Poke leaned hard in the saddle. I could see his face was chalk-white underneath the beard and sunburn.
“You don’t look so good, pard,” I said.
“Don’t feel so good, neither. That goddamn bitch with the scattergun.”
“You can’t say I didn’t warn you. You had plenty of time to shoot her.”
Poke looked annoyed, as he always did when I pointed out his errors. “Didn’t want to shoot no woman, Cal.”
“But shoot her you did.”
“Only after she shot me.”
“She’s dead all the same, but now you’re gut-shot in the bargain.”
He grimaced. “I got my principles, Cal.”
We rode on for a while, him sighing now and again. I trotted up beside him and pulled open his coat. “Goddamn, Poke. You’re bleeding like a pig. Let’s stop so I can get a look at that.”
“Not yet. We need to put some distance between us and them.”
glad he has principles and also does not waver in regret – just nursing the injury with strength – well done
Looks like they have a bit of a situation. Gutshot in the desert. This isn’t going to go well. Excellent writing!
Death will put a lot of distance between him and everyone.
Men! “Gut shot? Ain’t so bad.” Welcome to death in the desert.
Nice fluent writing, Josh. I like the way you tell the story through believable dialogue. I fear Poke isn’t long for this world.
Well, sounds like Poke’s a goner. I get the feeling they were up to no good, anyhow!
Looks bad for him – bleeding out his guts in the desert. Lovely writing and dialogue – a great period feel Josh