Maybe we’re no different than any other creature on earth, that the life of this ant colony’s no more or less important than the lives we lead.

Moonlit Nude ~ Etty It was a clear night and the men passed a bottle and smoked and stared into the fire. Arvel felt like talking. He felt good to be with a man who had overcome a trial similar to that which he was now living through.

“So, back to prospecting.” Will grinned and looked into the fire. “You ever find anything out there, Will?”

“Oh sure. Millions.” He looked over at Billy who was looking a bit confused. “Problem is, every time I find a million dollar claim I soon figure out it would cost a million and one dollars to get it out of the Godforsaken land I find it in.” They all nodded, knowingly.

Arvel looked up at the canopy of stars overhead. “The Old Man is playing with us, sure enough.” He blew smoke at the moon. Billy Livingston grunted and Arvel grinned. “What?”

Billy poked at the fire and kept his eyes fixed on an ember. “Nothing.”

“You think there’s a grand plan, gents?”

Will Panks spoke up first, “Naw, Arvel, you don’t want me to give you advice about the Great Beyond or God or heaven or hell.” He’d been playing at an anthill next to his saddle.

Billy nodded at Will. He scratched under his arm and echoed Will’s sentiments about his own agnosticism. “Yep, don’t look at me for any idea about some great spirit sittin’ on some clouds, dispensin’ justice to mankind either, mate.”

“My God, in the company of a couple of atheists.” Arvel smiled and passed the bottle to Will. “You boys just don’t think there is any Great Creator who made all this?”

Will picked an especially feisty ant up on a stick. “How’s it that we’re any different than this ant?” He crushed his cigarette out. “Maybe we come up with the idea of God to make us feel better about our situation. Maybe we’re no different than any other creature on earth, that the life of this ant colony’s no more or less important than the lives we lead.” Billy grunted out a plume of smoke.

Arvel sunk down into his blanket. He worked at the exercises Billy had taught him. “Well, I’ll be damned.” 

It wasn’t a new thought for Arvel, he’d struggled with his own mortality and faith for years. He decided to pry into the minds of his companions a bit more. “So, what’s the point of going on, boys? Why do we do it, why do we fight the Gold Hats of the world, or work hard, or constantly look for gold in the hills of Arizona, kill wolves for the government, heal gimps and apoplectics?”

“Don’ know about that, mate,” Billy watched Arvel working and reached over, grabbed his right arm and shoulder and began stretching it for Arvel, “but some idea of a God floatin’ around up on a cloud never did it for me. Like that bloke—what’s his name—Marx, said ‘Religion is the opiate of the masses,’ or some such nonsense.”

Will grinned and looked up from his ants. Arvel smiled through his pain at Billy pulling on his arm. “Son of a bitch, you’re a regular philosopher, Billy. Never took you for a utopian socialist.”

The aborigine sat back down and lit another smoke. “Not one, not at all, mate. Just always struck me, the idea that people made God, not the other way ‘round. But I don’t have anything against it. Whatever gets you through the day.”

“Amen!” said Will. “Whatever keeps you from findin’ a stout rope and a stout beam to throw it over. Religion’s as good as any other crutch, better’n booze or the pipe or whorin’ around. My religion’s hard work.” He took a sip from the communal bottle and pointed it at Arvel, “Yours is breeding mules.” He pointed to Billy, “Yours is readin’ tripe in the Bisbee library.” Billy grinned. 

Arvel finished the bottle and thought of starting another but he was growing drowsy and decided to call it a night. “Billy, remember that shit you fed me in the clay jug, the first time we met?” Billy grunted and Arvel looked over at Will, “That was the craziest potion I ever had.”

Billy sat up and arranged his blanket and spoke into it. “Never did figure out what was in it.”

“I had the oddest dream I ever dreamed after drinking it. My God, that was a long time ago.” He yawned and began to drift. “You boys ever hear the story of Kit Carson?” He fell asleep. The Mule Tamer II, Chica's Ride