Man Mountain picks the will up off the floor with both hands, brings it close to his face, then pushes it farther away again, straining his eyes. He repeats the process several times, trying to bring the writing into focus, as the shaman looks at him expectantly.

"Come on, read it out loud."

"I'm sorry, Shakiro. I can't."

"Seriously? You're the chief! You're the smartest man in the tribe!"

"You think I'm the smartest? Really?"

"I meant after me."

"Oh, of course."

"How am I supposed to pass my magic on to you if you can't even read?"

"I can read!"the chief replies, sounding slightly offended.

"I'm not in the mood for jokes, Man Mountain. Can you or can you not?"

"It's just that I left my glasses on my horse. I wasn't expecting this. He'll be here in a whistle."

The chief raises two fingers to his lips.

"That won't be necessary," the shaman says, taking the will from the chief's hands. "Don't bother the horse. This will is fake."

"Fake? So where's the real one?"

"In my safe."

The chief raises an eyebrow.

"You have a safe? Where did you get it? On eBay too?"

"No, silly. On Amazon. Black Friday," the shaman replies. "I don't want to rush you, but I've seen the Daltons hovering in my dreams. That's not a good sign."

"All four Daltons?" the chief asks.

"Worse. Their grandsons. Each Dalton had four sons, and each of them had four sons of his own. Those hacks are the ones I saw in my dreams. More like nightmares, really."

The shaman rolls the will back up.

"Are you even listening, Man Mountain?"

The chief counts on his fingers.

"Four times four is... sixteen... carry the one..."

"Sixty-four, man, sixty-four..."

"That many?" the chief asks.

"Yes. And there are more on the way."

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