Double The Bounty

Chapter XXIII

“Sit still!”

“Then take it easy!”

Brian, still angry, was being unnecessarily rough as he tried to patch the hole in his brother’s side.

“You’re lucky it was a small-caliber gun.”

“Who the hell would have expected an old woman to shoot me?” Brent said, shaking his head in wonder.

“You’ve got to suspect everyone. That’s what I’ve always tried to tell you.”

“Yeah, yeah, you’re always telling me. Well, this time I told you.” Brent reached over and grabbed the sack. “Let’s see how much we got.”

“How much you got doesn’t matter,” Brian said. “It was a fool play.”

“I tell you what,” Brent said, buttoning his shirt. “If you don’t want half, you don’t have to take it.”

“I don’t want it,” Brian said, standing up. He used water from his canteen to clean his brother’s blood from his hands. He wished he could wash away the responsibility he felt as easily. He’d turned his brother into a bank robber, and now he’d come to this.

Well, he thought, maybe I made him a bank robber, but he made himself a fool. All he had to do was listen once in a while!

“Fine, then I’ll keep it all.”

Brent reached into the sack and pulled out a handful of bills.

“What the hell—”

“What’s the matter?” Brian asked.

Brent was frantically pulling another handful of money out.

“That little son of a bitch!”

Brian walked over to where his brother was sitting and immediately saw what the problem was.

He started laughing.

“What the fuck are you laughing at!”

“You,” Brian said. “You hold up a bank and take one in the side from a woman, and you end up with a bag of one-dollar bills.”

“Son of a bitch!” Brent said, throwing the sack as far as he could.

“You’re lucky if you’ve got five hundred dollars there. That sure as hell isn’t worth getting shot for.”

The Foxx brothers traveled another two or three hours, but then Brian noticed a waxy look coming over Brent’s face and saw that his brother’s side was covered with fresh blood.

“Hold up,” he said, grabbing the reins of Brent’s horse.

“What is it?” Brent asked. It came out as almost a gasp.

“That bleeding’s not stopping. We’ve got to get that bullet out.”

“It’s a tiny little bullet, Brian,” Brent complained, but Brian knew how much discomfort and pain the “tiny little bullet” was causing his brother.

“We’ve got to get you to a doctor in the next town.”

“What if there ain’t a doctor in the next town?”

“Then we’ll let a vet do it.”

“Brian—”

“Don’t argue with me on this, Brent. I’m not gonna haul your ass all over the countryside because you’re too stubborn to have a bullet removed—even a tiny little one.”

Brent shrugged and said, “You’re the boss.”

“Now that,” Brian said, “is the biggest joke I’ve heard all day.”