The Fire
The sun was setting on the desert horizon. Two men on horses, their backs to the sun, stopped to make camp.
“This looks as good a place as any,” Tom said as he got off of his horse. The other man, Jim, remained silent. Two scraggly trees, twisted from the heat and lack of moisture, stood among the sagebrush and rocky sand. Tom tied their horses to one of the trees while Jim collected what little wood there was for a fire. “You wanna smoke?” Tom asked, pulling a small pouch of tobacco from his saddlebag.
“I’m fine.” Jim replied. He set about stacking the firewood in a small cone, carefully placing each piece just as he was taught.
Tom rolled himself a cigarette and watched Jim, more out of amusement than any real interest. “You’ll need this,” Tom said, tossing his flint and steel at Jim’s feet.
Jim picked them up. He held them carefully in his hand, each strike making a sharp scraping sound. A small spark jumped onto the kindling. It went out. Another spark, this one catching, the kindling began to smoke. The small cone of sticks soon became a roaring fire. Darkness began to creep in as night fell. Far distant mountains cast long shadows on the desert plain. The shadows seemed as fingers of a giant hand, reaching for the two men. Tom and Jim sat down beside the fire. It was a warm night but it would get colder. Jim’s face was troubled, as if he was in deep thought. Tom’s face, on the other hand, showed little emotion.
“We have to go back,” Jim said bluntly.
“Go back? We can’t go back!”
“You promised, Tom. You promised me when we first started out at that bank in Silver City. No one would get hurt, let alone…”
“Things change, Jim. There’s nothin else we coulda done.”
“But we’ll tell em it wasn’t our fault.”
“We can’t go back.” Tom said again. “Not after what we did.”
An eerie silence fell over the camp. Somewhere, far in the distance, a coyote gave a lonely howl. The sky was clear, each star shining brightly. Shadows danced on the faces of the two men.
“And what about the family?” Jim said as if waking from a dream. “What will happen to them?”
“Better off I’d say.”
“You bastard.” Jim’s eyes were fierce. “How dare you say that.”
“He’s no good Jim and you know it.”
“But that doesn’t mean we should…”
“To me it does.”
“We had no right…”
A knot burst in the fire, stopping Jim in mid sentence. A plume of sparks flew upward. Each spark fluttered and danced in the night air. Tiny specks of light slowly and silently burning out.
“Whether it was right or not, we did it.” Tom said coldly, “And you played your part.”
“Don’t you feel the slightest bit of regret?”
“Not for a minute.”
Jim turned away from Tom, disgusted by his reply
“You really are cruel, Tom.”
Tom made no reply, only sat there beside the fire, unaffected. He reached slowly into his pocket and pulled out a small pouch of jerky. Its leather was worn smooth from years of use. Tearing off a small piece, Tom began to eat. He did not offer any to Jim. The night was quickly growing colder. Tom stood up and went to his horse. Jim glanced at him as he passed, his eyes following the figure in the dark. He could hear fumbling and soft murmurs from the horses. Tom soon returned, a blanket over his shoulder.
“You better get something before you freeze to death.” Tom said as he sat down.
“I didn’t think you cared.” Jim’s eyes never leaving the fire.
“Come on, Jim,” he grinned, “I wouldn’t let you get off that easy.”
Jim slowly rose to his feet. He walked toward his horse, small rocks crunching under his boots. Everything was still, only the crackling of the fire and the occasional rustling of some nocturnal creature broke the silence. The fire stood as a shield, keeping out the night and all that comes with it. He returned to the safety of the fire. Jim looked at the shape under the blanket that was Tom. He had already gone to sleep. As morning approached, two figures could be seen on the desert. One man asleep and one awake, sitting up, staring into the embers of the dying fire.