The sun strikes across Caleb as he pushes open the makeshift saloon door. Hobbled together with an old saddle and some fence posts. He shields his eyes from both the light and the dust. Whispering Sands has exploded with people since he first entered the Cactus Moon saloon. Men, in patchwork dusters, race around to stalls that sell promises of giving them an edge to find a card. Drunkards from other saloons have spilled into the streets. Some are fighting, others are painting the dusty streets with vomit.

  Caleb begins to step into the road until he feels the back of his coat jerk back. He frantically whips around to find a hulk of a man holding him. A long blue frock coat does a poor job of concealing the metal armor hidden underneath. Plates of hammered together steel interlock around the man’s chest and stomach. Another piece covers the side of his neck.

  “Watch where you’re going next time, boy.” His voice sounds like gravel coming from an overgrown mustache. “That carriage ‘bout run you over. Lawmen have enough on our hands here and we ain’t got time to scrape a kid off the ground.” Caleb notices a brushed silver star pinned on his frock. A lever-action rifle resting on his shoulder.

  “Yes…Yes sir. I’ll pay better attention, sir.” Caleb squeaks out like a caught rat.

  The man lets go of his shirt and focuses on the drunkards beating each other to a pulp.

  Caleb slips into the river of fortune seekers and card hunters, hoping to stay unseen by anyone who might have heard his conversation with Charlotte back at the saloon. His eyes stay peeled as he shambles along with the masses. Smells of cooked venison and pickled prickly pear dance amongst the crowd. The steady hammering from the local blacksmith breaks up the hum of the town. Making horseshoes, repairing weapons, and, more than likely, making more armor pieces for anyone wanting to mimic the lawman’s look.

  He spots a group of tents set back from the main road, white canvas dancing to the beat of the wind. With a quick look over his shoulder, Caleb darts across the dirt path. Weaving around the crowd of people like a snake over a swift current.

  Nerves shake their way through Caleb as he inspects the tents. He jumps when he hears a group of gamblers yell out over a bad dice roll. The canvas sheets do little to keep sounds or secrets in.

  Row after row, he skulks through a sea of white canvas, each tent bringing on more pressure in his chest. “Did Charlotte lie to me about a card that’s so easy to find? Just hidden in an open tent?” Caleb whispers to himself in frustration. Doubt creeps into his mind. Questions and common sense shine through like a lantern across a desert hill.

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  He puts his hand on his revolver, just as he had with the rodent on his way out here. Dread sinks into his chest. His head spins around, lost in a puzzle of white sheets with a-framed patterns. A thump begins in his head, down to his feet. Caleb falls to his knees to catch his breath.

  On all fours, he can see dirt blow away from his shallow breaths. They increase faster and faster. His vision blurs for a second as he begins to hear the metal cadence of boot spurs approaching.

  “I can’t die yet.” Caleb heaves out between gasps. Spit forms at the side of his mouth as sweat pours off his forehead. “Please, mister, I just walked off the road. I’m lost, ya hear!” His vision fades slowly to black. His peripheral sight is the only thing breaking the darkness.

  The boots stop just to the side of Caleb. He feels a hand on his shoulder, followed by a mason jar pressed against his lips. His vision still absent, he looks out of the corner of his eye. He sees the man from his card, grinning down at him.

  “Drink up, boy. I think it’s about time to show you a little grace after you got me the drink I needed. I tend to forget that we are in this thing together. That’s what the card says and all. I reckon I should take care of my very accommodating host.” The man from the card tilts the mason jar up as ice-cold water pours into Caleb’s mouth. He drinks deeply from the jar. The water runs crystal clear across his lips. He pauses for a moment before finishing the jar off.

  “Why can I see you?” Caleb sits back on his heels, vision still partially obscured. “How can you step out of the card?”

  The man in the card sits down next to Caleb and pulls the mason jar closer. Caleb can see the mason jar begin to fill. The man in the card takes a long swig, wiping his mouth with the sleeve of a denim shirt. He pats his front pockets for his pack of cigarettes, lighting one as soon as they are found. “Caleb, I was loyal to your Pa for a long time. He kept me drunk, and I kept your farm stocked with fresh water.” He takes a drag from the lit cigarette, blowing smoke towards the sky. “But cards, man, they long to become more powerful. They crave more. I had many talks with your Pa over the years, just like this, begging him to use me for more than a farm tool. He complained about his health and was terrified that you would make the same mistakes as he did. How he lost your mother over the greed the cards bring.” The man in the card stands up, pulling at Caleb’s hands to stand with him. Caleb’s vision widens; he can now see the man in full view. His eyes pierce through Caleb’s, blue as turquoise. His beard is like rough sandpaper.

  “You are going to be better than your Pa, and I’m going to make sure of it.” The man in the card pats Caleb’s chest. “I can feel that there is more destined for both of us. Let’s go find another card and just see how powerful we can become. What do ya say, boy?” The man in the card reaches to shake Caleb’s hand. Caleb grabs his back, firm and confident.

  “That a boy.” The man in the card lets go of Caleb’s hand and begins to walk off. “Oh, by the way, that tent back there has a little road runner painted on the side. Why don’t you sneak in there and see what all the fuss is about?” The man in the card points further into the tent neighborhood and smiles.