They split the take and had a drink and both drew their pistols.

“That so,” they each said, then laughed and holstered their iron. They had another drink, a slow one, let the whiskey sit on their tongues. They slung the heavy bags over the horses, mounted them and rode together to the river.

“Headed north?” one asked.

“East,” the other replied. “But down south for a spell first.”

“Good time of year for it.”

“Good as any.”

They laughed and had another drink, passing the bottle. The men shook hands, turned their steeds around, and went their separate ways.

Prompt courtesy of the Daily Post.


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