Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6
“ You can? "Them sure are some purdy flowers, Bob," Jim said. "They for me?" Bob smirked and tossed the flowers aside as he sat up. "That's what I do when we're not together. I pick flowers and write sonnets for you." "Ain't you something else?" Jim said. He looked over Bob's shoulder just as Ruth bent over to wring out one of the shirts. "I almost hate to sell 'em off. Even though the other ones went loopy, this one's a keeper. For once in their miserable lives, these boys don't sme...ll worse than the destriers." "When's that?" Bob said nervously. "Don't you worry about that, now," Jim said. He tapped the side of his head with his finger, "The boss has it all stored away up here. The less anybody else knows, the better." He leaned down to Bob and whispered, "I'll tell you this much though, being that you're my lieutenant and all. If there's anything special you want to do with little Ruth, you best do it before the next two days. You catch my drift?" Bob nodded and said he did. Jim smiled at him, "Don't go telling nobody though. I like to keep these boys on their toes." "All right," Bob said. As soon as Jim left, he spun around and picked up the flowers, then grabbed broke a few more off their stems. He smoothed back his hair and checked his breath with his palm. Good enough. Ruth slung the rung out shirt over a tree branch and went back to the basket to fetch another. She walked it into the dank, hot water and stuffed it under the surface. When she looked up, Bob Ford was standing on the embankment looking at her. "I'm sick, Bob," she said.MoreLess
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