As Suzanna rounded the cabin from the garden, she saw Gerald in the yard loading his pistol. Both of the children stood beside him, watching intently.
“What are you doing?” Suzanna asked.
“We’re learning to shoot!” Andrew said gleefully.
Suzanna frowned. “We?” she asked. She looked at Gerald. “Andrew’s one thing, but Alma doesn’t need–”
“But I’m the oldest,” Alma said.
“She’s unfeminine enough,” Suzanna said to Gerald. “Always out fishing when she should be inside with her needlework.”
A smile flitted across his face. “Out here, everyone should know how to shoot,” he said mildly. “For safety’s sake.”
“More reason to move someplace civilized.” She turned and stalked toward the house.
“Can I load it, Papa?” Alma asked.
“Me, too!” Andrew said.
Gerald crouched down to show them again how it was done.
Copyright © 2015 Loretta Miles Tollefson
“How old is Old Pete, anyhow?” Suzanna asked as she perched herself on a large granite rock and looked down at the valley with its long grass and meandering streams. She glanced at Gerald. “He doesn’t look much older than you.”
Gerald chuckled. “He’s been Old Pete as long as I’ve known him. They say Old Bill Williams started calling him that in ’26 when they were trapping with St. Vrain and his bunch north of the Gila. Pete was kinda harrassing Bill, wanting to know just how old he was. Finally, Old Bill got aggravated and started callin’ Pete ‘Old Pete.’” He grinned, plucked a piece of grass, and looked it over carefully. “And that’s what he’s been ever since.” Gerald put the grass stem in his mouth, bit down appreciatively, and chuckled again as he gazed at the green landscape below.
“Those mountain men are quite something,” Suzanna said.
“That they are,” he answered. “That they are.”
Copyright © 2016 Loretta Miles Tollefson