• Welcome to the Dead Hills •

They woke up at dawn the next morning and rode out on three sad horses into the Dead Hills. Their name was perfect. They looked as if an undertaker had designed them from leftover funeral scraps. It was a three-hour ride to Miss Hawkline’s house. The road was very bleak, wandering like the handwriting of a dying person over the hills.

There were no houses, no barns, no fences, no signs that human life had ever made its way this far except for the road which was barely legible. The only comforting thing was the early morning sweet smell of juniper brush.

Cameron had the trunk full of guns strapped onto the back of his horse. He thought it remarkable that the animal could still move. He had to think back a ways to remember a horse that had been in such bad shape.

“Sure is stark,” Greer said.

Cameron had been counting the hills as they rode along. He got to fifty-seven. Then he gave up. It was just too boring.

“57,” he said.

Then he didn’t say anything else. Actually, “57” had been the only thing that he’d said since they left Billy a few hours before.

Magic Child waited for Cameron to explain why he’d said “57” but he didn’t. He didn’t say anything more.

“Miss Hawkline lives out here,” Greer said.

“Yes,” Magic Child said. “She loves it.”