"Well let's see what we got here...15-2, 15-4, 15-6, 15-8, the pairs make 20 and nobs for 1. So I got 29 there and my crib...hmm...well I'll be danged...6,7,8,8...so that's 15-2, 15-4 and a double run of 10 is 14. That's about the best hand this ol rock hound has ever got! Ya see yer little peg behind them two little skunks there son?...that signifies that you been double skunked! " the old man laughed uproariously and slapped his leg. It was the scene that played across his eyes as he slept on the old overstuffed couch along the wall in the old man's "cabin". The old man had fixed a wonderful meal of steak and all the fixings the evening before. Afterwards they had drank more of the homemade beer and played cribbage and talked late into the evening. He came to the conclusion that he had a snowball's chance in hell of winning a game playing against an old man with seventy years of experience under his belt. As he slowly awakened that morning the first thing that his eyes focused on in the dimly lit room was the giant condor perched high above him on the wall. It seemed to be glaring ominously at him...ready to hop down and devour his liver like Prometheus of old. He sat upright on the couch and rubbed his eyes and face. With a yawn he extended his arms and stretched his back, twisting far to one side then to the other. Early morning light was coming through the windows. The house was quiet but for the rhythmic ticking of an Abingdon clock in the corner. He thought that he would check on Fireball and give her the last quart of grain. He had left the feed sack with his stash of supplies on the wooden steps outside the door. He grabbed his boots and went outside to sit on the steps, shutting the door quietly behind him. It was cool and misty but promised to be a beautiful clear autumn day. He slipped his boots on, tucking the laces inside so as not to trip on them. He grabbed the feed sack and as he walked around the corner, he could see Fireball across the square near the old Opera House. Alongside it and in front, brush and saplings had grown up for lack of care. There was also a wild apple tree a few steps off the northeast corner of the building. Fireball was foraging on the small yellow apples that had dropped from the tree onto the ground. He could hear the faint tinkling of her bells as her brown head moved back and forth. He headed to the concrete slab in front of the Cabin bar and when Fireball noticed him, she followed. "Well old girl...this is the last of the grain. We're going to have to find you some more...or at least some more oatmeal cream pies." ...he smiled as he dumped the grain on the slab. In the dim light he made his way inside the bar, took two warm Pabst from the cooler, and made his way back to the bench in front of the building. Sunlight was just peeking above the the distant horizon to the east. He had lost track of what the date was. It had to be near the end of October. The bench that he sat on butted up to a self serve bagged ice freezer on one end. Stuck on the side was a flyer advertising the "2021 Cabin Bar Halloween Costume Party." There were prizes for best couple, most original, least recognizable and the one that took the most explanation. He smiled thinking that it sounded like fun. The "Seers" wouldn't approve of it though. If a dedicated "Inheritor" was caught participating in the holiday he would be "cast out" and shunned. Halloween was the devil's holiday and was steeped in iniquity. They could righteously flog a young kid with a length of hydraulic hose for kissing a girl but you'd suffer everlasting damnation for dressing up like Elvis and having a spiced rum with friends.

He cracked open the second Pabst and walked south of the bar for a ways. The large pole style building that housed the fire department and post office had escaped any damage. The large doors on the south side were open and the pumper truck and other vehicles sat neatly arranged in their stalls. An old clipping hung framed on the wall. It informed that the town purchased its first fire truck in 1907 and also ordered all townspeople that their chimneys would be required to be constructed of brick. The north end of the building housed the Post Office. He peered through the double glass doors and saw a mouse scamper through a crack between the service counter and the wall. He thought that it might have been the first living thing, outside of Aristotle, that he had seen in this town. By the time that he and Fireball made it back to the old man's home the sun was above the eastern horizon. He sat on the wooden steps finishing the Pabst beer. Fireball had followed him and stood in front of him with a look of expectation. He rummaged through the grain sack and brought out two of the remaining sugar cubes. She slobberingly took them from his open hand and crunched them down. "I should give you a carrot instead..It would be better for you old girl" he said as he rubbed her forehead.

There was a faint wonderful smell emanating from inside the building. To him it smelled like homemade bread. He figured that the old man must be up and around and was fixing something for breakfast. The lights were on when he walked through the door and there was a clattering of pans coming from the kitchen. Aristotle poked his head around the kitchen doorway. "I hope you're hungry son...there's enough here to feed the Tenth Army" He took a seat at the table and straightened it up from the previous evening. He put the playing cards back in their dog eared box and the ivory cribbage pegs into the receptacle that had been built into the board. He picked up the broom handled Mauser and was examining it when the old man tottered up and set down down two plates of steaming hot fresh made biscuits and sausage gravy. "Dig in son...I'll get us some coffee". He came back shortly from the kitchen and set two cups of hot black coffee on the table. "A good buddy of mine give me that Mauser before he passed. He was a platoon sergeant with an engineering battalion in Europe and danged if he didn't end up with the occupational forces in Berchtesgaden. Him and some French guy hiked up to Adolph's house they called...oh heck..what did they call it?...well, I forget the proper name for it but it come to be known as the Eagles Nest. He told me that it was one of the prettiest places he'd ever seen. Him and the guys he was with had been involved in disarming some German officers in the area and one was carrying that pistol. He told me that he give the guy a couple packs of Lucky Strikes for taking it." " Well, I'd say he made a pretty good deal"...Van replied. After a few mouthfulls of the biscuits and gravy the old man set his coffee down. "Like I told ya son, I think I got an idea how you can get to Charbonneau a little sooner than riden your old pony. Ya see I got a nice little car out there in the garage and I think it will get you there just fine. It's all gassed up and runs like a top. Why don't you leave your pony here with me and I'll take good care of her. She'll have plenty to eat. There's about five thousand bushels of oats in that grain silo that ya passed coming into town... there's plenty of corn and I'm sure I could find something sweet for her once in a while." ...he chuckled. "When ya figure out things with yer wife in Charbonneau you can just bring back the car..I'll be around...how bout we take a look at it when we're finished here"? Van sat thinking for a few moments. He had grown quite attached to that old horse and their shared experiences but he knew the old man would take good care of her and with a decent vehicle he might be able to be in Charbonneau that very afternoon. "Well sir...that's probably a good idea...I really do need to find my wife and make sure she's alright"...he said seriously. "If you're sure it's what you want to do...I mean...heck...you just met me yesterday...you really don't even know me". "Son...I got a pretty good eye when it comes to sizing up people. I felt right off that you was a good honest young feller...except for that beer ya seem to be partial to"...he laughed cheerfully. "That little car will get ya there and back just fine. I bought it for my wife years ago...she loved that little car. I get it out once in a while and maybe drive out to Sherwood and back. I got an old truck out there too that I drive regular." He took his pipe from his pocket and packed the sweet tobacco into its bowl. He struck a match from a matchbook that had "The Naked Moose, Lorraine ND" on the cover and lit the tobacco. "How bout we stumble out there and see if the old girl will fire up...what do ya say?" ...he winked. "Well...that sounds ok...I'd like to see your old car." He followed the old man out of the house, down the wooden steps and around to the south side of the house in a trail of white smoke. A shed roof lean-to structure had been built off the main building with creosote posts and galvanized metal on the walls and roof. He pushed on the barn type door which hung on a metal track and slid it open. The car was covered with a grey colored linen auto cover. "Ok son, you grab that front side and we'll get this old rag off from her." When they had completely removed the cover he stood there with his mouth open. It was absolutely the most beautiful car that he had ever seen.The old man laughed... "Kinda cute ain't it? That there is a 1961 Buick Flamingo convertible. I bought it for my wife when I started makin good money in the oil patch. They said it's "the perfect car for scolding misbehaving kids" cuz that front seat swivels right around to the back"...the old man said pointing with his pipe. "Well hop in son...It ain't gonna bite ya...keys are in it"...he laughed. Van opened the drivers side door and slid into the cushioned front seat. He ran his open palm across the dash and down the chrome console. He turned the key and the 364 v8 purred to life. "Back her out on the grass and we'll throw your stuff in"...the old man waved. Van adjusted the rear view mirror and pulled the stick on the column to reverse. It rumbled smoothly out into the sunlit yard. "That's a beautiful old car"...Van said as he stepped out. "I sure appreciate what you're doing for me"...he said seriously. "Happy ta help ya son"...the old man smiled as he put his supplies in the back seat. Fireball had approached and was tentatively nosing the rear taillight. "You behave yourself old girl"...he whispered as he scratched her neck. "I'll be back for you". He turned and solemnly extended his hand to the old man. "Thanks again for everything" " My pleasure son...take care"...the old man clasped his hand with both of his. He slid again into the Buick's front seat and pulled the stick to drive. He rolled away with a final wave of the hand. Before he veered left to head south out of town he glanced into the rearview mirror. The old man stood there holding Fireball by the bosal and was wiping his eyes with the red paisley handkerchief. Fireball stood watching him intently with her ears snapped forward. He turned the Buick left and headed south out of Antler.

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