He shuffled into the kitchen and flopped down into the chair, his arm draped over the table.

“I see you’ve spent the evening at the saloon?”  Margaret said, turning to him, wiping her hands.

“Dear, the Flaming Spittoon is no mere saloon, it is a fine establishment for men of great character and daring.”

“Jim, its a saloon. Its a nasty, dank, smoked up saloon.”

“AAAAnnny way… so this fellah comes in, all dressed in black, bowler hat, little red feather stuck in the band. He comes up beside me and orders a scotch.”

“The Spittoon hasn’t had scotch in years.”

“I know, right? So I turn to the fella and inform him of his faux pas. He turns and smiles right at me – you know why?”

“I cant imagine.”

“He recognizes me from Bill Cody’s show! Can you believe it? Its been what, 20years? Says, ‘Aren’t you Jim McLandry, The Bronco Breaking Dandy, from Buffalo Bill’s?’

“Now mind you I’m surprised, but I just stuck out my hand for a shake.

“So’s this fellow proceeds to tell me about how he followed the show for years and always wanted to meet me!

“We get to talking and he tells me this story about some Roman named Julius somethin-Tavius ridin’ broncs back in the day. Seems this Tavius fellah took a challenge from one of those gods they had and road this bronc,  Abraxas, for 2 days. So’s this Julius somethin-Tavius fellah wins a golden bridle from the boss god.

“’Well, shoot,’ I says, ‘I once road a wild buffalo in its herd for seven days across the plains’

“Jim, you did not ride a wild buffalo across the plains…”

“Dammit, Maggie, I did, I tell ya!”

“Jim, you went on a bender in Sioux City and woke up in a livery car in Junction Flats.”

“AAAAnnny way… so’s this gentleman offers to buy me a REAL whiskey and makes me a wager: that golden bridle against my soul says I couldn’t ride some pony named Phobos.”

Margaret’s eyes got wide.

“Jim, you didn’t… I mean, surely you didn’t…”

“Why you know I did! I aint ever backed away from a wager!”

“Oh god, Jim…”

“Fella had me sign some paper. His pen musta had a burr in it cause it pricked my finger, got a little blood on the parchment.”

He trailed off, murmuring about saddles and beer.

Margaret put him to bed shortly after.

She sat down at the kitchen table and lit a cigarette.

She reached for the telephone on the wall.

“Laura? Can you get me Ted McLandry over in Brindly?”

A click, then a tin voice from the receiver, “Hello?”

“Ted, its Margret, he’s done it real good this time. Your brother is in some deep trouble.”

Came the reply, “Oh sweet purple peaches, whats he done now Maggie?”

---

A small James McLandry sat at a clapboard table, just tall enough for his chest to be even with his cup of cereal. His older brother, Theodore, periodically stole a bit from the silver cup, laughing maniacally and enraging the smaller boy. After a while the smaller boy struck the older and the fight commenced. Theodore, easily twice James’ size, was able to simply hold the smaller boy at arms length. The younger boy took to screaming while wildly swinging his arms, missing the older boy’s midsection by miles.

Stepping into the room their mother ordered a stop to shenanigans.

“Teddy! Jimmy! Stop this at once!”

Her voice stopped the small boys swinging fists, but did not sway his anger. Mother shewed the boys outside.

The moment the older boy’s foot hit the dirt, the smaller boy burst through the screen door, leapt off the porch and onto the bigger boys back.

Jimmy locked his legs around Teddy’s midsection, then arms under his brother’s armpits. Jimmy spun around trying to shake his little brother, but they were stuck together tighter than the lid on one of momma’s jars of peas.

Teddy dropped to the ground and rolled, Jimmy gripped tighter. The dust and dirt seemed to help him cinch his hands to Teddy’s flesh. Teddy felt his strength slip a bit. It was tough work trying to sling a fifty pound tick off your back. He found his way back to his feet and spun around as hard as he could, the younger boy would not give. The bigger boy slung his head back and caught the smaller in the nose, opening it up and causing it to begin bleeding profusely. This enraged the smaller boy, who then began using his own head to bash the back of his brothers. He then leaned in and, with his teeth, chomped the older’s left ear lobe, drawing blood himself.

Struggling to keep his footing carrying the enraged little boy on his back, who had begun butting the back of his head and biting, Teddy made his way to the big elm tree. At the elm tree Teddy commenced to lunging backwards, bashing the smaller boy repeatedly into the great trunk.

Due to the struggle, neither boy was aware of their mother’s screaming from the porch for them to stop. She turned and spoke harshly to their father, who had been watching the wrestling match from a chair, smoking a pipe, laughing. The mother said something that cleared the smile from the father’s face and he stood. Shaking his head he put his pipe down and headed for the tree.

Father put his foot in between the two boys, foot on the older boy’s back, grabbing the smaller boy by his shirt tail and pants, and tugged, pried and cussed the two apart.

Jimmy was still enraged, still running at and swinging toward his brother. Eventually the small boy turned his attention to his father. His father caught the rage in the boys eyes and instinctively knew his intent.

“Dont even think it boy. I will break both your arms and you’ll have to have your brother wipe your ass for weeks.”

Jimmy stiffened, then slowly released his fists.

“Ted,” his father started, “Go on and hay and feed the ponies. When you’re done muck the pigs.”

Still holding the smaller boy off the ground and at arms length, he said, “Boy, you go in the house and let your momma clean you up. When you’re done you’ll help your brother.”

“But poppa!” the boy protested.

“Boy I will whoop your ass so hard your grandchildren will be born wall-eyed, do you understand me?”

Shoulders dropped, wiping his tiny bloody nose, the small boy shuffled back to his mother.

From the shade of the lean-to next to the barn, the Indian man, John “Horse with Feathers” Locklear watched quietly.

Teddy walked by, carrying two pails of water, ear lobe hanging and bleeding.

“Your brother, he rode you like a tick on a pig.”

“Shut up, Feathers!” the boy responded.

Feathers smiled a broad smile.

“Let me take care of that ear. Maybe we fish later.”