The ghost of El Papagayo rode over the Rocky Mountains and then across the plains and desserts of several states beyond as if the devil himself was after him, when really it was just death herself.

Few living people saw him on his journey, but those that did would forever tell tales of the spectral bandit that rode like the wind.

Finally, El Papagayo saw an old, abandoned saloon sitting next to a long forgotten road deep in the dessert and decided to stop there and let the ghost of his horse, Hermosa, rest, though she didn't really need it.

If anything, the stopover was more for El Papagayo's sake. It was a chance to get his head straight. After all, he really didn't have a plan or a destination- besides his final one- so this place seemed like as good as any for the time being.

The saloon had no name and only one swinging door left on its hinges. El Papagayo pushed it open dramatically after tying up Hermosa to a hitching post out front. Normally ghosts can't influence the physical world, but sometimes with old, abandoned places like the saloon, the rules become shaky. Places, like people and animals, can also be ghosts.

El Papagayo sauntered up to the dusty, empty bar as if he was in a Dodge City saloon, impressing all who looked upon him. There was no more liquor left, he was sad to see, but there was a few broken bottles sitting on the back shelf.

"No spirits here, I'm afraid," said a sophisticated man's voice, and El Papagayo turned suddenly and drew both of his ghostly pistolas.

"Unless of course, you count me," said the source of the voice. It was what appeared to be a white, three-piece suit complete with bow tie, top hat, and cape sitting at a dilapidated table in the corner. It even had a monocle where someone's eye would be, but there was no eye, or anything else either. The man wearing the suit was perfectly invisible.

"Please, do put your guns away, won't you? It's quite vulgar and really very useless as a matter of fact. You see I, much like yourself, am already dead, so there's little harm a gun could do to me anymore," said the suit, standing up and holding out its gloved hand to the outlaw.

"Allow me to introduce myself; Jim Craddock at your service, although I am also now known by many as simply Gentleman Ghost!"

El Papagayo holstered his pistols, but he didn't shake the ghost's hand. He didn't shake anyone's hand, especially someone who he couldn't threaten, murder, or extort in some way. As far as he was concerned, Jim Craddock was useless, so he turned his back on him and went over to a broken window instead. He wiped away some dust and grime from what little glass was left and looked out across the vast dessert landscape.

Jim Craddock wasn't put off by the Mexican's rudeness and decided to press on.

"Looking for something?" he asked. "Or someone perhaps?"

El Papagayo turned his beady eyes to the gentleman. He was clearly not going to go away and he seemed to have this whole being dead thing sorted out, El Papagayo thought, so maybe he could be of some use after all.

"I am on the run," he said in a cagey way.

"From?" asked Jim.

"She who all men run from," said El Papagayo.

"Ah," said Jim. "You're that kind of ghost."

"Qué coño significa eso?" El Papagayo said, becoming instantly angry.

"I'm assuming you just asked what I meant by that," said Jim, unfazed. "Allow me to explain. You see, I was rather unjustly shot down in my prime by a masked vigilante who completely misconstrued a situation involving myself and his lady love. Unfortunately, and unbeknownst to me, the pair of them were two ancient souls locked in a never ending cycle of death and rebirth and due to the hilarious sense of humor belonging to the universe my soul was somehow entangled with theirs. I could not, excuse me, cannot pass on into the great beyond until they do, and since, as I said, the cycle is never ending... well, you get the idea. Death explained the whole thing to me years ago in detail, but as I'm sure you'll find out, when your dead, little things tend to slip your mind over time."

El Papagayo stared at the phantom for a moment waiting to see if he'd continue. Eventually, he did.

"Yes, well, in your case it seems like your the type of ghost that plain old refuses to pass on. I've seen it before. In fact, there's a whole town full of ghosts not fifty miles west of here full of ghosts like yourself. Well, that's not entirely true, you see the town of Gold Gulch was once a prosperous mining town until it was hit by a sudden plague. Most of the residents died so quickly they didn't even know they were dead, and so, when Death came for them, they refused to go with her out of general principle. Why would someone who's not dead want to go to the afterlife?" Jim chuckled.

"Damn fools. I'd give anything to pass on," he said, wistfully. "No offense, of course," he said to El Papagayo, coming back down to Earth a bit. "I actually find men like you fascinating. It's just those sorry souls that stay out of ignorance that get me. I'm sure you have your reasons for staying."

El Papagayo looked out the window again.

"I do now," he said, then he turned, pushed past Jim Craddock without so much as "move it" and went outside. He unhitched his horse, climbed on, and then spurred her onward towards the setting sun.

Jim just wandered patiently outside and watched him go. He stood there staring in that direction until darkness began to fall and a shadowy figure appeared out of the east. It was Death.

"Hello, Jim," she said, cordially.

Jim tipped his hat to her.

"I don't suppose you've seen a man on a horse ride by here lately," she said.

"This is the west, my dear. You'll have to be more specific I'm afraid," said Jim.

"A dead man," said Death.

"If I tell you, will you take me with you?" asked Jim.

"No," said Death. "But I also won't take you with me if you don't tell me, so why not make my job a little easier and do the poor guy a favor?"

"He went thataway," said Jim, pointing one of his gloved thumbs westward.

"You're a true gentleman," said Death, and she walked on.

To Be Continued