At first, Suárez mistook the orange hair and beard among the shrubs for a reflection of his fire.
“Señor?” Suárez said. “Are you lost? I am.”
“Nice suit,” the rough stranger said, emerging into the light.
“I have money at home,” Suárez said. “Guide me.”
“I dreamt I’d scalp an Indian for a bounty tonight. But your Spanish hair will do as well.” His knife shone in the firelight, and he was upon Suárez.
The knife pierced Suárez, but he rolled into the fire. His hair burned orange in the night and he laughed.