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Crowdance

GREGORY A. T. MORRIS

Wind whistled through the streets of Crowdance, brushing up dust and throwing it a few feet onwards to find a new home somewhere else. It was always dead quiet in town after the miners left, especially compared to the noise they brought with them. Every two weeks the mines on Big Thorn Mountain emptied out and all the miners came back into town whooping and hollering and kicking up a fuss. They spent so much time buried, plucking chunks of ore from near-inexhaustible seams, that when they got above ground they became different men. The town filled with movement and colour and men trying to pack as much action into as little time as possible to relieve the stress of their regular life. Sitting in the darkness hammering at rock with a bit of metal on a stick could do things to a droid, and seemed to do so with alarming frequency.

Most of them never really talked about it. They just made a ruckus: fighting, brawling, boasting, and blowing holes in buildings which happened to be at the wrong spot when a real fight broke out. There was Miss Lucy, boarding over another hole in the side of her boarding house. She never complained much, as the miners paid her rates and didn’t ask for anything too fancy. Some of the miners tried to give her something extra to help her along when they came into town, but she was too proud to accept it. Little Jimmy nodded to her as he caught her eye in passing. She smiled, a little flustered from the effort of balancing on the stepladder and hammering in nails under the hot sun.

Sadler’s General Store was closing for lunch, Skinny Sadler turning the sign in the front window around and drawing the blinds halfway. He was getting crotchety in his old age, not that he’d ever been particularly agreeable to anyone who wasn’t spending money in his store anyway. But now he flat-out refused to stay open while he was having his lunch, and he was opening later and closing earlier as well. His was the only store in town, though, and there was no reason for anyone else to open competition. For one thing there’d be no place to put it. Main Street — the only street in town, really — was full up. Not that it was too hard to do: Crowdance wasn’t all that big anyway. The rows of houses and stores had just kind of grown up around the assayer’s office, the post office, and Sadler’s store.

Mining was why Crowdance existed. The need for ore brought men to the mountains and the constant demand kept them there, down in the darkness. Little Jimmy didn’t really understand it himself. He’d gotten lucky, and gotten rich, and then quit before being lucky wore off. He’d given his pick and his mule away to a new­comer looking to go prospecting, but he kept his pan, since it made a good place to keep bolts and nuts and those little fiddly spare parts that always seemed to need cleaning. ‘Morning, Jimmy!’ It was Rusty Thomas, who owned the Red Clubs saloon and did all his own distilling. He was pushing a broom around the front porch, cleaning up like everyone else. ‘Come in to town for a waker-upper?’

‘I’ve been up since the crack of dawn and you know it, Tommy-boy.’

‘Ha! The day you get up before noon is the day you go back under, Jimmy. Stop in and have a drink anyway, on me.’

‘Well, I don’t mind if I do at that.’

The inside of the Red Clubs was Rusty Thomas’ pride and joy. He’d had an artist come all the way from Dos Gauchos, almost a month’s ride east and south of Crowdance, to paint the mural behind the bar. Rusty Thomas had decided not to spend any money on getting a mirror, like most saloons had behind the bar, because he only wanted the best for his place and, with rowdy miners around, the mirror would inevitably get broken. The artist had worked for almost a week just to do the first part, then had hung around long enough afterwards to make a couple of changes when everyone saw what he’d painted.

Little Jimmy let his eyes adjust to the dim interior of the Red Clubs and contemplated the mural. It was a masterpiece, if he did say so himself. The artist had done a fine job. On the wall was a perfect reflection of the interior of the Red Clubs, down to the Super Express shotgun that Rusty Thomas kept behind the bar. And to that day, the Painter’s Mirror, as it was known, had never been broken. Not even a shot fired in its direction. If ordinary saloon mirrors attracted heavy objects and gunfire, this mirror seemed to repel it. It looked like silvered metal, but Little Jimmy had gotten to touch it, and it felt just like the plaster it had been painted on.

‘You really love fine art, don’t you, Jimmy.’ Rusty Thomas slid a rag along the bar, even though it was already clean, as he watched Little Jimmy contemplate the mural.

‘Nah. I only like it because I’m on there.’

‘Ha. Your square phiz doesn’t deserve mention. I still don’t know why I let you in that picture. But enough about your ego... what’ll you have for that raging thirst?’

‘Black Sparkler?’

‘Done. Just give me a second.’

As Rusty Thomas began to rummage around for the ingredients, Little Jimmy contemplated his picture in the mirror. It’d been painted years ago, when he was younger, but not too much had changed. His face had weathered well, and although his features were not so sharp as they once were, he still looked like a solid slab of miner. There was a fizzing sound, then a flash of light as the lit match met the fumes from the drink, and then one of the house specials of the Red Clubs slid a few feet down the bar into Little Jimmy’s hand.

The tall mug was filled with a dark mixture, made from several of Rusty Thomas’ own liquors plus some secret concoction which was kept behind the bar in unlabelled bottles and only used for the Black Sparkler and its cousin, the Red Sparkler. Whatever was in it reacted to liquor pretty well, creating a shooting jet of gas that could be lit on fire and a snappy popping sound. Little Jimmy capped the glass with one hand, putting out the fire, then picked up the mug and took a sip. Cold, but not too cold, and with a slick aftertaste that caught the odor of burning and held it in the mouth for a while. The stuff popped and fizzed even as it went down. It was quite a drink. Little Jimmy sipped another mouthful of the drink, then put down the mug. ‘You expecting any mail in tonight’s run?’

‘No. I gave up on getting that player-piano repair kit. I’m going to write them a letter and get my money back.’

‘Are you still on about that? It’s been almost six months. They won’t do anything for you now.’

‘They will if I write them a letter!’

‘Tommy, you’ve got a lot of faith in letter-writing.’

‘Hey, just because you never had to doesn’t mean it can’t help me.’

‘Don’t let me stop you. But you’d better get writing... the mail run will be here in six or seven hours for the ore.’

‘Nobody’s going to be in today anyway, I’ve got time.’ Rusty Thomas began to polish the bartop out of habit, pushing a damp rag along the varnished wooden countertop in lazy circles. The dark, knotty wood was polished to a dull shine and helped take the edge off the harsh light from outside, working with the burgundy-red walls to make a big change from all the many shades of brown which otherwise decorated Crowdance. There was sand, and dust, and dirt, and even weathered-board brown scattered all around the town, but very little actual color.

‘Yeah. That’s one thing all of us have here. Time.’ Little Jimmy took another sip of his drink and rolled it around in his mouth. He sat in silence, perched half-on and half-off a bar-stool, one leg propped up on the nearest brace of the stool, and the other flat on the ground.

Several minutes passed as Little Jimmy sipped on his drink and Rusty Thomas polished the bar. They’d known each other for years, having both arrived in town before it ever got started and passed the time between then and now getting to be fixtures in the small but growing town. It was a quiet life, except when the mines emptied, but it left plenty of time to think and to do whatever a body felt like next.

•

Little Jimmy spent most of the afternoon in comfortable silence, nursing drinks along and looking at the people painted in the mirror. Some were old friends, some were people he didn’t like so well, and most of them were gone. It was kind of strange to think about, but he always found himself considering where everyone went when he looked at the Painter’s Mirror. Some had died. Their parts just stopped working, worn out with age. Most of that was before they had gotten a good doctor in town, though. Others had died in fights, all torn up by gunfire or filleted on the point of someone’s knife. Even death to that sort of thing was harder now. The town doctor was a hard worker and smart. Anything that didn’t hit the skull or something else equally vital could probably be fixed with enough time. The town graveyard wasn’t very full, and even if it had been fuller, Little Jimmy wouldn’t have missed those planted there.

The ones that left, though, they were another story. You could always visit the dead, and talk to them, even if they couldn’t talk back. Sometimes it was better that they didn’t, depending on the person and what you were saying. But those who just left, who went somewhere beyond the horizon and didn’t say where...

Little Jimmy missed them. Some of them were real characters, like Tin Pot Tess, who’d carried the biggest derringer anybody’d ever seen. She hid it in her cleavage and nobody noticed it until she pulled it out to shoot somebody. She’d left early one morning, just packed a bag and started walking. That had been six years ago. Larry Weiss had blown into town one morning with his suitcase full of magic tricks and set up shop on the street corner between Sadler’s store and the Robinsons’ house. He had spent three months showing off every trick anyone could think of, teaching the kids how to walk coins along their knuckles and palm playing cards. Nobody was quite sure why. Everybody liked him, though, and it was a shock when one morning his little stand was gone. Larry had done a real vanishing act.

Diamond Allen had worn diamond studs in a leather band around his hat. He’d pull one off every night and give it away, just tossed it to somebody at random. He had never seemed to run out of diamonds. He had played dominoes all night long, with anybody that would sit with him. One evening he had set his dominoes all up in a line, put his hat on the chair, and walked out of the Red Clubs. They said he’d walked down Main Street, nodding and helloing as friendly as you please, and then left town heading for the mountains. He hadn’t taken anything with him.

‘Say, Jimmy. You want to have a hand of cards?’

‘Hmm?’ Little Jimmy shook his head, chasing away the cobwebs from his mind. ‘What?’

‘I said you look bored. You want to have a hand of cards?’

‘What, you want to lose the Red Clubs to me again?’

‘Hey, I know you cheated the last two times, you bum!’ Little Jimmy had won ownership of the Red Clubs twice in card games with Rusty Thomas, and twice he’d sold it back. He didn’t need to own a saloon, although he’d tried running the place for a bit the first time, just to see how being a respectable businessman felt. It was too much work and too little fun.

‘I didn’t have to cheat. I just had to let you cheat. You just can’t seem to get the counting part right, Tommy.’ Little Jimmy grinned. ‘Remember, I’ve seen your book-keeping.’

‘Hey, at least I keep books. There’s an idea: why don’t we get the doc over for a third player? I know he can’t be up to much right now. School’s let out, so he’s done with trying to teach the kids about their Maker.’ Rusty Thomas tossed a rag over one shoulder and then slid the chairs back around the last table he’d cleaned.

‘Doc’s not much fun, Tommy. I reckon he’s gotta loosen up a bit before he can enjoy a game of cards.’

‘Nah, he played a few hands last week with me when he closed the school for Miss Loretta’s birthday. Her parents invited him to the party, but he doesn’t get along so well with her dad, what with him being the one who slugged the doc and called him all those names when the doc wouldn’t fight back.’

‘Just because he plays doesn’t mean he’ll have any fun with it.’

‘He played a pretty good hand, Jimmy. What, you scared that this time I’ll do the winning ’tween you and me?’ Rusty Thomas winked. ‘I’ll get him.’

•

About fifteen minutes later Rusty Thomas pushed one of the swinging doors open and behind him was Doctor Eliott Penn, generally called Doc, since that was the quicker.

He was new in town as people went, having arrived in Crowdance about eight months ago. He was kind of tall but pretty skinny, with a long and lean face that could have been sharpened to a good imitation of a splitting-wedge with a lot of work on a grindstone. His arms were as long and thin as the rest of him, but his hands were quick and sure. If Rusty Thomas was right about him loosening up enough to play some cards then he’d probably be pretty good. Little Jimmy didn’t really like the doctor much, but he was willing to allow that the doctor was very good at the two jobs he did: fixing droids up when they got hurt and teaching the kids of the town. Two jobs Crowdance had needed someone to do for a long time.

The doctor wore a natty sage-green string tie: he was always well dressed, though it was all a bit too fancy for Little Jimmy’s tastes. ‘Afternoon, Doc.’

‘Good afternoon, Mister Shaw.’

‘How many times do I have to tell you? Call me Jimmy.’

‘Right.’ The doctor looked around. ‘Well, I heard someone say something about a game of cards?’

‘You certainly did, Doc. Let me get a pack. You want something to drink? Jimmy, can I freshen your drink up?’

‘Yeah, go ahead, Tommy. Give it a bit more fizz.’ Little Jimmy left the mug on the bar and his perch on the stool, joining the doctor at a table. Rusty Thomas bustled around behind the bar for a minute, then came out around front, three mugs in his hands which he set on the table. He pulled a new pack of cards out from the front pocket of his apron and set them on the table, then sat down.

‘Who deals?’

‘You can have first deal, Doc. I’m just having a lazy afternoon.’ Little Jimmy produced a match from the band of his hat and lit it, one-handed, against the tip of his thumb. He held it out between two fingers over the drink, which caught promptly and flared up. ‘Just relaxing after the exciting times we have here every so often.’

‘Too exciting. I’m running low on spare parts and good quality solder.’ The doctor flipped open the pack of cards, slid them out, and stripped out the jokers from the bottom and the top of the deck. ‘The last batch I ordered had a couple of bad spools and I don’t trust it.’ He shuffled the cards loosely in his hands a few times, then squared two cuts up against the table edge and riffled them together.

‘I guess you’ll have to send out an order in a couple of hours, then.’

‘I’ve already got one waiting. I can use the bad stuff if I have to, but I don’t like it. I don’t think it’ll hold well.’

‘See, Tommy? That’s how you’re supposed to handle things going wrong. Prompt responses!’

Little Jimmy grinned at Rusty Thomas as he picked up the cards, inspected his hand, then put them down on the table and used his hand to stifle the flame from his drink so that he could take a sip. The doctor sat and organized his hand, shuffling the cards around and fanning them out, then he slid them back together and set his hand down. Tommy glanced at his hand briefly, then squared them all up, put his cards back down and took a long swig of drink from the mug he’d put in front of his seat. Probably his own homebrew: that was why he’d gotten into this business in the first place. That and his being a bit claustrophobic, which was a problem down in a mine.

‘Ha. You wouldn’t know a prompt response if it bit you in the ass. Let’s keep this game friendly, just pocket change.’ Rusty Thomas rooted around in the main front pocket of his apron for a second, then pulled out a handful of change and let it rattle on the table as he set it down. He slid the coins around, then pulled out one and sent it sliding into the center of the table, followed by two cards, face down. ‘I’ll have two.’

They played casually, the rattle of cards against table as who­ever was dealer for the round shuffled punctuating the quiet atmosphere. Rusty Thomas and Little Jimmy left their coins in heaps, sorting out what they wanted when it came time to bet, while the doctor made neat piles of his, stacking them up according to size, largest up to smallest diameter, in little conical stacks.

They talked about recent events, about the new seam in the MacDonald mine, about the collapse of a section of canyon wall onto the track leading to the Jones place, and about how many people had gotten to spend some quality time under the doctor’s watchful eye because of the new gun the youngest Charles boy had come to town with. They said his daddy’d bought it for him as a birthday gift, since he was old enough now, and had earned it keeping the shipments on time from the mines.

They talked about old times, about when a trio of very unsavoury and slightly deranged drifters had ridden into town, and about the hole that one of them had put in Little Jimmy’s side during a fight. The doctor asked about the scars left on Rusty Thomas’ otherwise polished head and got to hear the story about the woman in the long coat who’d walked into the Red Clubs one day and tried to kill Rusty Thomas. Every time he told that story what she’d been wearing underneath the coat got a little skimpier and the sword got a little bigger and Rusty Thomas did a little more fighting than he’d actually done. Everybody in the bar had pitched in to save their barkeep, since he was known for rounds on the house and for brewing it as stiff as you asked for. The woman hadn’t stopped fighting until they took her apart. The doctor didn’t say much about his old times, just that he’d been to school, and worked in a bigger town for a while before moving out to Crowdance.

After a while they noticed it was getting dark. Rusty Thomas glanced at his latest hand, then at the dwindling pile of change in front of him, and tossed his cards in. ‘I’m out for this round. You play it out while I go light the lamps.’ He pushed his chair back and it scraped against the floorboards, loud in the quiet.

Rusty Thomas went behind the bar, next to where he kept his shotgun, and produced a long, slim wand with a bulbous grip. He adjusted a small knob just above the grip, then lit a match and held it to the stream of gas, lighting a bright flame on the end of the wand. He shook out the match, then turned the knob back some, lowering the flame. The barkeep proceeded to light the lamps behind the bar and then worked his way around the rest of the place, trimming wicks with the pair of scissors he kept in one of the small pockets on the inside of his apron.

With the inside of the Red Clubs lit up, Rusty Thomas shut off the little wand and reached over behind the bar to slide it back inside its cubby. He turned to the game, then looked back at the bar. ‘Huh. That’s odd.’

‘What is?’ Little Jimmy looked over at his old friend.

‘I was just looking at my clock. It must be wrong. Either of you have the time?’

Little Jimmy shook his head—he didn’t carry a watch—but the doctor patted his pockets for a second and then said ‘I do.’ The doctor pulled out a pocket watch from his vest pocket, popped it open and ran a thumb over the face. ‘It’s a quarter past seven.’

‘That’s funny.’ Rusty Thomas paused for a moment, then shook his head. ‘It is wrong, but it’s about twenty minutes slow. I wonder, did we miss the mail run?’

‘Nah, it’s just late. Believe me, we’ll hear them when they get here.’

‘Well, even if it is late, so’s my dinner. You two want something to eat?’

‘I wouldn’t say no,’ Little Jimmy said, as the doctor nodded and added, ‘Please.’

Rusty Thomas walked back through the door beside the bar and into the kitchen. Little Jimmy and the Doc could hear him talking to himself as he rattled pots and pans and fired up the oven with a couple of fresh logs. They waited and made small talk, Little Jimmy asked the doctor about his work teaching the kids and listened to a few stories about how classes were going. After about twenty minutes the door to the kitchen opened again and Rusty Thomas came out balancing three plates piled high with food. He wasn’t much of a cook, definitely not as good at it as he was at bartending, but it was solid food, traditional greasy fare, and it filled a body up. That was really all anyone wanted. The three of them tucked into their meal, cards put aside until dinner was through. They none of them rushed the meal, since they were in no hurry. If any visitors came in it would be a surprise, and neither Little Jimmy nor the doctor had anything official to do in the evenings.

•

It was about half past eight when they all finished. The doctor was just getting up, fork and knife in one hand, plate in the other, when Rusty Thomas said ‘Don’t worry about moving them, Doc. Just push them to one side. I’ll do the dishes before I go to bed.’ He gestured for the doctor to sit back down.

‘You sure? It’s no trouble for me to run them in.’

‘I’m sure. Sit back down. Besides, I want as much time as possible to win some of my money back off you two.’

‘Good luck.’

‘Quiet, you. It’s your turn to deal, so deal.’ Little Jimmy pushed some sauce around the plate with a knife, then put the knife down and slid the plate across the table to join Rusty Thomas’ and the doctors’. He took up the deck of cards, now well broken in, cut them, and riffled them together at the corners.

He was just dealing when the sound of footsteps on the porch outside caught his attention. Little Jimmy turned to see who it was that was coming over, surprised that anybody who was left in town would stop by the Red Clubs, especially at this hour. Over the swinging doors, though, he saw a stranger. The man was fairly tall, and pretty broad as well, and didn’t look like the type from anywhere nearby.

He pushed open the door and Little Jimmy could see that he definitely wasn’t from around Crowdance. He was built long and skinny, almost like a wedge pointing down. His long coat only accented the narrowing of his body and the two long pistols riding on his hips didn’t help it any. He wore a grey hat, brim turned up on one side and left down on the other. He was wide through the cheekbones and narrow through the chin, and when he spoke his voice was kind of raspy and a little high. ‘Evenin’.’

‘Howdy, stranger.’ Rusty Thomas put down the hand of cards that Little Jimmy had reflexively dealt and stood. ‘Looking for a drink? We got all sorts here.’

‘Nah. Thanks. This place called Crowdance?’

‘Yep. This bit of it in particular is called the Red Clubs, though. You been looking for Crowdance?’

‘Yes.’

The stranger didn’t say anything else. Rusty Thomas walked over to behind the bar, taking his and Little Jimmy’s empty mugs with him. ‘Well, you mind if I ask why?’

‘I got a letter here for Crowdance.’

‘A letter? For a town?’ The doctor sounded curious. He was sitting half turned in his chair, one arm resting on the back, the other sitting on the table, tapping his cards with one finger.

‘That’s what it says.’

‘Can I see it?’

‘This town got a mayor?’

‘No. Not really anybody elected around here. We never needed government much. People just sort of take care of themselves.’ Little Jimmy spoke up at last.

‘Then I don’t care who sees it. Here.’ The stranger pulled out a large envelope, regular letter size but fairly thick, and walked over, holding it out to the doctor.

‘Thanks.’ He inspected the front of the envelope, which was addressed with just one word, ‘Crowdance’ and nothing else. Not even a stamp or a postmark. He turned the letter over, slid one finger under the flap, and pulled it up. The letter inside was several sheets of paper long and folded over several times. The doctor unfolded the letter and inspected the first page. Little Jimmy read over his shoulder as he scanned the letter.

Dear Citizens of Crowdance, it began. We, the people of Upper Missoulah, feel we must take this occasion to write to you and tell you of what has happened recently in our town. We regret that we may be a little late getting to your next ore shipment....

The letter went on to tell of the gradual breakdown of daily life as the infrastructure of the town stopped working. Shipments came late to the stores, then they didn’t come at all, and the stores had to close. The refinery broke down several times and they tried to repair the broken parts at first, then realized they couldn’t make the ones they needed. They sent off for new parts, but each time they fixed the plant something new broke. There were names and dates and then, on about the third sheet, whoever was writing the letter started having trouble writing. First the punctuation became less regular, then the paragraphs ran together, and then finally, on the fourth sheet, the words stopped and the whole page was just covered in numbers. It was like that for three more pages.

‘Where’d you get this letter, mister?’ Little Jimmy was a little confused, and very suspicious. The letter was just plain strange and the stranger carrying it didn’t lend it any credibility. If this was true... what was going on? Where would their ore go? It had been hard enough to find a buyer for the raw ore in the first place, and to find another, after they’d been dealing with the same one for years... that was not something Little Jimmy wanted to contemplate.

‘From the town that sent it. I was passing through as they left.’

‘You mean to say they did what they said here, that they packed up and left?’ The doctor didn’t sound any more trusting than Little Jimmy did.

‘Yep. They just packed up and left.’

‘What town, Doc? Who’s the letter from?’ Rusty Thomas came back out from behind the bar, drinks refilled for himself and Little Jimmy.

‘Upper Missoulah,’ he replied.

‘Hang on, isn’t that the town with the big refinery? That’s where our ore goes, I think.’

‘Yeah. It is. Well, I guess the mail run will know what’s going on.’

‘It’s pretty late, Jimmy. I wonder if something happened.’ Rusty Thomas sounded a little worried.

‘Look, mister. I gotta tell you. I don’t know where your mail comes from, but if it came the way I did, it’s not coming.’

‘What?’

‘Every town I’ve ridden through for the past few days has been the same. Empty. Big or little. One or two of the houses I saw out by themselves had lights, but everything else was dead quiet.’

‘What are you saying?’

‘That whole towns are gone. I don’t know. I don’t like it, but I never been this way before and all I know is what I see.’ The stranger took off his hat and laid it on the table. ‘I’m just glad to find a town with somebody in it is all.’

‘Look, stranger. I hope you don’t mind if we find your story hard to believe.’

‘Believe what you like. Barkeep, I think I will have a drink. Something strong, serve it straight. Whatever you’ve got.’ Rusty Thomas went back over behind the bar, the stranger following, sorted out a glass, and poured it full. The stranger took it and downed it in one shot, then set it back on the bar. He shook his head. ‘I don’t know what it is. These towns just emptied out.’

‘Listen, stranger, why don’t you sit down for a bit. Doc, can you make anything out of that letter? Something wrong with the writer or something?’

‘I don’t know. It doesn’t look like much of anything. And I wouldn’t know how to diagnose anything without at least hearing the patient’s symptoms.’

‘They didn’t seem to have anything wrong with them that I could see. They could all walk straight and talk straight, or at least they did when I made them answer. They didn’t talk any otherwise, though. They just all up and walked right out of town, right as I was coming in.’

‘Really?’

‘Yeah.’ The stranger downed half of the next drink Rusty Thomas brought him and set the glass on the table, then pulled up a chair. ‘I never seen anything like it before. And then afterwards, every time I rode through an empty town, all I could picture was those people I saw leaving that town.’ He paused for a second to knock back the rest of his drink, then put the glass down and toyed with it. ‘I gotta tell you, it kind of scared me.’

‘Why? Were they all toting guns?’

‘No. Because they weren’t carrying anything.’

‘That’s not so scary to me.’

The newcomer just gave him a look. ‘You ever seen a man walking, in the middle of no-where, carrying nothing?’

‘No.’

‘Well, that’s because it doesn’t happen. If you’re out in the middle of no-where then you’re carrying something. Now. Take what doesn’t happen, carrying nothing in no-where, and make lots of people do it.’ He paused, and looked at his empty glass, and held it up for Rusty Thomas to refill. ‘Now, make these people all different sorts of people. Some are big, some are small, and so on. You’ve got young kids and old geezers side by side, walking, in a big, spread out crowd. But get this. Mothers ain’t with their kids. Brothers ain’t together. Nobody in that great big crowd is with anyone else. Even though they’re all there together.’

‘That sounds weird.’

‘That is weird.’ Rusty Thomas handed over the glass, full again, and this time set a bottle down by its side. ‘How could you tell?’

‘I don’t know. It didn’t look like a crowd, though. Nobody seemed to pay any attention to anyone else, or even any one thing in particular. A crowd will stare at something. These people were staring at nothing. And that’s another thing. Later, I was riding along, and my horse started to limp on me. I checked and found the old girl’d thrown a shoe. Next town I came to I figured I’d stop and get one put on, or if it was empty like the others, I’d put one on myself.’

‘Yeah, and what happened?’

‘Strangest thing. I ride into this little town, and like the two before it, it’s empty. I’m still thinking about those people I saw leaving Upper Missoulah and so I’m a little spooked. I ride down the main street, look around, and I spot the stables.’ The stranger poured a drink for himself, mostly full, with a none-too-steady hand. ‘I ride over, since I figure the smithy will be there.’

‘Nothing wrong with that.’ The doctor began to re-stack his coin towers, knocked over when the table was jarred by the stranger’s knee as he sat.

‘Yeah. I get around back of the stables and all of a sudden I hear a noise. A ‘clink’ sound. And then I hear some more, like somebody’s banging on a piece of metal. Now I’d swear this town is empty, so I’m about ready to high-tail it out of there. I get ahold of myself, though, and I ride on up, my horse couldn’t take going too much further without all four shoes. She’d lame up quicker than y’could spit, then I’d be walking. Well, I get up to the entrance and there’s a man in there, and he’s bangin’ on a wagon wheel, trying to put on a new rim.’

The stranger paused to sip down half his drink. He topped it back up again as he continued. ‘I tip my hat back and say “Howdy, stranger. You the blacksmith?” and he nods yes. He looks a little tired, but it’s a hot day and working next to a fire all day will tire anybody. So I say, “My horse has thrown a shoe, can you put a new one on her?” and he just looks at me for a few seconds, then all of a sudden he ain’t looking at me any more, though his head ain’t moved. He just drops his hammer, like he forgot his hands were holding anything, and starts walking.’ The stranger stared off into the distance, watching his memories again. ‘It was just like those people I saw leavin’ that other town, Upper Missoulah. I never heard of anything like it until I ran across those towns.’

Little Jimmy took a turn at the altar of memory himself as what the stranger described rang a few bells. He said simply ‘I’ve seen that once before.’

‘Yeah. I don’t want to see it again.’ The stranger sipped his drink, then decided he’d rather just down it. Little Jimmy watched as he looked at the bottle, wrapped a hand around its neck, started to pour, and then just swigged from the bottle. He set the bottle back down, then reached for it again and repeated the process. ‘I just want to stop thinking about it for a while.’ His words were slurred and he set the bottle back down with a clank.

Everyone sat quietly as he kept drinking. Then, when he set the bottle down about half finished, Little Jimmy reached across and took the bottle, and then a drink. The stars outside crept out from behind the clouds and sparkled hesitantly over Crowdance, as inside the Red Clubs the four men tried to drink away an image of silent exodus.

Crowdance accompanies nine other exciting stories in The Maker's Mark: Remnants, released on the 15th of September and available now for pre-order, priced £4.50.

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