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Write That Book,
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 We arrived in Washington wearing different clothes, wearing different faces. As per the advice of the bounty hunter, we all shaved. Jeremiah almost seemed to fit in with his meek looks. Darren and I looked tough even with the hair cut and fancy suit. Still, it kept the lawmen from looking at us too long.
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 "It's days like these that have me questioning everything under the sun!" the man in black yelled.
I wiped the blood from my beaten lip and pushed myself off the wall. Even in the shadows of the cave he must have seen me or he expected me to strike. The punch I threw was miles away from his jaw, but his punch hit its mark.  “Are you sure you want to buy one?” Susan asked.
“I have to buy one if I am going to open a saloon,” I replied. “You know the clientele we receive aren’t all bankers and ranchers. We need some sort of security, you more than me.” “I know how to look after myself.”  The logs took their time to light despite the kindling. It was a struggle, but eventually the fire started crackling. The sound gathered my family around the fireplace and we all waited in our blankets for the heat to warm us. Those miserable faces kept me from looking anyone in the eye. I was far too concerned with returning to my lookout.
 “You’re not aiming properly,” my brother told me.
I tried centering the cans in my sights, but my hands shook tremendously. Everytime I had the can centered I pulled the trigger, the loud gun jumping in my hand. With each shot I felt I was getting closer. “You’re not even holding the gun properly,” my brother told me exasperated from where he was sitting on the grassy knoll. “Jack, give me a second.” |
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