Head For The Hills

Pete placed three thick blades of grass in his palm and whistled through.  Charlie came back from the horses, his breath a visible fanfare in the fading light.

“Looks good,” he said, nodding at the rabbit on the fire. Fat dropped to the flames, sizzling. “Must be ready.”

Pete swatted Charlie’s hand away.

“Your enthusiasm’s what got us into this,” he said.

The robbery’d been slick. Hit a General Store after the railroad’s pay came in. Debts settled. Supplies bought. Register bulging.

Until Charlie noticed the old clerk move his hand.

Ten deafening seconds later, they were on the run.

Prompt courtesy of Sue Vincent’s #Writephoto.

9 thoughts on “Head For The Hills

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