Outsiders

2. Trust

"We'll find him and fix him," the older man growled to the younger. Their campfire, lit in a hollow behind a crag of rock, crackled on scrubland twigs, and sprayed golden sparks that spiraled into the dark.

The other nodded. He had a ruddy face and tousled hair.

The older one stared at the fire, then shook his head. "Damn thief. Never would have thought Bill could do something like that."

"It happens," the other one said. "It was a big nugget. You know what gold does to people."

Their horses twitched their ears and older one looked up.

It had been a heavy, oppressive day and the night's purple was thickened by a strange haze. As the older man watched, a figure appeared, first in outline. Then, the fire caught the twin glints of eyes before revealing a man of about twenty-five who walked with his shoulders sloped forward, but with his head up. Stringy hair fell from a hatless head onto the collar of his good dark suit. His approach was unafraid and purposeful. Even as the two men reached to their holsters, the stranger opened his coat to reveal hips clear of any firearms.

Some memory...a story...a rumor...tickled the back of the older man's mind. What was it?

"You're far from anyplace," the stranger said. He fanned his hands out to absorb the radiated heat. "How come?"

The older man thought how peculiar that notion was. The stranger was the one who had appeared alone out of nowhere. Walking too, no horse.

"One might say the same about you," he said. "You can sit down if you got a name."

The younger one ran a keen study of the stranger. "What's a man doing out here without a gun and a horse?" His tone was rough.

"His own business," the stranger said, taking no offence. The old man found the stranger's dark eyes glittered like polished glass. Those eyes observed, the old man felt, and the brain behind them wasn't asleep. In every second, under his happy charisma, this stranger watched, always cagy, spinning calculations, and making adjustments. The older man was glad for his gun and Tolly's presence.

"What business is that?" Tolly asked, with an unpleasant look.

"I like to meet people," the stranger said. "They're always so interesting." His eyebrows leaped and he rippled his extended fingers.

The old man watched the stranger's face. "Have you seen a ginger-haired fella pass by? Wears a hat with a brown band. About forty."

"What did he do?"

"Did you see him?"

"What did he do?" The stranger sat down on the bare ground and rested his elbows on his knees. "You see, you two might be robbers, and he might be an innocent man."

"He's a skunk," the older man said, with a bitterness that surprised even him. "He stole from us."

"What did he steal?"

"Something valuable," Tolly said.

The stranger glanced at him sideways. "It's very rare that people steal something that's not of value." Tolly realized that he'd been mocked, and opened his mouth, but the stranger continued. "Don't tell me what it is, Mr. Hafner. Your business is your own."

Hafner started, exchanged a tense look with Tolly.

"So you know my name," he said, more calm than he felt. "I'd like to know yours."

"I see you're married," the stranger said.

Hafner thought of his Amy, almost smiled. She was fifteen years younger, the sunshine of his life.