Golden Feather Press
Brief Tid-bits

Wiley rolled over in bed and kissed Jake's right ear.

Jake stirred and opened his eyes. "Wiley?"

"Good morning, Jake."

Jake rolled to face Wiley. He grinned and kissed Wiley on the tip of his nose. "I'm glad wakin' up an' lookin' at you, Wiley. It means you're here another day with me."

"Jake, what are you doing?" Wiley shouted from inside their cabin.

"Feedin' the chickadees," Jake said softly.

Wiley looked out the open door and saw Jake perched on the edge of the bench below the window. Jake had rolled up his right sleeve as far as he could and had his bare arm, bent at the elbow, stretched out in front of him. Five chickadees sat in a row on his arm. Slowly, Jake handed a sunflower seed to the bird nearest his hand. It took the seed and left. The next bird did the same thing with his seed. Jake handed the third bird a seed, which it took then promptly dropped. Jake frowned and handed it another seed. The chickadee grabbed the seed, held it, then dropped it. The fourth and fifth birds dived for the discarded seeds. The remaining chickadee took one more seed and dropped it.

"Damn!" Jake said. "I'm namin' you Fussy. I ordered these here seeds from Mrs. Mercer. Wiley'n me paid lots'a money for these seeds, just for you." He handed the chickadee one last seed, which it dropped. Jake waved the bird off his arm and shouted, "Starve, then!"

Wiley laughed and stepped out the door. "I'm going to call you Saint Francis from now on."

Jake frowned at him. "Hell, my name's Jake. You know that."

A piercing ray of morning sunlight through the meeting of the curtains wavered across Jake's face. Outside, wind hurled rain against the Castille ranch house where he and Wiley had spent the night.

Jake squinted at the brilliant space between the curtains and moved closer to Wiley. He slid his arm across Wiley's furry chest.

A deafening blast of thunder startled them both wide awake.

Jake sighed into Wiley's ear. "Sun an' thunder. I don't wanna get up yet." He snuggled tighter against Wiley's side.

Wiley turned his head toward Jake. "Sun and thunder together? I have to see this." He slipped out of bed, strode to the window and swept open the curtains. A rain cloud loomed overhead. Its eastern edge did not extend far enough toward the Tarryall Mountains to block the rising sun, which turned each lashing raindrop into a streak of gold.

"Jake, come see this." Another lightning bolt startled Wiley. The instantaneous blast of thunder shook the house.

"Damn!" Jake leaped out of bed and rushed to the window. He grabbed Wiley and peered out the window. "Hell, it's like a golden rain." Jake pointed to the yard. "There's already puddles down there."

"I love this land," Wiley said. "Storms roar through, even small ones like this, and then they're gone. It's amazing."

After a gun battle in Alma with Casey Brent and his gang, Wiley looked over at Jake. They were the only ones still standing in the street. Four dead outlaws lay around them.

Oblivious to the many townsfolk shouting and clapping for them, Wiley stepped over a body and approached Jake. "I saw you take a bullet in the chest. Are you all right?"

Jake grinned and pulled out the rawhide bag from under his shirt. "Hell, this here bag stopped the bullet, an' my chest don't even hurt this time." The bullet that had flattened itself against the bag fell to the ground.

Wiley squinted at the distinct impression of the bullet on Jake's rawhide bag, then looked Jake in the eyes. "That can't happen twice! That bag of yours scares me!" He stormed toward the Silver Heels Bar and muttered, "I need a shot of something."

Jake watched Wiley walk away, then held up the rawhide bag and looked at it. Wiley hadn't even said he was glad he was still alive! Fuming, Jake ran after him. Reaching the batwing doors at the same time, Jake grabbed Wiley's arm, spun him around and shouted, "Hell, Wiley, my bag is an Indian bag. You're part Indian! You're s'pose to tell me what's goin' on!"