Wakin’ up to the gentle lull of a creek is somethin’ I ain’t expecting. Thoughts of hellfire and brimstone brush through my mind instead, but no such sounds nor smell of sulfur graces me.

  Instead, I hear the call of nature ‘round me. Birds chirpin’, horses stompin’, the water of course, and the slight crackle of bonfire. It ain’t no big blaze though. There ain’t no Devil’s cackle. No Old Man’s yowl.

  A hand comes to my face, with roughened fingers that scratch up on my face. I writhe, and I sure do shout.

  It’s so damn dark I can’t see shit!

  “Get the fuck offa me!” I swat around, but I don’t hit anything. I make a grab for my sawed-off, but there ain’t nothing in my holster. And my mouth, it dries.

  “You won’t be finding that gun of yours anytime soon. Sit still, let me clean your eyes.” A fierce voice comes, and then that hand grips me by the jaw.

  No amount of petty swattin’ I do sways my assailant. At some point, I just stop tryin’.

  A damp cloth rubs against my cheek, then my eyes. I squeeze ‘em tight, but this stranger forces me to keep ‘em open.

  “Stop it. Quit acting like this,” the say. When one eye is done, they go for the other. “It’s not that painful. I’ve to get all of this gunk off…”

  I could do that shit my self, and damn, I do try, but this stranger don’t take to kindly to my “willful” actions. They tell me to simmer down.

  I ain’t known for simmerin’, but without a gun and without a proper light, I’m at mercy, I suppose.

  My eyes feel lighter, once they’re clean. I hear this stranger rustlin’ over to the water’s edge, and then there’s the squeeze of that damp cloth. Sounds so crisp and clear, I almost can’t believe it.

  Moreso, I’m surprised he ain’t fallin’ in.

  “Kind stranger. You wouldn’t happen to have a lamp on ya right about now, would ya?”

  The response is snappy. “There’s no need.”

  I sit up at that, and whatever rustlin’ he’s doin’ ceases. “The fuck you mean there ain’t no need? So damn dark out here. Ain’t right to be so trustin’ at night.”

  He sighs out, heavily so. “That is because it is not night. Should be around noon this time. No need to waste good fuel for a light unneeded.”

  My jaw goes slack. I do what any rational man would do, and I rub at my eyes. They burn, they water. They itch like hell. But, no matter what I do, that darkness don’t fade from my vision.

  And slowly, I start piecin’ the puzzle together. My hands make way to my lap, and I start to fidget.

  Then that day comes back to me. The chase with the Old Man and the Devil himself. That creepin’ crawl of black ‘cross my eyes. It wasn’t no spirits.

  “You’ve some sickness,” the stranger says. “It ate up your eyes, and that is all I can tell. They’ve gone cloudy.”

  His footsteps cross in front of me, then beside, then further to the fire crackle. Iron rattles over loose wood.

  And as I listen to this stranger toss something in what I can only assume to be a pan, I have to sit here. To stew. To chew on this.

  I wipe my eyes and feel the burn from the back of my fingers.

  “I swore I saw them, they were comin’ for me. But, I was wrong. I was just…”

  Goin’ blind.

  Goin’ blind? At my age?

  From sickness?

  What the hell do I have?

  Footsteps come again, and I feel the brush of moccasins on my arm. Something warm is placed next to me, smells like meat.

  And a waterskin is pressed to my lips, after I flinch away from the initial touch.

  “Drink. Don’t hesitate.”

  How curt.

  But, I can’t deny the scratchin’ feelin’ at the back of my throat. I oblige, if only to sate my own needs. So, steeped in my own disbelief, I take the waterskin from their hands and take careful sips. Although it’s cold ‘n fresh, I can’t bear to savor it. I simply swallow it down, all the while my heart pounds in my chest.

  I suppose it makes some sorta sense, all this. The chase through the open space, the shadows, the darkness. In a way, I find myself relieved almost, to still be kickin’ long enough to get things done. But still, to think I’ve lost my eyesight. To some backass disease I don’t know of…

  I hold back a choke in my throat, and feel the sting of water bubble up in my eyes. Aw, come on now, don’t fuckin’ do it.

  I take a breath. The waterskin’s a little lighter in my hands now, the lap from within silenced from a lack of water. I hold it out forward, that’s about all I can do, and it’s taken from me.

  And it’s a pitiful feelin’, listenin’ to some stranger shift around in an effort to care for me now, a blind man.

  It’s startin’ to piss me off in a way I didn’t know I could be. I feel the heat in my face from it, and a burnin’ itch in my hands. Just the simple fact my god damn eyes gave out on me. They ain’t comin’ back. Never. This is it.

  This is what life looks like now.

  Empty and black.

  The stranger holds hot meat in front of me. Smells of rabbit and nothin’ else. “Eat up. I spent too long hunting for this, only to have you scowling.”

  I reach up and fumble for meat. Feels like a leg, wet with fat, but dry in certain spots. I tear into it, and fight to keep my jaw from snappin’ out of lost dignity. And as I chew, that stranger starts a’talkin’.

  “So cowboy, mind telling me why I found you out in open land? Passed out? With that horse of yours dragging you about?”

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  That’s a lot of questions, and the only words that really resonate as I gnaw bland rabbit bone are “horse.” Then I think of Flint. So I swallow down the meat with a shudder and ask back, “Where’s Flint? That horse yer talkin’ about.”

  “The draft is fine, and he’s tied up to post right now. Don’t worry, and don’t derail. Answer me, cowboy.”

  “You can stop callin’ me that. Most people start out with names and howdies and whatever other horse shit. Fuckin’, call me Ribo. I ain’t no god damn cowboy…”

  Any and all rustlin’ this stranger’s got goin’ on silences. Only thing I can hear is the slow draw of breath, the fire, and tack.

  “Sir Ribo Some, is that right? I’ve heard a few rumors.”

  “Only a few? I’d figure my name’d be plastered ‘cross whatever town you come from. Been seein’ posters in all the places I come across, ‘sides Gulch Breeze.”

  This strange laughs, no, more like he cackles. Sounds like the coyotes at night.

  “Yes, I suppose so. And tell me Sir Ribo, just how high of a bounty do you figure I could cash in, turning in a man like you?”

  I grip the bare bone of the rabbit’s leg.

  This sonuva bitch.

  “Well I reckon about three-thousand. That don’t matter, ‘cuz an ass like you ain’t gonna cash in shit!”

  “Oh? That so? And what shall you do, Sir Ribo? You are without your gun, your horse is tied to post, and you are here at my mercy without sight. I imagine things might be pretty bleak for you.”

  I crack those rabbit bones between my fists. “You come a little closer there, and I’ll show you. I don’t need no gun, you lily-livered piece’a-”

  And then I hear him stand up, walk away. His voice is farther. “There’s no need to become violent, Sir Ribo. I doubt I’d be able to make use of such money, nor find myself a position to even make it.”

  The logs shift on the fire, and then the crackling comes down to a temperate bubble. The smell of smoke comes to me in one rushed puff. Must’ve smothered that fire.

  He packin’ up? He’s serious?

  “And why’s that?” I take to my feet with a wobble. “If I weren’t keen on livin’ a little longer, I’d almost be disappointed. Shit, I’d kill someone for that much cash.”

  “I’m sure you already have.”

  “Answer my damn question stranger,” I say with a snap. “And while you’re at it, not boundin’ me in rope, help me over to my horse.”

  I hold my hand out and shake.

  He takes it with those roughened hands of his. The pads of his callouses scratch and fumble over my own. Thick, not from holdin’ a gun. These are wood scars, I think. Then, we walk, slowly.

  “Simple. Your kind think of me as a renegade. I’m no better than you in their eyes. Nothing more than an outlaw.”

  Ah, so that’s what it is. “You’re a native then, huh?”

  “That’s right. And that’s exactly why I’ve no interest in fishing for your bounty. I have no interest in integrating into that society.” He sucks on his teeth, out of frustration I assume. It’s a bit icky, I ain’t gonna lie. Usually I don’t think I’d notice one bit, but…

  I squeeze my eyes, the itch comin’ back. The more I think about it, the more they start to bother it seems. But I dunno, I don’t think I can help myself.

  “And my name is Tahoma,” he says, his pace pickin’ up. “I’ve no last name. I won’t take one.”

  I chuckle. Perhaps I shouldn’t ought to, but the thought of not having a last name is such a strange thing, I think. Then again, my own fuckin’ last name’s so god damn stupid, I can’t blame the man for not wanting to partake.

  I hold my other hand out, not for a lead but for a proper shake. Genteel for a man like me, I’m aware. Ain’t no reason a coupl’a men can’t share a good, firm shake, despite our…circumstances.

  “I do say then, Tahoma, mighty fine to meet a renegade such as yourself. Bit perplexin’ you didn’t just skin me, but eh.” My hand bobs up and down with each step, but it seems my native acquaintance has no interest in shakin’.

  “I’ve no interest in skinning nor tanning nor making something of you, Sir Ribo. I’m no beast.” He grips my hand and lowers it back to my side.

  So, I suppose that’s that then.

  The hard pattering of horse feet draws ever closer, and I hear Flint’s ol’ whiny. He sounds healthier than days gone by, with more spirit and heart.

  And it aches to know I’ll never be able to lay eyes on that white coat of his again. Such a beautiful creature, and he had such a kind gaze.

  Tahoma leads my hand to his coat, and then he lets me go.

  It takes a few deep breaths to get my bearins’, a few good rubs of Flint’s back, for me to speak up. “Hey boy, o’ boy.” I pat him, trail up to his head. He nudges against me. His breath is heavy on my face, and on my eyes.

  It’s such an odd sensation. Knowing they’re still there. I can feel ‘em, as my lashes scrape over them. For fuck’s sake.

  I press my head to Flint’s, to keep him from chewin’ on my scarf or hat. Poor ol’ man, stuck with me now.

  Another horse, I can only assume Tahoma’s, whinnies and pounds at the ground. And Tahoma’s steps grow closer again, followed by gentle trots. He whistles, and I lift my head. Dunno where to “look,” so I keep forward.

  “Well now, Sir Ribo. In your state, what do you plan on doing, huh?” He’s got tack in his hands. Heavy and leathery, my saddle, it scratches and squeaks. He shoves me aside, and from the constant, shiftin’ sounds and buckle of straps, I guess he’s settin’ Flint up for me.

  Oh, ridin’s gonna be hell.

  But, the more I chew on the question, the longer the little clicks of metals and slicker sounds go on, the more I realize that I don’t want nothin’ to change.

  I stroke at Flint’s head and reach for his ears. Scritch ‘em.

  “Well, I guess I’ll just keep doin’ what I’ve been doin’,” I say, and I step away as Tahoma readies the bridle and reins. “Keep trekkin’ to the New Mexican territory, and keep on killin’ and stealin’.”

  He laughs, and puts the reins in my hands. “You, Sir Ribo, are an awfully ambitious man. I’d have assumed you’d put an end to your spree of crime.”

  “And what, turn myself in?”

  “Not exactly.” He walks away, a little further and out of my range. But, I do catch the cock of a shotgun. Mine. It’s got that same ol’ click from rusted wear. “I was thinking more so that you’d retire. Take your riches and go off to some place spacious, empty.”

  He takes my hand and sets the gun in my palm. And my, does it feel ever so good to have my sawed-off back in hand.

  It stashes nicely into my holster.

  “Ain’t no retirin’ for me, o’ Tahoma. Not until that bounty of mine surpasses the best of ‘em. Besides, look at it this way, my name’ll be just as recognizable.”

  I move to Flint’s side, find his saddle, the stirrups, and up! I go. Not too shabby of a mount, though Flint’s a lil’ wobbly this morn’.

  “That so?”

  “I’m tempted to topple ol’ Cain’s bounty. Take the highest number. Tall order, but I can do it. I’ve a knack for these sorts of things. Ain’t been caught yet.” I lean down and ruffle Flint’s mane. “And he, he’ll lead me right where I need to go.”

  Then he goes on and asks me somethin’ a little frightenin’, unexpected. “Why don’t you let me join you then, Sir Ribo?”

  I pull back on the reins, raise a brow.

  “Join? And why’d a renegade like you be interested in crime?”

  “I’m not, I’m more interested in causing a little chaos among your kind. Besides, do you really expect yourself to keep on going on with a busted pair of eyes?”

  “Why, I do indeed.”

  He sighs out, and then he mounts up on his horse. “Yes, of course. Well, regardless of what you think, I’ll be tailing you. I want in, and I want to show your people what kind of “renegade” I am.”

  Sounds tough in his conviction, might as well oblige.

  “Right along then, Tahoma. But I hope you know I’ll be draggin’ your ass halfway ‘cross this here continent. Not one of these western towns gonna escape my grasp.”

  Flint lets out a riled ol’ huff. I pull back on his reins.

  And Tahoma says, “I’ve no qualm with travel. Done it for most of my life, I’m not stopping now.”

  My fingers tip at my hat. “Then we’d best keep on towards New Mexico. First to Silver City, then Mesilla, then wherever the hell else I please.”

  I jolt as Tahoma’s hand rests on my shoulder, feel his leg brush up on mine. “To Silver City then.” And I hear another cock. That’s revolver if I ever done heard one. “For chaos.”

  “For glory,” I say, smile on my face. “And for name sakes.”

  Then I give Flint a little kick to the sides. And he starts off, to what I hope and assume, is towards the New Mexican territory.