Loaded Guns and Broken Fences [On Hold]

Chapter 37

Tom whapped Bran on the arm for having agreed so eagerly. For one, he'd never shot a revolver in his life. And it also seemed plain disrespectful to be shooting guns around Mrs. Celly's house--especially given the recent circumstances. Bet or not, it didn't feel right. He watched as Bran stepped forward, only then remembering that Bran had his rifle with him.

Amos caught sight of the rifle quickly and laughed.

"You won't be needing that," he said as he finished loading one of the revolvers, clicking the cylinder shut and spinning it before handing it to Bran.

Columbus set six tin cans on the far fence while Amos stood next to Bran, readying another revolver.

"Ready. Aim. Fire!" Redden yelled from where he stood next to Tom off to the side.

Both boys fired their first shot at nearly the same time, but Amos was faster and more experienced. His next two shots followed in steady succession--a few seconds between each other.

Bran's first shot had hit, but the second and third had gone wide when he'd choked. Amos hadn't been perfect either, but he'd still landed more shots than Bran.

While Columbus was setting the cans back up, the two handed their guns over to their partners, and Bran could feel his gut twisting in knots.

The weight of the revolver caused Tom's hand to dip as he took it. The handle was warm, and he shifted nervously as he watched Redden smoothly load three bullets into his iron. Tom bit back his embarrassment as he turned to Amos.

"I don't know how to reload it," Tom said with his brows furrowed.

"Still has three shots left--you don't need to reload it," Amos replied.

Tom returned the boy's retort with a brief glare before focusing on the far fence where the dented cans were perched. He wasn't sure why Redden was replacing the bullets that his brother had used, and part of him didn't care. Tom only knew didn't like the small, superior smile the dark-skinned boy was wearing, or how calm he sounded when he asked him if he was ready.

Taking a breath, Tom pointed the barrel and tried his best to line up the sights. When Amos said, "fire," Redden's gun barked, causing Tom to flinch. He took another deep breath and took his first shot a hair after Redden's second.

By the time Tom had fired his last round, he dropped his arm and stared wide-eyed at the vacant fence.

"Yer good," Amos said, sizing up the two losers while his tongue prodded the inside of his cheek in thought. "Almost good enough to be dangerous." He chuckled and his brother echoed his laugh.

Tom rolled his eyes, relinquishing the six-shooter to Amos.

Bran didn't like it. If it had been Allen or Henry he could have overlooked it, but he didn't know these three, and he was far from wanting to change that.

"Yer lucky yer family or I'd bury a slug between yer eyes," Bran warned.

His threat caused an abrupt end to Amos and Redden's laugher, drawing a dark look from the older male.

"That a fact?" Amos holstered the gun and started forward at Bran with his shoulders squared. Amos might have been a few years older, but Bran was just a hair taller than him when they came face to face.

"Bran," Tom said, shifting nervously. The boy that'd been setting up the cans was now nearly to them.

Bran stepped back at first, but then came at Amos fast with a balled fist, launching all his weight into the explosive blow.