United States
The war between the States has only been over for two months, and the roads and rivers are clogged with men traveling in all directions. Most of them will make it home one way or another. That's the easy part. It's what you bring home inside your head that's the problem.
He introduced himself as Bill Bonney, but said that everyone just calls him Kid because he's only eighteen. That makes him two years older than me, but he's smooth-cheeked and lightly built and could pass for younger. I think back to the other Kid I've met—the man I killed last year. But Bill is different. I've immediately taken a liking to him.
I stare over my fire to the west, across the desert plain I crossed today, at the barely discernable black outline of the mountains where I camped last night. The tiny flickering campfire out on the plain is the only light. Every night for the past five days I have seen this fire as darkness falls. There is probably a man sitting by it looking up at the light of my fire. Who is he?
