Inside the wagon a muleskinner in black lay against a barrel on the floor-- legs stretched. The stranger lifted the brim of his hat and observed Dunbar brandishing his gun next to me on a wooden bench.

  The muleskinner’s mustache hid whatever opinion his face would show, but he seemed to pick up on the manner in which I averted eye contact with the deputy. “You two might wanna get a bit cozier,” he cautioned. “We’re twenty-three days away from crossing the Rio Grande into Mexico.”

  I dropped my face into my hands.

  “Moping aint gonna make it go by quicker.”

  “Don’t talk to him. He’s a prisoner,” Dunbar declared.

  “Aint we all to something.” The muleskinner chuckled.

  I slipped half my body out the window. Couldn’t find a getaway. Several feet upfront, the back of the driver—a springier black hat wearing muleskinner— stood in the smog. He held the reins of the three lead mules.

  My view ended when a pistol poked into my behind.

  “Sat it down, or you won’t have it to sat down on,” Dunbar said.

  After I pulled back in, Chip made a thud when he plopped down. Facing me and my captor, he said, “Where’s Diamond?”

  The muleskinner answered, “The gal’s all to herself in a wagon far at the back. Had a look on her face like she lost her dance partner.”

  Chip punched the wall to an impact that shook the canvas roof. “We have a long journey. Come on, let’s burn the fucking breeze!”

  I screwed my face at his demeanor. “What did the mayor say to get you all hopped up?”

  Chip signaled for me to stop. “He wanted it to stay atwixt me and him. Got it?”

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  “You are one cheery posse,” the muleskinner quipped.

  “Yay!” The driver shouted, and off we went to the sound of mules’ feet.

  ***

  Traveling down the Grand Jose, El Paso Road in the Franklin Mountains, we breathed in fresh air. Even better, the earthy smells instead of dung ones would be a relief if only it were different circumstances.

  Rocks lay sparse from one another on grassy plains. Just as they divided from the granite mountain walls on either side of us some millions of years ago, I wished to escape from this death mission Mayor Heck and Jed Dunbar fused me into.

  The muleskinner ended our silence. “By the way, name’s Charlie Bass, the mule man. See them small plants scattered about? They’re yuccas. Looks perty, right? Don’t let them fool you. Leaves are tough and cutting. Now, see them golden eagles pecking about? Oh bubba, don’t the golden feathers give a scenic view. One thing about them—”

  He paused as some twelve-pound hawk soared down and plucked one up. The hawk gave us the stink eye as it flew off with its prey in tow.

  “Feels like we’re being watched,” Chip said.

  The mule man nodded. “In about ten hours, we’ll reach Fort Bliss to stay the night.”

  “Why don’t you alternate shifts and ride until morning?” The sheriff said.

  “You don’t want to be around here in sleeping hours. The Comanche see in the dark better than us.”

  “Comanche?” I said.

  Bass went on. “Relations with that Indian tribe are as weathered as those sediment rocks out here. Remember when the Camanche raided Grand Jose some years ago after feeling betrayed on a weapons deal? Texas Rangers went out and fought them back. But man, that fog out there is clearing, and them fluffy clouds have eyes.”

  My blood rose, almost hearing the rattling of Ana beasts reach its crescendo. “You’re telling me, the sky is a-looking and reporting back to Comanches?”

  The mule man went on. “The Indians are people of spirit. Trust me when I say that nature sides with those people, even probably favors that witch.”

  Only moving at two miles an hour with bad company gives a man nowhere to look but within. While the winding road forwarded us on, the mule man expounded on the spread out and lonely tall stems of ocotillo; and he reveled in areas of live grasses, how they thrived from rainfall.

  Hours into the ride, the landscape turned more arid. He took on a drearier tone, declaiming the dead grasses in detail. At dusk, when he addressed the strong desert aromas of the sage brushes and chaparrals, I only smelt more and more danger.

  Onward to what felt like a thoughtless, avoidable demise, my mind rode around in circles with one question. Which in the worst of all-fire transgressions did I commit to deserve this? That’s when the worst of me began to take over.