When the Salesman awoke, the last thing he expected was to be buried alive. And yet, there he was, laying at the bottom of a six foot grave. He was covered from head to toe in a thin layer of sand. He pushed himself up into a sitting position, and wiped his eyes, shifting the sand aside carefully. After all, he wouldn't want to give himself a rash.

That'll teach you to sleep in any random hole. The Salesman thought to himself as he began to look around, regarding the dry dirt walls of his improvised bed. In the corner, was his ever important and trusty briefcase. How could he be a salesman without his wares? He finally looked up, straight into the brutal burning sun, which glared down upon him as harshly as ever.

White light floods his vision, blinding him. The salesman yelped and shut and covered his eyes with a hand. Red and green spots danced in the blackness, as if taunting him for making such a stupid mistake.

The Salesman looked up again, this time shielding his eyes with his hand. A creature sat at the edge of the grave, peering down at him with two sets of hungry eyes. A long, pink tongue hung from the thing's snout, and it tilted its head as it made eye contact with the salesman.

"Are you the one who covered me in sand?" He asked, gesturing to the sand that still covered his waist and legs.

The creature produced a noise that sounded like a mixture between a bark and intelligible speech. The salesman's eyes widened slightly, and he sighed and took off his brimmed hat.

"Well, now why would you do something like that?" He ran a hand through his hair and shook his head, freeing himself of the remaining sand.

"Arghaghaghagggghhhhh…." The creature said in response. The salesman looked up, an incredulous look on his face.

"That was simply uncalled for. That said, you've got to be the kindest coyote I've met this year." The salesman placed his palms against the ground, and pushed himself off the ground and onto his feet. He then took hold of his long coat and gave it a good shake, freeing it of sand. As for his socks and boots, well, he'd have to take care of that after he got out of this hole.

"Aggrrghsgahghagrgh!" The coyote growled, as if warning the salesman to stay down in the grave. 

"Now hold on there friend, I can't very well give you anything if I'm down here and you're up there. Uno momento, if you don't mind." He answered in a practical tone, to which the coyote flashed its teeth.

The Salesman grabbed his briefcase and leapt straight up, clearing the edge of the grave with ease. He landed on the surface on the opposite side of the grave from the coyote, which eyed him with suspicion. These things were too smart for his liking sometimes.

"All right, let's try this pitch again. The name's Montgomery Miller, but my friends call me Monty, so feel free to call me Monty! Looks like you're in need of some product, aye? Well I've got just about anything worth having in all of the Mojave!" Monty the Salesman pitched, as he was prone to do. A smile spread across Monty's face as he began to speak. The coyote flashed it's own equivalent back at him.

"Hagaragshhagahhhgaghhaghgsha." The coyote said calmly as if began to walk towards the salesman.

"Ah, you're in the mood for your pound of flesh, aye? Well aren't you in luck! I've got just that, and you know that my prices are the most reasonable you'll find anywhere… How about eight marbles?" Monty asked, his grin wide and bright.

"Grahgahgahagghgahhsghhaggahgaghsgah." The coyote muttered thoughtfully. A few seconds passed, and the coyote began to wretch, as if it had something lodged in its throat. Its jaw fell open, the lower mandible splitting in half as a pale, slimy humanoid arm reached from the creature's throat, holding eight multi-colored glass marbles up to Monty, who took them with a warm smile and slid them into his coat pocket.

"Now, I'm afraid I've only got thigh meat on me right now, but I'm sure you'll enjoy it. It's fresh, I harvested it myself last night." Monty said, slapping his left thigh as he spoke. With that, Monty opened his briefcase, and pulled a paper wrapped package from the depths of the briefcase.

He handed it to the coyote, who took it with a slight nod. The coyote's hand closed around the package, and placed it on the ground. It began to wretch again as it swallowed its arm and prodded the paper package with its nose.

"Oh, I can get that for you." Monty reached down and tore the cover off the meat. The coyote flashed its best grin at Monty, who smiled back at his customer.

"All right, it was great doing business with you my good friend! I suppose I'll see you around then… Oh, I never did catch your name…?" Monty said, smiling at the coyote as he spoke. Establishing rapport, that's what his father had called it. Worked like a charm. A friendly face in a place like this was near priceless.

"Cnrehghgggathnsnkdjhbbsnten. Rrragagshsgggghat." The coyote said, before burying its nose in the meat.

"It's been a pleasure, Mr. Bertie. I hope to see you in the future, friend." Monty said, tipping his cap to his feasting friend.

The Salesman turned on his heel, and marched off into the scorched horizon. His briefcase, his most valuable possession swung by his side. He chuckled to himself. He was almost the very picture of those traveling salesmen he'd seen in those old black and white films, though his outfit was a little more suited for a long journey.

In place of a short brimmed white hat, Monty wore a black cap with a medium brim, just enough to keep the sun from his face, but not wide enough to be a cowboy hat. Rather than a three piece suit, Monty wore a brown duster jacket and brown pants and a simple blue button down shirt which were all rather tattered, much to his chagrin.

The only thing in which he was completely like those salesmen was that his face was clean shaven, and his teeth were as white and clean as they could be. All things considered, Monty figured his father would give his appearance a passing grade, given the circumstances.

Monty scratched at his left wrist, and grimaced in annoyance when his fingernail caught on one of the many staples that held his left hand on to his arm. He stopped walking for a second, and inspected his wrist and the ring of staples that circled around his arm. The one he'd caught his nail on was loose.

Damn. I'll have to see a doctor sooner than I'd wanted to… Which way was Rootwater again? North, south, east, west… Never eat sour worms… Worms… West! Monty thought, as he took his briefcase in his other hand. 

To Rootwater, it would seem. Monty turned west, and set out like the cowboys of old. He walked under the blazing sun, keeping his eyes to the ground, watching the shadows as he moved. It was a game he played on these long walks, especially since his radio had broken. Perhaps they'd have some pieces in Rootwater.

As Monty watched the shadows, he caught a moving shadow in the corner of his eye. It was approaching from behind him. Monty spun on his heel, his greatest weapon, his smile, wide as ever.

Whoever it was, perhaps there was a second sale in store for today.