D

“Reno, Jules,” Sammy murmured, tipping back his hat as we sat in the dust outside the saloon in El Paso. “If there’s anything left worth diggin’ for, it’s up there.”

I didn’t answer right away, mostly because I was confused with myself, thinking of how many times I had thought I found the fortune, only for it to turn out to be an old, dry spittoon. I came to America with a head full of gold dreams, my father’s last words still ringing in my ears:

“You’ll die a fool in someone else’s country.”

Maybe he was right. Back in Marseille, he worked his whole life building boats and never forgave me for wanting more. Here in El Paso, I thought I would have a chance, but it chewed me up and spit me out like a bone.

Sammy rose, slapped the dust off his jeans and peered down at me.

“You comin’, Frenchie?”

“Yeah-- I’m comin,” I replied, standing. “Reno’s my last card, Sammy. If this don’t play out, I ain’t got nothin’ left to bet.

Sunlight flickered through the blinds of the rumbling train. We were heading north. Sammy kicked his feet up onto the window ledge, tipped his hat down like he always does, and quickly passed out. The ride was hot, slow, and quiet. the kind of ride that gives your thoughts too much room. I kept thinking about my father, and about all the years I spent chasing something shiny enough to prove I was worth more than the man he thinks I am. I told myself Reno would be different. It had to be.

Across the aisle sat a cowboy. He was dressed in tattered clothing; colors faded. He looked rough, with eyes like he hadn’t slept in a year. He wasn’t talking but rather, just turning the pages of a thick book resting on his lap like it was gold itself. I didn’t catch the title of the book, but I noticed his hat had the letter Y burned into the side.

Sammy cracked one eye open and grumbled, “Ain’t that somethin’.”

The man didn’t even blink, just licked a finger and kept reading. I liked that, like maybe even out here, in the middle of nowhere, a man could carry more than the weight of just gold.

The train came to a slow, creaking stop in the middle of nowhere, no town, no signs, just dry dirt and a crooked telegraph pole that looked about ready to give up.

That’s when he got on.

Short, maybe in his thirties. Clothes too clean for the desert he was in, he wore a dark jacket that was sharp on his shoulders, boots that shone like fresh oil, and a gold and onyx bolo tie that caught the sunlight. He stepped on board calmly, gave the conductor a polite nod, and sat two rows in front of the reading cowboy.

Sammy straightened up, eyes wide. “Now what is a man like that doing out here?”

I didn’t say anything. I was thinking the same thing. A man dressed like that doesn’t fit into the dust of the desert.

Sammy leaned in closer. “Think he’s money?”

“Maybe,” I said, standing. “But I want to know where he’s been.”

We walked over slowly, like he might be spooked if we got too close.

“Hey,” I said as we approached. “Jules Gauthier.”

The man looked up, calm and steady, and gave a slight nod as we shook hands. “Luiz Reyes.” His voice was low and smooth,

Sammy tipped his hat. “Sammy Carter.”

Luiz smiled politely and extended his hand. “Pleasure.”

We stood there for a beat.

“Mind if we sit?” I asked.

“Not at all,” he said, gesturing to the seats across from him.

We settled in, and after a moment, Luiz asked, “So, where are you two headed?”

Sammy chuckled. “Reno, we're lookin’ for the last bit of gold.”

I gave half a smile. “Whatever’s left for a couple of fools who came up dry in El Paso.”

Luiz nodded slowly, like he’d heard that story before. “Gold’s got a way of pulling men toward places they were never meant to be.”

“You sayin’ Reno’s the wrong place?” Sammy asked, squinting.

Luiz looked out the window, then back at us. “I’m sayin’ there’s a better place… one most men ride right past without even seeing it.”

Luiz started speaking in Spanish, looking like he was reminiscing.

“Ahh... I see,” Sammy smirked.

“What? See what? Do you understand him?”

“Oh yes, I know a little bit of Spanish, if you're from El Paso, you better know a little Spanish or else you’ll get caught in some trouble.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“The Meadows.”, Sammy confirmed.

“The Meadows as you would say, are the gold that most men pass. It's the beautiful green that makes way every now and then through the dry dust.” Luiz pauses and thinks for a bit. “The meadows aren’t what people dream of, but it's rather what inspires them.”

Sammy and I sat in approval but were both wondering if what he said would be worth more than gold. I’ve failed so much, and I am not trying to lose the last opportunity to find this fortune in Reno. What if these meadows are just another dream that turns to dust?

We kept riding the train as the sun started to set, the blue sky started to fade into a light lavender with spots of orange.

That's when I saw it, the green, it was just a patch compared to the vast amounts of dirt out on the country, but that green wasn’t just grass, it was a home. It didn’t matter anymore to me to find gold when that green met the light lavender on the horizon. The train came to a fast and halting stop, almost as if it had been called.

I stood.

“Sammy looked up, confused. “You okay?”

“I’m getting off,” I said as I reached for my bag.

“Here? Jules, there ain’t nothin’ out here.”

I looked out again, then back at him. “Not yet.”

Luiz sat there without saying a word, just smiling with a look of approval. Sammy scratched his head, looked out the window again, and then let out a soft chuckle.

“You’re really betting your whole ranch on this one.” He paused for a bit. “You’ve truly lost your mind... Guess I’ll go lose mine with you.”

He grabbed his bag and stood beside me.”

“What about you, Luiz?” I asked, not knowing if he was coming or not

“I’ll stay here,” he said, tipping his hat. “The meadows are in good hands,”

And with that, we parted ways.

Sammy and I exited the train; we went all in, this was the last stop. The green stretched out in front of us, quiet and calm. I looked back; the train came to life and slipped into the distance, hissing like a snake going into the brush.

“When Luiz spoke in Spanish,” I asked, “what part did you interpret as the meadows?”

“Las Vegas,” Sammy said without hesitation.

I nodded.

“Then that's what we’ll call it, Las Vegas.”