Joe the Camel was not ‘lost,’ as in not knowing where he was. He knew exactly where he was, though he would have been hard pressed to point out his exact location on a road map.

For others, the desert might stretch out to the horizon in all directions, miles to the nearest bit of humanity, calling such a place absolutely desolate. But to Old Joe, the endless sand-scape is his home.

That’s how ‘banishment’ goes when removed from society. He rarely gave that memory thought after so many years, but he sure could use a cigarette now and then.

My poor friend H.R.R. Gorman writes these wonderfully serious and thoughtful pieces of science fiction and I come along and screw’em up. In this case, H.R.R.’s three part story, “Inhabitation Machine,” which is about future time travel back in history. Thanks, H.R.R. for the indulgence.

Afan laid back in the brine. He knew well the torments of distant continuum warps.

He glanced at Jarusc, who adjusted dials, tapped view-meters, and waited for the energy to resupply the chrono-engine’s double-Amici prism. If he could have smiled, he would have, for he knew Jarusc was the better operator and not quite cut-out for such rapid transitions from one void to another.

Suddenly, he felt the anti-frictional surge race through his body followed by intense pain. That’s when Afan realized that the restroom key they so valiantly sought – was in his uniform’s pocket all the time.

Too late…

The cowpoke lived alone,
Visitors, few and far,
Save for that dog that he had.
I would reach down to pet
And he would not allow my touch.
Odd, but I have never
Had this affect — in fact
Ranch dogs naturally like me.
I’ll brag — and without tact,
Puppies, on me, tend to go pee!

How wish I had known
Honest and true as the North-star
Man’s best friend wasn’t so bad.
No, not the dog — it was the man!

Sure – the beast, it did growl, teeth
Laid bare, so ready to bite.
It is what’s beneath
Finally brought into the light,
That while eating our stew,
Until my waistline drew full,
One should never be a tease.
That dog knows, much good it’ll do.
Cowpoke, his ‘hardy-har-har…’

So I shot the man plum through
Jus’ as quick as you please.
It’s so hard to forget
When using a dog’s bowl.

“We was told not to cross the Carson,” the old man said. “I was a youngin’ then, younger than you are today. That ol’ war Chief said he couldn’t control them warriors on the other side.”

‘Captain’ Asa  Bledsoe, born in 1880, was nearly 102-years old. He wasn’t usually awake during the graveyard shift at the nursing care facility he now called home.

“Come, sit down and talk to me,” he had complained. Though I knew I had things that needed to be done, I couldn’t resist the old man’s plea – besides he told wonderful tales about how it was in the ‘olden days.’

“If my figgerin’s any good still, I think I’s ’bout twelve,” he coughed and I handed him his glass of water. After taking a sip, he continued, “We were a party of ten and Captain Young was the boss, a head strong cuss, not willin’ to listen to no one ‘specially an Injun.”

He paused, seeming to look off into the distance, perhaps remembering, seeing the day in his mind’s eye. “We set up camp not too far off from the river bank.  After, I went down and sat behind a clump of willows near the water thinkin’ about doin’ some fishin’. Chief said there was lots of fish. ”

He cleared his throat and reached for the water-glass. I intercepted him, handing it to him so he didn’t have to lean too far off the bed’s side.

“Never did get to find out on that there day as I watched as the most handsome Paiute squaw came waltzin’ down to river and begin to disrobe. Kinda glad I didn’t get to fish after them science-folk said them fish were poisonous with mercury and all. Anyways, mind you, I’d never saw no nekked womens in my life at the time, so I was kinda surprised but mostly curious.”

“She was elegant in her way of folding up her skirts and blouses. Then slowly she stepped in the water, which even though it was summer and hot as hell, was freezin’. But she entered and like a Goddess, bathed herself right there.”

I simply sat and listened, not  wanting to break the Captain’s reverie or concentration, for fear he’d forget what he was saying and I’d never learn what happened.

“It didn’t take too long fer t’others to take notice of this brazen woman and soon they’ve was settin’ along the bank watchin’ her, too. She looked up and smiled, so I know she know’d we was there, gawkin’ at her particulars.”

“It was all started by Young, hisself. He proceeded to wade into the river towards the maiden. Soon the other eight was waist deep in the stream.”

Bledsoe shook his head and sighed. “Shoulda listened, ‘cause all too soon, them warriors stepped out of the bushes on the opposite side and let loose with gun’s a-blazin’ and arrows flyin’, killin’ ever man-jack of the party, ‘cept me – I never went in the river.”

“The amazing thing is that the woman — I always called her ‘She Braids Her Hair,’ ‘cuz I never did know’d her name or seen her again — amazin’ how even as there was killin’ goin’ on all ’round her, she never flinched or nothin’. I’d remember that little lesson while a-fightin’ in Cuba a few years later and then in France another few years beyond that.”

“And after all’s done, I continued to watch half ‘fraid to move, but curious as any boy’d be, as she rose up, step-by-step from the river, then got down on her knees facing the river, back rod straight, head held high and braided her wet hair into a long tail, kinda like the Chi-nee Coolies used to do.”

“I sat there and watched till she was dressed and disappear’d into the thicket behind’er. Only then did I crawl back to the camp and lite out for Dayton, the closest place I could think of at the time.”

Bledsoe began to cough again and again I offered him his glass of water.  After taking a drink, the Captain leaned back on his pillow and I waited to see if there were another story coming, but no — the old man slipped off to l sleep and I returned to my nursing duties.

All of her life, she grew up hearing about the Prophet. Her family struggled to make ends meet because of this Prophet.

There were no vacations because of the Prophet. There were no fancy restaurant meals because of this Prophet.

She wore hand-me-down clothing because of the Prophet. And she couldn’t go to her prom because of this Prophet.

She concluded that her parents sacrified her entire childhood for the good of the Prophet. She also realized that she never benefited from this Prophet.

At age 18, she ran away from home, explaining, “They say prophet, but they really mean profit.”

The space-traveller had become a relic as he lay in stasis for fifty years, oblivious of what had happened with his home-world, Earth and to humanity. That was before the young woman, who was scouring his spaceship, found his ‘deep-space coffin.’

Now their heart was heavy, for while they’d seen much and knew much, they were now learning an awful truth: gender-assignment and sexual intercourse no longer existed. Terrestrial’s, as man-kind was now known, had been purposefully replaced by ‘love-bots.’

They felt disappointed for having dreamed of the day they’d be awakened. “Stasis don’t seem so bad now,” they complained.

Before he could begin getting undressed, a knock came at the door. It was Molly, carrying folded clothes. “I think these will fit you, if you don’t mind wearing my dad’s old clothes. Leave you’re old duds on the porch and I’ll wash them.”

“No. Please don’t bother. Jus’ toss’em in the burn barrel. I’ll gladly take those clean ones. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Sleep well. Good night.”

“Good night.”

Gil couldn’t help think how different Molly was from her old man, Frank Smith. It was like day-and-night in his mind.

After a lengthy shower and lots of soap, Gil felt clean enough to climb between the clean sheets of the bed. While he was looking forward to sleeping on a real mattress, it was uncomfortable at first – but sleep did finally overtake him and he went down like he’d be hit on the chin by a prize-fighter.

At first Gil didn’t know where he was and it left him somewhat confused. He quickly shook it off and got out of bed, heading to shower once again.

He was fairly certain he had gotten most of the dirt and sand and sweat off his body, but still he felt unclean and thus the desire to shower once more. “Besides,” Gil told himself, “I feels so good.”

Once toweled off and dressed, he stepped out side and spotted Molly in the kitchen window. She quickly waved him into the house, where she had coffee, eggs, bacon, ham and fried potatoes with biscuits and butter waiting for him.

Gil realized that it had been well over a year since he’d had a meal, both prepared and served by a woman. He ate like he couldn’t get his fill, and it was obvious that his appetite pleased Molly.

Once finished, Gil helped clear the table and began washing the dishes. “You don’t have to do that, you’re a guest in this house.”

Gil simply smiled and continued washing the dishes, drying once finished with the soap suds. “And here I thought my hand’s were never gonna get clean.”

He held them up and they both laughed. It was nice to hear another voice aside from his one and Blue Stone, whom he figured he’d never see again.

“So, have you any idea how much we owe you?” Molly asked.

“Not yet, but if you have a pencil and some paper I can get a number for you.”

He sat at the dining table and quickly calculated the hours he worked each day, times the days of the week. He tallied those up into the four months he’d been at the mine and handed her the paper.

“Agreed,” Molly said, “But you need to add in the days you weren’t picked up on time.”

Soon the pair were in her car and headed to the bank. Molly withdrew the agreed upon figure and gave it to Gil.

“Can I drop you somewhere?” she asked.

“No, thank you,” Gil answered. “You’ve been more than generous with everything.”

“What’ll you do now?” she asked.

“Well, I heard that there’s a possibility of a job north of Reno. Some cow outfit,” he stated.

“Good, I’m glad to hear that. Take care of yourself, Gil – and again I’m sorry that no one knew your were out there.”

Gil smiled, “All’s well, that end’s well.”

She stuck her hand out and Gil gripped it. “Take care, yourself and I very sorry about your dad.”

He watched as she pull from the bank’s parking lot onto the main street through town. Walking up the sidewalk towards the intersection where U.S. 50 emptied into the city, Gil couldn’t help but think of Nancy. “I can walk ten-miles for a chance at love.”

The cool water from the faucet felt good on his face and neck. He watched, surprised as the gray cement puddled up with dirt and grim as he rinse the filth from himself.

Before to long, Nancy came out the side door, keys in hand and unlocked the old truck whose step-board, Gil rested on. “Was my daddy’s,” she said of the truck, “but he gave it to me.”

Within minutes, they were passing behind the state capital building. “You can drop me right here. I can walk the rest of the way.”

“Okay,” Nancy complied. “You gonna pass through or are you planning to stay awhile, Gil?”

“I’m gonna stick around, see if I can get a job in town,” he answered.

“Well, my daddy owns the largest Hereford ranch in Nevada, north of Reno,” she said. Seeing a bit of a puzzle sweep across Gil’s face, she added, “That north of here a few miles. I can get you a job if you want. If you want one, you know where I work.”

“Even if you don’t wanna job, you know where I work,” she winked.

She smiled as Gil closed the door. He stood on the sidewalk and watched as she disappeared from sight.

Gil turned and walked up the street towards the Smith’s residence. While he was a bit perturbed by the fact that the old man had forgotten about him, he decided to ‘play it cool,’ and show no anger until he got his pay.

He rapped at the door. A few seconds later a woman answered, “Yes, can I help you?

Hat in hand, Gil answered, “I’m looking for Mr. Smith. I work for him.”

“Come in,” she directed.

She shut the door behind him and pointed to a chair and motioned for him to sit. “I guess you hadn’t heard that Frank, my dad, Mr. Smith, passed away the middle of last month.”

Stunned, Gil leaned back in the chair. He felt the wind live his body.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” he responded, “I didn’t know. So that’s why he didn’t show up to get me. Explains a lot.”

“You worked for Dad?”

Gil answered, “Yes. I’ve been overseeing the mine.”

“Which one?”

“The one out by the reservation.”

“Really? How did you get back here?”

“Walked.”

The woman shook her head, “Dad was so certain that when the next war came, the federal government would want all the manganese it could get, but his war never came. We had no idea he had anyone out there at the worthless old hole. I am so sorry!”

“I am too, ma’am,” Gil said as he stood up, “I’m sorry for your loss.”

“Where do you think you’re going?” the daughter asked.

“Well, with Mr. Smith…uh…Frank passed, I figure I need to be on my way.”

“Are you owed money?”

“Yes, ma’am, but with him gone and all, I…”

She interrupted, “I’ll not hear of it. You’ll sleep out in the guest cottage out back and in the morning after breakfast, I’ll take you to the bank and we’ll get your money.”

“But you don’t know how much that is or if I’m even telling the truth.”

“Look, you look like hell, no – worse than hell, so I believe you. No one walks 80 miles and leaves empty-handed on a handshake.”

“Thank you, ma’am.”

“Molly. Please call me Molly.”

She showed him to the kitchen, where she poured him a cup of hot coffee and ladled out a bowl of thick mutton stew, before directing him out the back door to the cottage. It would be the first hot shower and clean bed Gil had slept in over half a year.

The night, though cold and moonless, was most uneventful. Again Gil heard the coyotes pad’s gently following at some distance to either side, but this time he welcomed their company, whistling the lullaby, not as a comfort or warning for himself, but for them.

A some point in the dark of the early morning hours, Gil heard a noise he’d not heard in months. After so much time alone and away from the sound of the civilized life, his hearing had grown remarkably stronger.

It was a jet engine, a passenger aircraft high above the desert landscape. Gil stopped and looked skyward until he saw the faint flashing lights of a plane as it rocketed its way in a westward trajectory.

The sight caused an unexpected catch in his throat as he wondered, “Maybe I ought to settle down for a while. A town with a library, a job, and a clean bed.”

The thought held him spellbound long after the aircraft faded from sight. It was enough to lift his spirit, that and the knowledge that he was getting closer and close to his destination with each step.

Before he realized it, the sun was finding it’s way above the eastern crags of the mountain behind him. Another hour of walking and Gil clearly heard the sound of a vehicle someplace off in the very far distance.

Deciding not to stop, Gil gulped down the last of the water in the tin and pushing the empty can under the flap of his rucksack, picked up his pace. He was certain that jus’ beyond the horizon lay his ‘yellow brick road,’ and salvation from the grit and heat of the desert.

It was slightly after noon, when he came to the black top road of U.S. 50. He wanted to sit and rest a spell, but he knew somewhere south of where he was standing was a piece of pie and a soda waiting for him to order.

Another hour passed before he finally spotted the lone roadside diner, a hole-in-the-wall really, but a sight for Gil’s sore eyes. He pull on the door and stumbled to the counter. “A soda, please. Anything wet.”

Wide-eyed, the young woman behind the counter looked at Gil, “Where in the world did you come from?”

“The desert – out that way,” Gil motioned randomly.

She quickly got him a glass, filled with ice and cola, asking “What were you doing out there?”

“Working,” he said between gulps. She refilled his glass.

“So, how far is it to Carson, from here?” he asked.

She smiled, “About 10 miles or so.”

“Good,” Gil said, adding, “Can I trouble you for a piece of pie? Any kind will do.”

Quickly, she cut him a large wedge of cherry pie and placed it in front of him. Gil pulled the last few dollars from his sweat stained shirt pocket and placed it on the counter, “Thank you, ma’am.”

She refilled his soda glass, adding more ice before suggesting, “You can go out back after finishing your pie and wash up at the spigot. Then I can give you a ride into town, if you’d like. Save yourself having to walk.”

Gil returned her smile, “I’ll take you up on your offer. By the way, my name’s Gil,” as he offered her his hand.

“Nancy,” she returned.

He rolled through scrub and over heavy, sharp gravel, finally coming to rest against a large boulder. Gil slammed head first into the rock and laid, dazed, staring up at the constellations, than now included a few that moved when he blinked.

Sitting up after a few minutes, Gil cursed his clumsiness and felt for the small cut to the side of his head. “A fall like that could’ve killed me,” he concluded as he scrambled to his feet then up the embankment to the road.

As he returned to his steady stride, he could hear an odd noise coming from his pack. He knew instantly what it was, but there was little to nothing he could do about it until dawn.

Sunlight could not come fast enough for Gil as he stopped at the first rays and pulled his sack from his shoulders. Opening it, he dumped the contents out onto the side of the road, revealing what he’d knew in his heart-of-hearts all along – both water jars, smashed from the fall.

Looking around in the vague morning light, “I need to find water or else.”

Happily, he’d held tight to the tin from the can of pears he’d eaten the day before, so he knew he had a way of holding water, if he could find it. He waited for morning to come fully awake before assessing his location from the nearest spring.

As they drove to the mine, Smith pointed out cross-roads, where a person could find water. The question was, in Gil’s mind, did he pay close enough attention to what cross-roads were where or how far apart were they?

It was the first time he felt doubt. Gil knew he had to push the feeling out of his mind if he were to think clear enough to figure out his location.

Trekking an hour further, he found his answer, a cross-road with a bullet riddle and rusted sign reading ‘Gopher Springs.’ It was four or so miles out of his way, but Gil knew he had no choice but to head in that direction.

The road to the spring was less used than the main one Gil had been traveling. It was fairly flat and laden with loose, dusty sand that swirled around every time a breeze crossed it.

The mid-morning sun was beginning to heat up the dust and sand, the hotness radiating in the soles of Gil’s boots. He could feel his feet swelling and though he wanted desperately to pull them off, he knew that should he, he’d never get his feet back in them.

Trying to ignore his discomfort, Gil pressed ahead towards the watering hole. He felt his heart skip a beat when he saw the cluster of aspen, a sign of fresh water, in abundance.

Not only did he have water to his fill, Gil had ample shade in which he could rest without having to bodily move himself from time to time. “If only I could stay here,” he chuckled, knowing that he wasn’t about be that fool-hardy.

Sleep came quick and easy. He hadn’t had a full nights sleep since leaving the mine and the idea of rest was a comfort and he folded his hands behind his head and fade in a dreamless slumber.

The sun was beginning to set, when he opened his eyes. Something had awaken him and somewhere in his subconsciousness he knew that something was wrong, that danger was close at hand.

Gil laid still, listening, then feeling. He gently lifted his head and saw that along his left side was a rattlesnake, stretch out, hugging his body from beneath his arm-pit to near his ankle.

The snake had tucked its head under his shoulder and the thought of moving and being bitten sent a wave of fright through Gil’s body. Deciding to risk it, Gil rolled to his right several times, placing some distance between himself and the poisonous reptile.

Much to his surprise the snake hardly moved. Gil knew in an instant what he needed to do next.

Over a small camp fire, Gil roasted the last of his former bed mate. It was the first time he’d ever had a truly close encounter with rattler, preferring to avoid and not confront.

But necessity dictated the rash move on Gil’s part, as he knew the one can of pears remaining would not be enough to stem off the pangs of hunger later down the road. With one more long drink from the spring, and his tin filled with water, Gil hiked back to the main roadway.