Between the Rivers
Page 15
A BROAD tree trunk cradled Gideon’s back. He drew up his knees, dangled his arms and plucked up a dry pine needle. After critical examination, he snapped it into a million tiny pieces. That accomplished, he plucked up another and subjected it to similar treatment.
“What are you up to?”
Gideon selected quite a long pine needle this time. “Nothin’,” he answered.
“You could help Pa with the colts,” Aspen suggested.
“Ain’t my ranch.”
“You have something better to do?”
“Yep.”
“What’s that?”
“Nothin’,” said Gideon. “That’s what prisoners do.”
“Really?” said Aspen inquisitively.
“Yep.”
“For how long?”
“What I hear, sometimes all day.”
Aspen hooked his thumbs over his pockets and indicated the big pine tree with his chin.
“Interesting thing about where you’re sitting. It’s where Fort and I tie up cheeky little up-starts who try to give us lip.”
“Don’t see ‘im ‘round,” Gideon observed.
“Think I’ll need him?”
“Likely.”
Aspen gave Gideon’s foot an encouraging tap. “Come on, you can give me a hand.”
Why not?
How long ya got?
G’wan. Ya don’t like sittin’ nohow.
He don’t know that.
Well I do.
Gideon dusted off his hands and hauled himself up with a sigh.
“I could threaten to wring your neck, if it would make you feel better,” Aspen offered cheerfully.