Joe turned to see his brother Adam pointing a gun
toward
him. "Adam, what . . ." Seeing his older brother start to
squeeze the trigger, he instinctively lunged to the side---the wrong
side, as
his magnet-for-trouble luck would have it. As he fell, Joe felt
something
strike his boot.
The roar of gunfire masked another sound, which had gone unnoticed
before,
except by the vigilant older brother. Only when he saw the
diamondback
rattler, dead beside his foot, did Joe realize why Adam had drawn his
gun.
"Did he get you?" Adam demanded, squatting at his brother's side.
Still shaken, Joe shook his head. "Just my boot."
Adam took the youngster by the arm and pulled him to his feet.
"Next
time I say 'hold still,' do as you're told," he grunted gruffly.
"You moved straight for that rattler, and if you hadn't fallen forward,
I'd have hit you, you little idiot!"
Joe wasn't fooled by the harsh tone. He knew love when he heard
it. Feeling guilty for his momentary fear
that
Adam had meant him harm, he nodded and murmured meekly. "Yes,
sir; I
will. Thanks, Adam."
Adam pulled him into a rough embrace and scrubbed his curly pate with
his
knuckles. "On second thought," he said, "just don't let
there be a next time." His arms tightened around the boy.
It
can been close . . . much, much too close.
Puchi Ann