We rode through the deepening darkness, the horse setting a swift pace but making less noise than the wind. I could hear the rhythm of hoofbeats under the shrill strains of whining wind, like the sound of books falling on a floor covered with a century of dust.

The water had kept me from dyin’ for the time being, but my eyes and my brain were playing tricks on me. I found myself thinking about casinos that accept us players, places with us casino players allowed, and other things from a past that seemed long ago and far away.

Every so often I imagined other riders, or walkers, or simply shadows standing along the sides of the darkened trail. I couldn’t get a clear look at anything; though the day had been cruelly clear and bright, clouds must have come with the sunset and no stars or moon could be seen in the blackened sky.

I was sure that my glimpse of fence posts and false fronts in the distance were illusions too, until I felt the rider slowing the horse down to a cautious walk.

“Dry Lake City,” said the rider in a low voice. His tone told me that he hadn’t been expecting this, and that he wasn’t too happy about it. A rogue shiver stampeded down my spine.

The horse’s hooves now rang and echoed as if we were in a giant metal tank. I looked down and saw paving stones, cracked and worn.

The rider pulled up the horse short and slid off, motioning me to do the same. He said nothing, just squinting at the darkness ahead. I did the same, but all I could see was the outline of a small town in the medium distance of a long night.

No lights. A ghost town? If it was, it was a relatively modern one — I could see telephone poles looming toward the hidden stars. The ragged edges and hollow windows sure made it look abandoned, but the light and the distance made everything vague and uncertain.

“Can’t be helped,” the rider said at length. “The road to Empire Hold’em goes through there.”