"Guess I'll rest forever when I'm dead, Padre."
The preacher raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Pablo."
"What's that?"
"That's my name, amigo. Not Padre."
"Thought you preachers preferred being called Father."
"Not so, my friend. Haven't you ever heard of the scripture: 'do not call anyone on earth your father, for you have one Father, who is in heaven?'"
Gunner winced as Camila treated his thigh wound. "Don't think I have, Pablo. Who said that?"
"Your Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, said those words."
"That so? Well, why do the church priests always want to be called Father or Pastor and such?"
"Many such men seek glory and prominence from their parishioners, stealing what belongs to Jah." Pablo shrugged. "Nothing new."
"Yeah. Nothing new. Well, since we're making introductions, my name's Gunner. Not vaquero." Gunner glanced at Camila as she finished applying new bandages and picked up her medicine bowl. "Gracias, señora."
"Más remedio tiene un muerto." She patted his hand and gave him a wrinkled smile before shuffling across the room and out the door.
Gunner barked a raspy laugh. "'Even a dead man has more to hope for.' A real sweetheart, ain't she?"
"She speaks her truth," Pablo said. "Claims she doesn't have the time to mince words. I can do nothing with her. She's even older than I am."
"Nothing wrong with being honest," Gunner said. "I appreciate a straight shooter, even if she says I don't have a chance in hell. I don't believe her, though. Been hurt way worse than this, and I'm still kicking."
"She wasn't talking about your wounds, Gunner. She was talking about your soul. I have heard your name before. Tales from the railroad and travelers come through the Town. Sharpshooter, gunfighter. Lawman turned hunter of Ferals. Stories say you took a thousand Feral scalps. That you ran with the most vicious band of bounty killers, and once burned down half the city of Laredo in a drunken rage."
"Yeah. Lots of stories." Gunner glanced around the room. "Mind telling me where the hell I'm at, Pablo?"
"You're in a farming village in Nueva Esperanza. Or New Mexico, if you prefer. Some still call it that, despite being a Territory of Mexico for decades now." He offered Gunner the clothes. "Nothing fancy, but better than the bloody rags you were wearing."
"Much obliged. So, what village is this? No name?"
"We don't bother with names in this part of the country. Nothing lasts long enough to bother."
Gunner quickly dressed, buttoning his shirt in practiced fashion. "How far away are we from the Town?"
"A few miles. Why, are you planning on heading over there?"
"Yep. Got a score to settle with the bandits that worked me over. Plus, I need to get my Steed back."
Pablo sadly shook his head. "Feet in a hurry to run to badness. You're fortunate you weren't killed, Gunner. Why not take that blessing and leave well enough alone? Judgment is coming to that place, mark my words. On the eve of the storm, the town will reap the fire and blood they have sown. You don't want to be around when that comes to pass."
"This whole region is in the middle of the drought season, Pablo. By the time a storm comes, I'll have finished my business and been long gone."
"The will of God is more powerful than any drought. But if you insist on following this path, you may ride with me."
"You're still going back? After what you just told me?"
"My mission is a godly one, amigo. I go where God's spirit directs and speak the words He compels me to speak."
"Even if it means another noose around your neck?"
"A slave is not greater than his master. Didn't the Lord die for us both? If I should fall in death, I have faith I will see life again."
Gunner slid the duster on and picked up his hat from the table. "You're a braver man than most, Pablo. But I gotta warn you: I'm not saving your neck a second time. You get in trouble in Town; you're on your own. I'm going there for my Steed, and then I'm gone."
Pablo grinned as he walked to the door. "Not to worry. I was doing this long before you got here, señor."
He led Gunner outside, into the dry heat and blazing sunlight. The village consisted of squat adobe huts and a few buildings composed of junk wood and metal. Dust storms had claimed several buildings and submerged rusty vehicle husks. A few women wandered the streets of packed earth; others sat in the meager shade tending to various tasks, all around the same age as Pablo. The villagers regarded Gunner silently, disapproval sharp on their weathered faces. Several yards away, a large group of children frolicked on a square of stunted grass, playing with makeshift toys under the watchful eyes of a pair of grandmotherly women.
Gunner grunted. "A lot of old women and kids."
"The Town breeds widows and orphans at an alarming rate. Many flee from the violence and eventually find their way here."
A crowd of children immediately surrounded him; arms waving, grubby hands outstretched, large eyes shining, toothy smiles flashing. Pablo laughed softly, calling each child by name as he reached into a small sack and passed homemade candies into eager fingers.
"Easy, easy. I'll be back soon. Watch after things until I get back, comprende?"
The women stared from windows and doorways, solemn-faced as if at a funeral procession. Gunner glanced at Pablo.
"They look like they're not expecting you to come back."
Pablo kept his eyes forward. "Experience has taught them many hard truths about living in a lawless land. A lot of hope has been buried in these red hills."
"I don't see any guns here, old man. How in the world do you expect to protect your own if you won't fight?"
Pablo stopped in his tracks. "You mean kill? Even if we were so faithless — old men and children against seasoned shooters and killers? It would be a bloodbath. But no, we would not take up arms against our oppressors. This is an oasis of love and forgiveness, Gunner. Not of hatred and violence."
Gunner flicked his eyes over the villagers. "If there's one thing I know, it's that violence doesn't stay in one place. It hunts. You don't have to look for it. You can try to hide from it. But it tracks you down. A place like this…it's like an injured sheep out in the wild. The beasts will be coming, mark my words."
"The beasts have already arrived," Pablo said. "This is their territory. And the only reason we live is that we're useful to them."
He pointed to the fields of geodesic dome greenhouses and bio shelters that surrounded the village, where green crops were visible behind the transparent panes. Unlike the town, the greenhouses were new and clean, glinting in the harsh sunlight like newly cut diamonds. Women and children went in and out the buildings with slumped shoulders and exhausted steps, heads downcast as they trudged along, weighed down by tools, bundles, and sachets.
"Some years ago, the Town was a modest trading post. They called it New Jerusalem; can you believe that? This area was once rich and fertile; farmland as far as the eye could see. The irrigation was well maintained, and the farms provided for the townsfolk. Wheat, soy, corn, potatoes, watermelon, peanuts, along with some fruit trees and herbs. The Town paid for our provisions, and everyone got along well enough. But then the Judge and his gang rode in and seized control. Anyone who stood up against him was killed. And in short time, no one was left to challenge his claim."
Gunner struck a match against the palm of his hand and lit his cigar. "The gang that robbed me. They work for the Judge?"
"Si, amigo. The same one who forced us to work the farm. Not for food, but for the right to live."
He rolled back his sleeve, revealing a barcode imprinted on the skin of his forearm.