Holmes On the Range
“Brackwell snapped the moment I’d closed the office door behind us. “What is it you have to say?” His tone was both resigned and angry, and he looked ready to stalk right back out of the room the moment Gustav finished his first “I’m sorry.”
“Well, I suppose I oughta. . .,” Old Red began, each word coming out quieter than the one before it. His gaze dropped, and I could hardly believe I was witnessing the day when my brother couldn’t look another man in the eye. He sniffed loudly, and I figured he was about to start weeping on top of everything else.
As mortifying as such a sight might be, I couldn’t really blame Old Red for squeezing out a few tears. He’d tried turning maverick, but now he had to accept that he’d been branded for life.
Cowboy, the brand said.
Laborer.
Nobody.
“Yes? Go on,” Brackwell demanded.
Rather than explain, Old Red dropped to his hands and knees.
For a second there, I thought he was going to wrap his arms around Brackwell’s ankles and beg for forgiveness.
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