his sleep, whispering about “the old man” and “the kid’s ball o’ light.”
Once the fever broke and the midwife tried gently prodding him with questions, he never said a word. When he was well enough to travel, he paid her and bought a tired old horse and left, leaving behind a small leather pouch filled with chewing tobacco she never saw him use.