Hi everyone. I’m back blogging and re-discovering the fun. Last week I opened the new year with a snippet from a boys-to-men adventure story I’m writing, currently tagged with the McCallister 1866 identifier. I don’t have a title yet and haven’t decided where this story ends. Yes, I’m exploring, just like my characters. *cheeky grin* This week I’m continuing last week’s lines.
The McCallisters 1866
Charlie’s Kiowa side prevailed, guarding the kid as he gathered cards he’d laid out in poker hands on the attic floor, shoving them in his pocket before returning to the window.
“Pretty rough exit, Sam,” he warned his cousin, pointing at the jagged nail heads left in the wood.
The younger boy nodded, laid his shirt across the ragged sill, then twisted until he levered his lanky frame through the opening.
Once the youngest McCallister was freed, Charlie led the way off the roof, stopping first by the porch for Sam to drink deep from the canteen and wet his shirt in the rain barrel. Then they tracked shadows through the ranch yard to join Rob behind the barn. They all understood if the old man heard any ruckus outside, he’d blast his shotgun into the darkness and hope he killed whatever he couldn’t see.
“I should end the old bastard while he sleeps,” Charlie said grimly, fingering the scar on his cheek.
“His time’s comin’,” Rob muttered.
“Well let it come then,” Sam snarled, giving into the hatred gnawing at all their bones.
Charlie figured his own expression was just as bleak as Rob and Sam’s as they all contemplated killing their grandfather, Jonas McCallister.
A Few More Lines
“At least there’s no broken bones,” Sam said grinning and pulling on his wet shirt.
“—this time,” Rob muttered after inspecting his brother.
As Charlie watched, Sam rubbed the white patch of hair on the forehead of his horse affectionately, his anger noticeably draining away. Of course, it wasn’t the first time Sam had suffered the wrath of Jonas and no doubt it wouldn’t be the last. As Charlie well knew, living through each experience was the challenge.
“Present company and a deck of cards excluded, you’re my best buddy, aren’t ya, horse,” Sam crooned, ignoring his stirrup to swing into the saddle in one lithe move.
Relieved there was no permanent damage, Charlie motioned Rob to mount up and the cousins walked their rides single file from the area, making an effort to be quiet.
“What now?” Robert asked after they were far enough from the ranch buildings to speak out loud.
“I’m going to see a witch. Thought you two might like to tag along.” Charlie’s answer changed the mood, sparking a hoot and a “hell yeah,” from Sam.
“And where would this tag-along take us?” Charlie could hear Rob’s ever present caution in his question.
“The Territory,” Charlie answered, knowing that sixteen-year-old Rob didn’t fret about his own hide but saw it as his job to keep fifteen-year-old Sam from harm. Being seventeen summers, himself, Charlie understood as their elder, it was his responsibility to keep both cousins safe.
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