Drifter's Tale

There he was, alone at the bar as usual, sipping a stiff whiskey. I had been watching the wizened fox for about three months, which was a record for me. I'm a walking man, it's what I do, travel the roads and old highways -abandoned since the last of the petrol was depleted a century or two back. Funny how man in all his glory could create the Anthropomorphs, but couldn't make an alternative to gasoline. - learning what I can, spreading the wisdom. Not too many people care to know about the old days, they're behind us now, and tomorrow is to far away to believe in. That's the law here, in the desert, where the scraggly coyotes will lay in the shade of a rock outcropping, dying of starvation as you walk on by.1

But I'm wandering, I'm here to talk about the Fox. He was short, as far as size went for his kind, he wouldn't even reach my shoulder, and I'm no great shakes, not like the fellows I’ve seen East, the ones who look like they could match an Ursan's gaze.  under the brim of his black, round brimmed  hat -the kind the old books associated with the gaucho- his eyes, which happened to be a very sad shade of blue, like old denim faded from years of exposure to the sun, were unclouded, straight and sober. I watched with mild interest as he scratched at his side, pulling his arm as if an old wound plagued him, -and judging from the mauled right ear and scarred muzzle, he was no stranger to pain- stirring the dusty poncho to reveal a six shooter strapped to his side, slung low over the hip like  the Banditos who swaggered big, talked loud, and made life here miserable for those weaker then them.2

Yes, he was an old campaigner, the stereotypical Desert Drifter, the men who had no home, merely roaming and trapping - and sometimes killing- for their money. And he was a campaigner set in his ways. Every night he was in this cantina he followed the same pattern, whiskey, music, and more whiskey, until he walked from the room, his shoulders slumped by the weight of the ages. Tonight was no different.3

Not ten minutes after he arrived, the Fox lifted one paw, the fingers tapered and delicately human, even as they were black furred, tipped with short claws, and caught the barkeep's eye. Leaning in, the barkeep -a ratty little man with a leer that promised dark perverted knowledge- listened carefully as the Fox spoke, and even though I was just three seats down, the noise of the lively cantina behind me drowned out his quiet words.4

Apparently, the barkeep had better hearing then I, for he nodded, grinning brightly as a glint of silver flashed, and a poorly milled quarter appeared in his palm, vanishing almost as quickly as it appeared. Apparently, my friend was intent on getting quite drunk, as a quarter was enough to pay for six or seven drinks -depending on the barkeep's mood- and to ensure the Fox got first call all night long.5

Knowing I would have to make my move soon, lest he become to drunk to converse with, I stood, and walked down the bar -in reality a series of wooden planks set on sawhorses- and lay my hand on its rough surface, pushing my own money towards him, "Buy your drinks friend?"6

His eyes flicking to my hand, the Fox moved a bit, laying one paw indifferently on the butt of his revolver, "Lookin' fer a pelt you won't get too easy stranger." his voice was rough and flat, like the desert hardpan, offering no room for comradely or civilry without explanation.7

"Not after your pelt old timer." I tried to smile, but saw it wouldn't be welcome. He really was an old timer, older then I had realized before, his fur shot through with specks of silver, a color only the oldest Foxes attained. Whoever he was, he was a survivor above all else, "Just thought you would enjoy a free round of drinks."8

"Might." he nodded, still watching me carefully, as he took the quarter, brushing it into his palm and dropping the coin into a rawhide bag belted to his side, "Depends on what it costs."9

"Cost?" I blinked, not sure what he meant, "Oh... no cost, I just thought you might need a free drink."10

"Yer a poor liar, pup." the fox snorted, accepting his drink, "You've been watchin'. Don't think I aint noticed."  Turning those sad old eyes on me, I saw the fire of the hunter in them, and knew if I didn't judge my words, he'd be just as likely to leave me soaking up the sawdust, as he would spare me the time.11

"Well... aye, I've been a-watching." nodding slowly, I placed both hands on the counter top, showing my only defense to be the smile on my face, which seemed to have frozen into some hard icy mask, "I'm a walkin' man, looking for stories about the old Times." This brought a derisive snort from the fox, who downed the last of his whiskey and lifted one digit, indicating a refill. As the ratty little barkeep complied, I shuffled my feet, an old habit of mine, waiting for an answer.12

"Yer a fool... and a poor liar." nodding to me, the fox examined his glass, "Ain't never been no old times, aint never gonna be no future times, there's just the now, and if ya go snoopin' for others pup, yer gonna end up dead."  A small sip of his liquor, and he returned to watching me from the corner of his eye, "Quit lookin' fer something we aint goin' back to."13

"Wait, you just said, 'something we aren't going back to.'?" I queried gently, hands going for my notebook, a bad move. In a flash the six-shooter was out, pressed against my stomach, cold round still leaving a mark even through the cotton shirt I wore. I saw the finger tightened, and bleated out, "Wait! Wait! I'm safe!" quickly removing the notebook from my pocket; I dropped it onto the bar, and held my hands aloft as the fox eyed me warily. One hand-like paw flipped open the notebook, and my tiny scripting came into view, an account I had taken in the rubble of  Santa Fe from a wizened old wolf brave, who claimed his chieftain had been one of the first from the Change, but he had been mad, no wolf lived past a hundred years.. His eyes flicked from me to the print as he read, taking it all in with but a few scant glances, and he nodded, gun returning to its holster. This whole exchange took perhaps a minute, and I sighed in relief, wiping the sweat from my forehead and wondering if there were a place I might was my rousers later on, as I certainly needed it.14

"Lookin' fer a story?" he asked voice gruff, "I'll tell ya a story pup, and by god if ya interrupt me, I'll plug ya, understand?" I could tell he was serious, deadly so, and I nodded hesitantly, removing the fountain pen from behind my ear. It wouldn't be too long before I needed to buy a new inkwell, but hopefully I would get this little fragment of history recorded before such a time came, especially with the availability of ink and its price.15

"Good." settling, he closed his eyes, as if looking through some window into the past, and when he opened them, I saw the true sorrow that he bore, even as the words began to flow....16

"Back in the summer." he started, "There used to be a village, way back in the hills, where a fox could hunt, live, raise a family, all in peace. Name of the village was Aspen, and we built it by hand, after the Change and after the Wars, but long before the Petrol ran out... My ancestor, a fox named Clint, he lay the tones in the plaza, where we'd hold dances come autumn, and night was so clear you could just about reach up and take a star down to put in some pretty young vixen's hair." taking a drink, he nodded, "Anyway, I was the son a the cobbler, and I hated Pa's work. Makin' shoes was good and fine fer a man turned to it, but I wanted t'be a gunslinger, like m'uncle, dern fool got skinned by a mountain cat not long after I was born, but the stories I heard pup, they'd just about make yer heart melt." I could tell this fox was far from the course unlearned beast he made out to be, and so nodded, writing as I watched him.17

"I was fifteen when it happened, time fer the harvest dance, and I had a li'l ol' flower by the name a Maria on m'arm, pleased as punch. We'd been wooin' for a while, and I had plans t'get married, raise a litter m'own..." sighing, he sloshed the poor whiskey about in his glass before continuing, "We danced, and when it came time t'find yerself under tha kissin' tree, why, Maria done got me every time.. not that I'm complaining...  I had a cabin built, not much, but when yer young, a hole in the ground'll do .And when the dance was done, I took Maria aside, and I got down on one knee, fancy as any dapper I was, dressed up in m'new poncho and sombrero. I took her hand, and muttered, 'Will you marry me?'."18

"What's that?" she asked, and I guess I mumbled too much, cause I said again, 'Will ya marry me?’ That got to her, and she broke out cryin' afore huggin me, and I'll tell ya pup, she damn near choked the life outta me before sayin' yes." The smile on his face as he said this showed me how much he cared for her, so I only smiled, and wrote it down, with notes in the margin to find this village.19

"We was married the very next day, Parson brown, a cranky old fella with fur white as snow, did tha service, and he didn't like gettin' rousted out too early neither, but we was married, an in the cabin afore sundown." his drink had magically disappeared while he spoke, and he lifted his hand for yet another refill, making me ask myself 'How much can he hold?' Upon getting his refill, he grumbled out "Rotgut" and returned to his story, "I lived a good life pup, two years we was married, me workin' out at her pa's ranch, getin' those longhorns to market. And she workin' with her ma makin' pretty things with beads and whatnot to sell off to the coyote tribes around the place, keep 'em out y'see..." he sighed, and pushed his drink away, " Gettin' on to our third anniversary, a ruckus came down, a coyote brave, tore up somethin' fierce limped inta town, up to the mayor's house."20

“Panther" he said, "Panther tribe." and then he died. Stomach tore clean out a his body, how he held hisself t'gether long 'nough t'warn us. I can't tell ya pup, but we was mighty riled, and I can see in yer eyes y'know why."21

Indeed I did, the Panther Tribe was a despicable nation of predatory cat morphs, each group being led by the biggest and toughest. I myself had never run into them, thank god, but I had seen the wake of their carnage, had seen the corpse of one, a full seven feet tall in some cases, Taller than any man. I merely nodded, and he continued his tale.22

"All th'men in town were rounded up, and a posse formed. If th' Panther were around, we wanted 'em out, so's our families could be at peace... but the cat's knew what we was doin' and they wanted it. Tricky curs waited till most a the men was out lookin' fer their lair, and then the war party fell, takin' what they wanted, burnin' the rest, and killin' anything that lived. My Maria was there in town, watchin' the children in th' church... see, Aspen was a pretty religious place, and th'church was the safest place fer anyone, after all, who'd burn a church?" snorting, he wiped at his eyes, and I thought I saw a tear catch on the fur of one hand before disappearing. "I was in th'posse, and when I got back... I saw the church burnin'.... I screamed, so hard and so loud thought m'throat would burst, and I lit inta those Panthers like a bat outta hell. Took one down by clubbin' his hateful brains out with m'gun... bullets too good fer 'em." lost in horrid fascination, I listened, my pen lying on the table, forgotten, as I sympathized with this old drifter.23

"Took down three a the big cats, not a small thing... then I got ta the church... She was screamin', the children was screamin, and I bust through the door, hollerin' for 'em t'all get out..." shaking his head, he pressed on, the words coming faster as if he had to get the story out lest it kill him, though it was obvious the fox who had killed three panthers died long ago. 24

"We got some 'a the kids out, most of 'em really, and th'others were found in tha root cellar later, where Maria had stored 'em, little babies safe and sound.. but my Maria." he took a shuddering breath, "M' Maria... she had breathed in too much smoke, and her poor face, her pretty face, burnt so bad." reaching for his glass, he downed it, and when he ordered I did too, needing a brace to hear this out, "She was dead when I got her, lain out across th'root cellar like that, still protectin' them babies... I got her free, and sat there a-rockin', feelin' like I was gonna die. Then tha chief a that tribe stalked up on me, and I knew I was gonna die, but I’d take that monster with me."25

"What's wrong little fox?" the thing asked me, war club held high, blood and fur clinging to its knobby surface, "Lose your mate?"26

"He was laughin' when he said it, like some big ol' joke played on me, and I turned, layin' m'poor wife down as gentle as I could.”I'm gonna kill you cat." I swore, and he just laughed, and kept laughin' as I shot him. I emptied both guns inta him, and was still pullin' the triggers when his boys jumped me." gesturing to his face and muzzle, he sighed, "Lost a rib to them, far's I know it's ahangin' in some Panther tee pee like a prize." so that explained his side, "They ran, boltin' when the sheriff's posse finally pulled in, a buncha rangers firin' off their shotguns, fillin' cathide with rock salt.. took the fire outta 'em right quick." wiping at his eyes again, I knew this tale, or this part of his tale, was nearing its close, "We rebuilt, we had t', them children lost their ma's and pa's, couldn't just leave 'em out in the cold."  Out of instinct, I leant over and patted the Fox on the shoulder. He stiffened, then brushed my hand away before stating, "I lay Maria ta rest, buried her  'neath this Oak  tree what grew on our land, she loved that tree, used t'sit fer hours, starin' up at the sky, and I'd watch her, thinkin' how she looked like an angel must, if god's angels ever meant t'look like us, since we ain't natural." he noted the look of surprise on my face and smirked, "We know it pup, all 'a us, from me t'those panther's, we aint part of this world, ain't never been, and I doubt we're ever gonna be..." standing, he nodded to me, pulling the brim of his hat low, faded eyes appraising me, "I know tha angels're still signin' her name pup, fifty years and they're still singing Maria's name." he turned, heading for the swinging doors, "Head out west sometime pup, look fer a broken mountain, Aspen's in that break.. see if th'old oak tree's still standin'. Mayhap it is, see if th'old folks're still at home, they'll have a story or two for ya, I'd wager." he was gone, off into the dusty night, limping slightly as he did so, and I sat there, drink held tight in my hands as I mulled over what he had said, before I too stood. there were good stories out there, waiting to be heard, and only a walkin' man was crazy enough to go hunting for them....27

End28