Angels and Indians
By Kate Everson
Copyright 2012 Kate Everson
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There was no time to prepare. The Indians were everywhere.
“Throw me your gun, Hank,” I yelled across the lawn.
He ducked down behind the lawn chair but only threw me a stick. It was a good stick though and it did the job. I came out shooting.
“Blam! Blam!” I shot them all dead in five seconds.
After it was over, I lay on the grass and cooled down. Hank did the same. It had been a rough day playing Cowboys and Indians and we hadn’t even died with our boots on.
Just then Mother came out with a smile and a jug of Kool-Aid.
“Cold drinks for hot cowboys?” she asked.
She did not have to ask twice. We were all over that Kool-Aid like vultures on a dead coyote.
“Darn! That’s good whiskey!” Hank managed to say between huge, thirsty gulps. The strawberry liquid spilled on his clean shirt and he grinned. He didn’t even wipe it off. That was my man.
“Hey, boys,” Mom said. “How about cleaning up and coming in for some warm cookies right out of the oven?”
Well, that little lady did not have to ask twice. We raced to the bathroom and cleaned up enough to be acceptable and tore into the kitchen with cookies on our minds. Mom checked our hands, and sent me back. Hank passed the test and was first at the chocolate chip cookies. I splashed soap on my hands again and raced back. This time I took two, to make up for time delay.