Stories: Alias Smith and Jones

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20151227

“Tell me again why we’re stumblin’ around Wyoming at ten below and not down south somewhere warm snuggled up to a coupla senoritas?” grumbled Kid Curry as his horse picked its way across an iced-over stream, crunching through in places, its hooves and legs coated in pearls of ice. The trees nearby were also sporting a fine rime and glistened in the early morning light. A slight breeze caused the needles to crack and pop and the four mounted outlaws to shiver in their heavy winter coats.




“’Cause Soapy asked us to stay and pull this job; we owe him,” answered Hannibal...
 
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