“So, you’re awake. Good,” said the man walking through the door. He was an odd specimen for the twenty-first century. He was decked out in a worn western shirt with pearl buttons on the pockets, the plaid pattern worn down to more of solid beige. His denim was as dusty as his boots, which indeed did tap across the wooden floor to the water pump where he washed his hands. He placed his cowboy hat on the counter as he ran water over his head and scrubbed some into his mangy beard. Jack recognized him—from every western and gold rush movie he had ever seen. Here was a walking stereotype of the grizzled mountain man. But what stereotype is not rooted in reality, some subtle gene that pops out like pheromones to explain an object in its essence. This was Boots. Rasputin of no-man’s-land.
“What say you, Jack? Getting your strength back?”
“Yes. Thanks, uh, Boots, is it?”
The old man nodded.
“Nice place you have here, Boots,” Jack said with a mild tone of condescension.
Laura shot him a look of disapproval that Jack didn’t take the time to acknowledge.
“Thanks. It ain’t much, but it’s mine. Been out here a long time, so it’s just broke in to suit. Got anything you would need to scratch a living.”
“Got a phone or a car? A way back to town?”
“Don’t need that stuff. Ain’t ever been in a hurry to get there. I got my horse and she does the trick. You met her already. She can pull her share, but now gets tired right quick. Ain’t like she used to be.”
The old man sat down at the table, his beard still dripping water onto his shirt. A small bead ran down his forehead. Boots’s eyes looked right through Jack as they sat across from each other. The old man’s crystal blue irises awash with age. Jack felt uneasy, exposed, like lying on a gurney in a hospital smock as a doctor flipped through charts looking for the diagnosis to an unexplained disease. He didn’t like the way this old man made him feel. He could sum that up right away. Something about him just did not seem right.
“How soon till we can leave?”
“Leave? You ready to go already? You just got here,” Boots said with a grin.
“Yeah, just ready to get back, you know.”
“I’ll get you back. Don’t worry. Takes some time, I have to make sure you’re ready.”
Jack was about to lash back when Laura straightened up. “Your call, Boots. We are in your hands.” She smiled at Boots and gave a side glance to her husband. He sat there and fumed.
“I guess you are. Naw, desert is a tough spot. Got to plan it right to get y’all home. Besides, can’t reckon you can walk more than ten steps before collapsing, Jack. You need to get your gumption up.”
“Huh?”
“Horse can’t carry us all. Seeing how it’s the two of you, you’re going to have to walk it out.”
Jack looked out the front door that had failed to latch when Boots came in. It slowly swung open, revealing the rolling desert that stretched out before the cabin in unceasing waves. The heat rising from the rock and blurring the horizon. He looked back at his plate but had lost his appetite. He pushed it away as the food he had managed to eat attempted to force its way back up his throat. He had no strength in his body. It had taken all he had to move from the bed to the table. Boots was right. He wouldn’t make it ten steps.
“I guess we’re your prisoners then,” Jack said, masking the truth of his words with a faint laugh.
“If that is how you want it.”