He had a scrawny beard, red like his hair, yet the hat he wore covered his eyes. He got closer and I could notice his few features at last. “I don’t get harm from the sun, usually, ma’am. “Ain’t you supposed to withstand the sun?” Instead of a whole crew of them, however, I only saw a walking corpse wearing a poncho and a hat, a set of clothes that confused me due to their apparent defense to the sun. I found myself between the mounts, waiting for the devils to appear. To be fair, it was rather that or the bloodsuckers, but even then I knew they could get the old beast’s body. It wasn’t that far, fortunately, otherwise my horse would’ve starved to death or died of dehydration. Didn’t take long for me to get on a horse and follow the way to the Claw Mountains, those two huge rocky pillars that looked like a buried claw on the desert. In my mind I thought I should’ve waited for dark to come, but then I remembered the obvious detail. Let’s just try and get rid of some of ‘em.” “Besides, if you need it, just tell ‘em you were sent by me. “Not if you hold these,” he said patting the pack of items. “See the Claw Mountains? You just gotta head there and keep riding, and once you reach that place, they’ll come to you. From his hands came a bag of silver coins and a rosary - which he seemed to have plenty -, yet the directions came from his own mouth. What could be expected, after all, of the geezer? Still there was respect for him, however, and it didn’t take long for his mind to remember. He lit up his pipe and remained smoking in silence, smoke latching onto his beard, apparently forgetting to entrust me this mission. And now it seemed like it was a trial for me to find out the truth behind what he called the Navajo Massacre. He had his own group of bandits, like journal men, searching the land and bringing the news to him, and so he needn’t move a single bone to know what happened in New Mexico, what happened in the Rockies and in the Navajo Nation. The words of Ol’ Man Dunlap, always up to date on every single thing. “Worst part is that some of them won’t even accept our crosses. Mitch went around to trade and found nothin’ but their corpses.” “I heard they got another Navajo camp around here. Werewolves, witches, ghosts and zombies walked the roads that we were so used to.Īt least people could finally feel some pity for the natives around. That seemed to be the fashion once they arrived here in Arizona, a response to them and all those mythical bastards. At least the carpenters and woodworkers could bless the bloodsuckers for helping their businesses boom, though they were probably tired of building so many damn crosses and rosaries. That was the phrase that circulated around every town in this county. From this PM prompt, proposed by u/DaMonehhLebowski.
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