Boots made his way up the winding path, rounding rocks and marching up to the heavens like a monk sans the orange habit. The shotgun on his shoulder bouncing up and down with each step. His breath was even, as if this walk up the side of the mountain meant nothing to him, yet he climbed with determination. He was on his way to clear the air, to set things back in order. To do some work of his own.
He finally reached the termination of the narrow foot path. He stood on the edge of a ridge with a drop that went down several hundred feet. The ridge extended right and left, encircling the small clearing below. Dusk was born, and below, down in the circular canyon, Boots could see Jack making his way to the black pickup truck.
Storm clouds started gathering overhead, and shadows began to accumulate around the far edge of the ridge. A pale breeze blew through the old man’s beard, then shot back and disappeared, as if stunned.
The man with the black shirt and pearl buttons appeared from Boots’s left and walked toward him.
“So, decided to leave your trailer, eh, Boots?”
“Things need to get taken care of. The way I see it, you’ve overstepped your bounds this time. Now I got to make sure that it all gets put back straight.”
Seth laughed, but anger filled the noises echoing off the rock walls. “I’ve spent a long time with this one. He hasn’t been easy to keep rounded up. But what you did, taking that girl, that just took him off the reservation.”
“Ain’t my problem.”
“Nothing’s ever your problem, old man! You think you can just come in here and tinker with things when you want to? Naw, not this time, Boots. I’ve put too much energy into this one. Too much crafting, molding. This one is perfect. You aren’t going to mess this one up for me, not this time.”
“It’s not for you to decide. I thought you’d get that through your head by now. Besides, you got the story all wrong. Naw . . . this ain’t about your boy at all.”
“What is it then? Why are you here now? Why shouldn’t I just let my boys run over and throw you down this mountain?”
The shadows pulsed with adrenaline.
“’Cause you tried before and couldn’t do it. I’m here right now. That’s all you need to know.”
Seth looked at the little desert hermit. His long beard, his worn-out clothes, his grime. His eyes went to the shotgun that Boots carried and smiled. “What’s the gun for, Boots?”
“Gun ain’t for you.”
“Well, you should have given it to Jack. He’s going to need it.”
“Naw, he’ll be fine without it.”
“So why did you bring it? You just crazy?”
“Naw . . . but you take a man’s wife . . . send him after her . . . make him fully realize that the only thing he has is his own hands”— Boots shook the gun—“and set him loose? Let me just say . . . they don’t make a reservation big enough to hold the crazy that man becomes.”