Hannibal Heyes yawned as he leaned against the base of a broad tree. He felt pretty good. A full stomach, a glass of good whiskey, and peace and quiet on a warm summer evening. Better to be outdoors in the Medicine Bows rather than sleeping in some stinking-hot hotel room. With a river full of trout just aching to jump into his frying pan, and nobody but his partner for company, well, that suited Heyes just fine. He realized he was smiling as the tension of the last few weeks faded away. He stretched out, and he farted. Long and loud. Oops. He sniffed cautiously. Sheesh! Well, that was just another reason he was better off outdoors. He glanced quickly at his partner, sitting across the campfire, to see if he'd noticed. Curry didn't seem to be paying attention to Heyes. For once, Heyes didn't mind.

Curry was staring at the river, seemingly fascinated by nothing. Heyes got up and moved over to squat by the fire. Curry didn't look up.

"What'cha looking at, Kid?" Curry didn't answer. Heyes tried again, a little louder.

"What's so interesting out there, Kid?" Still no response.

"Kid! Hey, Kid!"

Curry shook his head as if to clear it.

"Ain't no need to shout at me. I'm sitting right here, in case you didn't notice."

"I noticed; it's you who didn't. What're you looking at?"

"Nothing, Heyes."

"You sure were deep in thought, for looking at nothing. What's on your mind?"

Curry picked up a stick and poked it into their campfire. Embers flew into the air and moved around in the soft breeze.

"I was thinking about my Pa."

Heyes sat up straight, surprised. Kid rarely mentioned his family.

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah. Remember all those old stories he told us, about ghosts and such?"

"Some, yeah. He used to tell us a lot of Irish ghost stories, as I recall."

Curry laughed. "And you were a pain in the ass even then, Heyes. You wanted to know how the ghosts had made it from Ireland to Kansas."

"Can't help that I have a logical mind, Kid. Anyway, he had a good answer."

"Yeah, he said that, if he could emigrate from Ireland, don't you think the spirits could come across the ocean, too?"

"He was a smart man, your pa," Heyes said.

"Yeah. . . Well, this nice evening reminded me of him. He always called this the gloaming. Twilight in summertime, you know? He'd say, that's when the veil between the worlds got real thin. If you looked real close, out towards the river by our farm, you could see the fairy folk moving above the water, and going from flower to flower. He said they leave a trail of light as they flew, like fireflies. I was thinking, if ever the time was right to see the fairy folk, it'd be now, in the gloaming."

Heyes looked towards the river. He saw insects buzzing above the water. The grasses swayed gently. Nothing else seemed to be moving.

"And do you see any, Kid?"

Kid shook his head. "Nope. Wish I did, though. Pa said he saw them sometimes, and he could talk to them. He could speak Irish like the fairies did, so maybe they'd appear for him. Just for conversation, 'course."

"I always wondered if your Pa really believed those stories."

"I think he did, Heyes. He said the fairies weren't make-believe, but spirits of the dead. He said their real name was tuatha de denaan. They were all that was left of old Ireland. The spirits of those that'd been there before the Irish even. They turned into fairy folk so they could stay close by the living."

"You got a good memory, Kid. I don't remember all of this."

"Only for some things, Heyes. Only for some things. Like my Pa." Kid's face was hard to see in the deepening dusk that was wrapping itself around the two men. Both sat quietly for a few minutes.

"In the gloaming, that's when I think of my Pa." Kid's voice was quiet, almost too quiet for Heyes to hear, even sitting so close. "I still miss him, Heyes, even after all these years. I miss all of them. You know?"

Heyes' throat felt tight. No words came to him. He looked at his best friend, slowly disappearing in the darkness. Around them, bits of light danced in the warm air. Yeah. He knew.