Subscribe!As he stared into the campfire, his mind wandered. How many others have sat at this spot? How many others have sat here, looking up at the sky, losing count of the stars? How many stories have been told here? Who was the first to sit at this spot? Who will be the last? He was certain that in the past, others had built campfires here. He had no evidence to justify his thoughts, just a vague feeling. But it was a feeling that gave him a sense of camaraderie, something he didn't have in reality. These were also the sort of thoughts he kept to himself and anyone who knew him would be surprised to find a man with such a rough exterior and few words capable of these types of sentimental thoughts.
He looked up from the fire and out over the mountains on the western horizon. It was a clear night with not a wisp of cloud in the sky. The new moon, appearing to be covered by a black veil, was beginning to settle behind the mountains. He scanned the landscape unconsciously stroking his reddish-blonde beard, a full beard covering sun-worn skin. Although he was only thirty-three, he had deep lines firmly entrenched across the leathery skin of his forehead. The darkness of his skin was sharply contrasted by the azure blue of his eyes. As he scanned the horizon, pondering where he stood in the long line of people that had seen and felt the things he was seeing and feeling, his concentration was broken by a second man who came into view.
"Are you hungry?" the stranger asked.
"What? Who are you? What business is it of yours?" he replied, attempting to discretely reach for his hunting rifle. He couldn't clearly see if the stranger had a weapon, and if so, if that weapon was pointed at him.
"Well, I have some food that needs cooking, and you seem to have a fire going. I thought we might be able to work out some arrangement. And don't bother reaching for your gun. I'm not going to hurt you. Besides, if I wanted to, I would have done so already."
He thought the whole circumstance strange, but he hadn't had a good warm meal for almost a month. The prospect of having a one now was very tempting. With a bit of caution, he decided to see what the stranger had to offer.
"Oh, well. . . heh heh, I guess you're right. So, uh, what kind of food do you have?"
"How about some elk meat?"
"Why are you offering to share it? Can't you build your own fire?" He felt he had to question the motives of this stranger.
"I could, but that means I have to find a good place to camp, find firewood, and work at getting a fire going. It's been a long day and I'm tired. So I was thinking why should I do all that when you already have good spot with a fire?"
The stranger's answer wasn't quite satisfactory. He's going to share his food with me because he's lazy? But, it is true he could have already hurt me if he wanted to. Plus how can I turn down an offer of meat for dinner? With that, he decided to accept the stranger's offer and even make an offer himself.
"I guess I see your point. Well, let's have dinner then. I have some beer I can share"
The stranger pulled a slab of elk and a large knife from his pack and cut the meat into small cubes, placing them in a pan between them. They cook the meat on the end of wooden sticks held over the fire. For a good while, they quietly sit eating and drinking. Although he was normally a man of few words, the silence between himself and this stranger seemed deafening. He had to say something. After all, most people don't share their food with strangers they meet by chance at night. He decided to speak.
"What's your name?"
"Charlie."
Again, there was silence. He thought the stranger might reciprocate and ask his name, but he seemed content not to know. Finding that unacceptable, he volunteered his name.
"I'm Isaac."
There was a short pause that seemed an eternity.
"Howdy, Isaac."
Isaac thought that that was at least a start. He still thought it strange that Charlie would be so friendly in offering his hunting spoils to a stranger but then be so untalkative afterwards. As he was trying to come to terms with this, Charlie spoke.
"So, what brings you out on such a night?"
"Oh, I've been hunting all day."
"Really, hunting what?"
"Just about anything I might find. Bison, elk, quail, squirrel. Haven't had much luck. Seems like you did, though."
"Yeah, I've also been out hunting. I got this elk awhile back. I haven't had too much luck recently."
"Really? If I hadn't had much luck, I don't think I'd be sharing it with strangers just because I was tired. You don't know when you might run out. Then where would you be?"
"Hungry, I suppose. But, given that we're two hunters down on our luck, perhaps we should both consider a change of occupation. I've been thinking it over for a while now."
"Is that so? I don't know. Hunting has been pretty good to me up to this point."
"You may be right, but I'm tired of just barely eking out a living."
"You want to be rich?"
"No, I just don't want to have to worry about money."
"I don't know if that's ever possible. If you don't have money, then you have to worry about how to get it. If you do have it, then you have to worry about other people that want to take it from you."
Charlie chuckled. "You're definitely right about the second part." His voice trailing as though some memory was causing his mind to wander. Isaac saw this and decided to press the issue. "What? What do you mean?"
"Oh, nothing. Where are you from?"
Since it was obvious Charlie wasn't going to be forthcoming and that this enigmatic figure could not be read from his words, Isaac gave up trying to find out where Charlie's mind had just gone.
"I'm originally from Tombstone, Arizona, but I moved to Deming when they were building the railroad. Once that was finished I was out of a job. But, I still live there. Every now and then I find work when somebody wants to build something, like a store or church. Mostly I spend my time hunting."
After Isaac's answer, there was again a long silence between the men. Isaac had hoped that Charlie would tell a little about himself, but that didn't seem likely. Charlie finally broke the silence again.
"Are you married?"
"No, not yet. Not sure if that will ever happen. Kind of hard to convince a lady to marry you when you hardly have enough food to feed yourself and money to put clothes on your back."
"Ha ha. I suppose that would be difficult. I was married once." Charlie seemed to go off in thought again. "I'm not sure where she his now. . ." his voice trailed.
"What happened?"
"It's a long story. Let's just say that I married a girl from a town in Mexico and I haven't seen nor heard from her in nearly eight years."
"Why not?"
"I haven't been home."
"What? Why the hell haven't you gone home to see your wife in eight years?"
"I said nearly eight years."
"Okay, why the hell haven't you been home in nearly eight years?"
"I haven't been able to."
"Why not? Where is your home?"
Charlie seemed to become excited. "I lived in a town far from here." Charlie hurriedly pulled out a notepad and a pencil, flipped through several pages of notes before finding a blank page, and began drawing a map.
"We're about three miles south of Deming, right?"
Isaac nodded. He was also puzzled at the excitement Charlie was displaying at explaining where his home was.
"Okay, then that places us here." Charlie drew a circle on the pad to represent Deming, then an X to mark their current location. "If you walk south for almost a hundred miles, you'll find a road and signs pointing you to a town called Guadalupe Victoria." Charlie drew a dashed line down the page, then a circle at the end for Guadalupe Victoria. "At the south end of town is a sign that points toward Nogales. It's about eighty miles southwest of Guadalupe Victoria." Again Charlie drew a circle for Nogales and a dashed line connecting it to Guadalupe Victoria. "Before you get to Nogales, though, you will come to a village called Rancho El Palmar." Charlie marked an X on the map about three quarters of the way between Guadalupe Victoria and Nogales. "If you then go south about ten miles, you'll come to another village called Del Rio." Charlie drew the final circle on the map. "It's ironic that they call it Del Rio, as the closest trickle of water that can even be called a stream is near Rancho El Palmar."
"That's strange. Any stories about why it's called that?"
"There's quite a few. I just think somebody had a sick sense of humor."
"Oh. I see."
"I think I'm going to call it a night. I thank you for sharing your fire and beer with me."
"No, I should thank you. I hadn't had any meat for almost a month."
"Good night."
"Good night."
Before he fell asleep, Isaac noticed that Charlie sat staring at the map he had drawn for almost an hour before finally closing the notepad and going to sleep.
