The worn softs of their feet ached in relief as they finally saw the hope of artificial light in the distance. They were in arid highlands, well elevated above their new found destination. Probably about a few hour trek, but it would have to wait. The sun was well on it's way down as a fresh chill entered the air. They would have to hold out another night before moving any further.

They didn't paused upon the sight, the man had learned his lesson the last time they stopped abruptly to gaze upon something. The pace was kept and until they gradually slowed upon spotting where they would settle for the night. The choosing of a campsite now took little thought, it had become a natural reflex. A mechanism to preserve ever so precious energy.

It was on a semi-flat space in the hills, below sparsely foliated and twisted limbs of a lone tree that was native to the dry region. They had come to a halt after carefully observing the surrounding rocks and dust for signs of others. This had also become another reflex. There were no such signs of life beyond the tiny prints of rodents in the surrounding dust. A thought that brought about the return of hunger. He looked at his companion who had already taken a seat, hunger also lingered in her amber eyes.

The man unloaded his pack as the final sliver of the sun disappeared behind the higher part of the ridge line that they would settle down in for the night. It was considerably lesser in weight than it had been just days before.

They had stumbled upon an abandoned vehicle with bottled water and some food along side the highway. It had been around noon that day when it was spotted from miles away, however it was not approached until after nightfall. Highwayman was a common occupation in the region.

He had learned the from his prior misteps, never again.

Now joining his only friend, he lifted his sun hardened hat from his dusty scalp. His opposite hand reached for the last of the plastic bottles in his bag. He hastily downed half of the container, moisture returning to his palate before just as quickly becoming dry again. The other half he dumped into the inside of his cap, and then he set it down at his feet.

The food situation was the same. There was only one last can of beans, the label had faded along with the former flavor. A knife was retrieved from the man's belt, effortlessly prying off the lid. And now the all-purpose ladle was drawn from the smaller pouch in the front of his bag. It was sizeable enough to stir a stew over a fire in the light-weight pot that carabined from his sack, but it was also narrow enough to spoon out of a can. What he had left in the can he piled softly on the flattened plastic of the bottle that he had opened with his blade. He set the remaining heap of their sole sustenence at his feet. Now darkness was now growing.

After replacing his hat, the licked clean utensils where returned to their place and then the sack hoisted into the branches above the place where they would slumber. The rock they chose to reside on still radiated the warmth of the day. The desert night, was already noticeably cooler than even the night before. The open sky, now clear with the starry display, hosted nothing else other than that of the nearly full moon. There was no threat of fowl weather anytime soon.

Rain now seemed a distant dream as the man drifted through drowsiness and into much needed sleep. He had one hand resting over his companion and the other on the holster of his always loaded single action Colt.

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The man awoke to soft but persistent nudging on his cheek, his companion was eager to move. Morning had come, and with it the challenge of a new day. Thirst and hunger nawed at his fading figure. Their lengthy pilgrimage had taken it's toll on his body, as well as his spirit. He was sure it was the same for his partner too, as ribs have been visible for quite some time now.

The sun began to make it's ascent, the warmth from the east. It was going to be a hot day, and they had gotten a late start. They were headed west now, towards the lights they had seen off a good ways the evening before. They had not seen people in quite some time, weeks it seemed.

And the last time had not been so pleasant.

They rose together, stretching off the night. He retrieved his bag from the tree and released the rope that had secured it. A routine check was performed. Everything was accounted for in the sack before he slung it back over his shoulders. He reached for his right hip, Old Iron was where she always was. He removed it from it's hold and spun the cylinder.

Five rounds remained.

It would have to do. He replaced it, then patted for his k-bar style blade. Everything checked out, they were ready to depart.

With the sun now in full view, they began to hike down into the valley. Evading rocks and other obstacles was a mindless effort, as was scouring the ground for the tracks of animals and eyeing the surrounding geography. Before they had set out for the day he had forgotten to check his compass to see which way exactly the target destination was. He pulled his compass from an additional pouch that was protected from the freely but closely hanging cooking pot. Having started with to the sun so low and having a general sense of direction, he figured if they held a course directly west that they would turn out alright.

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The light had been several miles in the distance as seen from their stay from the previous night. Through this rugged terrain it would take quite some time, but they would arrive still during daylight hours if his navigating didn't fail them. It was generally best to meet strangers in their domain during daylight hours, as a warmer welcome would be much more likely. Now-a-days, even if the folk were of a nicer type, people tend to hesitate about trusting or even simply interacting with others. Every introduction is a risk, a chance for the worst to come out in humanity.

They knew this all too well, the missing sixth in the cylinder reminded him of that everyday.

It was about noon when they stopped to look over the old gas station from afar, with the single light post beside it.

After some time they found themselves stopped at the edge of a raised road. Now the station was about a hundred yards out. He would be approaching it from the side of the structure. It was in decent shape, at least by today's standards. There was the brick building itself and in front of it, on his right hand side, was what use to be an overhead shelter. It was now half collapsed on the far side and crushing the old gas pumps. Both structures were gray from years of wind-borne sand eating way at the paint. There was also a large sign on the light post, but it could not be read from his current position. There were no people to be seen. He wasn't sure if that was a good or bad sign.

Places like this were often avoided during their travels, as marauders and other undesirable folk seemed to like to use them for their own bidding. This one however, really got his attention with the working florescent bulb that glowed steadily on top of that post. He supposed his willingness to approach was also because of their rapidly declining situation regarding sustenance.

He squated beside his companion, looking her in the eye sternly, and gave the one finger signal to stay put. Still squating, he eased the load of the pack from his frame and placed it under the rock they were behind. He kept a low profile and followed the edge of the road. He knew standing would potentialy reveal himself, and he didn't want anyone to know where he left his only friend and possessions.

Hesitating to rise to his feet, he scanned the area around him as well as the station which was only sixty yards or so from where he now was. He had a better view of the face of the store front. Still being at a wide angle, the face of the sign was still not visible.

Just before he stood, he caught movement. The front door opened and a older woman stepped out, cigarette in hand. He stayed low, as not to be seen. The woman proceeded to set herself in a folding chair by the double doors. Even at this distance, he could tell she ate well. This intrigued him even further.

She tossed what remained from the cigarette and reached into the pouch that now rested on her lap. She raised a clean bottle of water before removing the top and then sipped from it gently. There is no way she is alone. At least one other had to be lingering inside. However, the part of the place that struck him as the most odd was the way she behaved. Perhaps it was the way she had casually exited and sat was as though she was extremely comfortable there. Almost as if it was home. A concept that seemed so foreign to him that it had lost nearly all meaning.

It was decided. He was going to approach the gas station.

Not wanting to start her, he rose slowly and began the approach. After a few seconds of steadily advancing, he caught her eye. Her head turned and he offered a friendly wave. He was not met with a similar gesture, instead wthout breaking her gaze she tapped her closed fist on the window behind her, slowly. Twice.

He was now just feet from the crushed pumps and she did not seem very surprised or entertained to see him at all. Maybe they were used to visitors. Another thought that seemed strange to him, and suddenly he felt a rush of anxiety. He hadn't seen another living human in weeks, and as far as talking to them.... He couldn't even remember who or when.

"Hey... uh." He cleared his painfully dry throat. It did nothing. "Hello ma'am."

She stared at him blankly behind fading blue eyes. The door beside her swung open.

Standing in the now open doorway was a man of similar stature to himself. A cowboy style hat sat atop longish strands of greasy black hair. His clothing, although dusty, seemed to be well kept as though they were at least semi-regularly changed and washed. The most impressive part of his person however, was his darkly crimson shades that brightly reflected the lesser image of the worn down traveler.

Their gazes met in silence for what seemed an uncomfortable eternity. The stranger's mustache shifted before he spoke.

"You looks like you seen some shit," he started. His gravely voice brought the traveler out of the trance, but still he said nothing. Had he made a mistake coming here?

"Could I help you with somethin'? Fresh agua, or maybe some ammunitions of some sort? I suppose a man of your sort carries." The traveler felt his right hand twitching as though to introduce the potential threat to Old Iron at a moments notice. He had to consciously ease himself before he spoke.

"Water. I don't suppose you could spare a bottle?" His parched lips cracked from the effort to speak.

"You sir look like you could use a drop or two, why don't you take a load off inside?" He gestured for him to follow him inside.

He hesitated as the man turned to see if he followed.

"You coming? Aw hell, I suppose you aren't around from these parts are you fella? A little shy I suppose too. You can call me Moe, but don't you be asking what it's short for." He continued as he stretched out his open hand. Their palms met. The wanderer's frail hand nearly buckeled in the healthy man's firm grasp. Moe sensed that.

"So what's the catch." He coughed out, remaining before the doorway. "Hospitality ain't in most fellas vocabulary these days."

Moe chuckled. "You really have seen some shit haven't you sir! You would be right on that count."

He paused, "I'll tell you what, first glass is on the house. Rest of whatever you need, will be on the tab. I assume you have some green?"

"Green?"

"You a longcomer ain't you sir?" Moe said curiously. "Welcome to the Valley. You gonna have to pick up a thing or two if you wanna fit in or at least stay alive around these parts. Why don't you come on in and have your lone self a set down?"

There was a certain sense of trust developing in the longcomer for the man from the gas station. Although an uneasy feeling accompanied it, there was much choice involved.

"Yeah, just I'm not lone." His voice was returning further.

"Pardon?" Moe asked.

The man whistled once, sharply. The hidden figure emerged carrying the light rucksack. He waved her over as she was hesitant to approach.

"Well I'll be damned." Moe stated.