As he spoke, the as-of-yet-unnamed man in an overlarge fire-fighter's uniform heard his mule, Nixon, start to fuss and shuffle in the sand.  His head snapped around at the familiar warning signs and he quickly spotted yet another strange figure, this one approaching<em>him</em>.  He had rolled over and slid back down the dune's side, once more out of sight of the group of travelers who had just survived an attack.  He watched the red-coated man in a funny helmet approach, with his<em>fancy</em>binoculars around his neck, an air of casual confidence about him.  He stiffened within his uniform, his eyes narrowing, beads of sweat starting to form on his spine.  Casual confidence--the weapon of raiders and gangs and murderers.  He eyed the other man as he stopped before him, thinking to himself,<em>well, it's just you and him right now... and Nixon's kicks... maybe....  If he does anything stupid I could maybe take him out, but I'd risk attracting attention from those loons behind me.  Just 'cause they survived doesn't mean they aren't the bad guys.</em>Suddenly his eyes lit up as if he understood.<br/><br/>He listened to the man's introduction and responded, though he ignored the man's pleasantries, his own social skills having deteriorated quite a bit his many years traveling alone on his pack-mule.  "What are you here for?  I saw 'em first," he rasped in a coarse, rarely-used voice.  "I got here first, the left-overs are mine!  You can have what I don't want; I only need--waitaminute... are you one of them?"  He indicated over his shoulder to the people beyond the dune's crest, but it was unclear if he was referring to the dead ones or the living ones.  As harsh as the bearded man sounded, it seemed neither of them had pulled a weapon on the other yet--the unnamed man either didn't seem to notice, or didn't think he needed one to back his words up, however it was more likely he came off as "raving," rather than intimidating.  Dangerous, of course--unstable is always dangerous--but<em>intimidating</em>... maybe to some.  Nixon, the mule, sniffed at the air, suddenly gaining a growing interest in the other man's green duffel bag.