Summary:  Little Joe and five of his school mates are playing a game that may come to a deadly end.

Rating:  K+  WC 850

 

One Out of Six

“Coward, coward, coward…”

Little Joe shot angry looks at his schoolmates. Although the boys were more whispering than shouting, his head would burst from the monotone singsong any moment.

“Stop it,” he growled.

“Then do it! Now!” Tommy Sanders demanded.

His nine years made him the oldest and therefore the leader of the group. And he was the one who had swiped the rusty revolver from his father’s old toolbox.

“I… I have to think about it.”

Little Joe hesitantly took the weapon that was placed in the middle of the circle the six boys formed. They sat Indian-style in a corner of the old cemetery of Virginia City. Nobody else was there in the heat of the gleaming August sun. The young Cartwright felt five pairs of eyes watching him when he slowly cocked the hammer and the cylinder revolved to align the next chamber.

“Is this the way you keep a promise?”

For a second Little Joe was shocked. But a quick glance to his buddies assured him that he was the only one who heard his brother Adam speak. He shook his head to get rid of the annoying voice in his head but to no avail. Little Joe put down the weapon again. His memories went back to an afternoon a couple of months ago.

His brother Hoss had got a revolver for his 14th birthday and Joe had pleaded, begged and pouted to get one, too. But his Pa made it totally clear that he considered the eight year old too young to carry a weapon. Finally Adam took pity on him and somewhere in the pines, where they didn’t harm any ranch hands or cattle, his big brother taught him at least how to load, take off the safety and fire a revolver. But in the beginning of that afternoon Little Joe had to promise never ever to aim a revolver at a man except in self-defense.

But this was a case of self-defense – somehow. Little Joe tried to convice himself and the invisible brother in his head. He had to do it. Otherwise his schoolmates would believe him to be a coward. Even Mitch, his best friend, was watching him now, a disappointed expression on his face.

“We shouldn’t do it. It is too dangerous,” he tried one last time to persuade his friends to stop.

Tommy replied, a smirk on his face: “No risk, no fun. It’s only one bullet and six chambers. It’s like getting the number one on a dice. It nearly never happens.”

He fumbled a small white dice out of his pocket as if to demonstrate his words. Little Joe thought of the card board game he got for Christmas last year. Yes, Tommy was right. It was dammed difficult to get a number one if you need it.

“Remember last Sunday,” the inner voice of Adam was back. “You won because you had two ‘ones’ in a row.”

“And because I cheated when Hoss wasn’t paying attention,” Joe murmured truthfully to himself. He sighed. He had to do it. He lifted the weapon again and pointed the muzzle towards his temple. Very slowly the index finger of his shaking hand touched the trigger.

“JOSEPH!”

A shadow felt on their circle. Suddenly the imposing figure of Ben Cartwright blocked the sun.

“What’s going on here?” the man bellowed.

The boys jumped up. Three of them vanished into thin air at once, but Mitch, Tommy and of course Little Joe stayed put.

“Hi Pa. It’s just… uh…sort of… a game.” Little Joe explained sheepishly, shifting his weight nervously from one leg to the other.

The father took the weapon carefully out of his son’s hands.

“Really Mister Cartwright, we’re just playing. One out of six, that isn’t dangerous. We didn’t…” Mitch added helpfully, but Ben Cartwright’s stern look silenced the boy.

Slowly Little Joe’s father realized what had been going on between the grave stones. It almost took his breath away. Ben looked into the innocent faces of the three boys. He fought the urgent need to grab them and shake some sense into their heads. Instead he spoke a short thank-you prayer in his thoughts. It calmed him down.

Ben slowly pointed the old revolver towards the sky. He couldn’t explain it to himself, but he needed to know. He pulled the trigger.

The shot broke the silence of the cemetery. Shrieking birds rose from a nearby tree. Somewhere a frightened rabbit disappeared into its den. Scared stiff the three boys stared at the smoking revolver muzzle.

“Go home! Now!” Ben Cartwright ordered with a nod toward the cemetery entrance.

Mitch and Tommy run like lightning.

“And we’ll have some serious talking to do at home. Let’s go.” Ben told Little Joe.

The boy didn’t move. He stared to the ground, his face as white as a sheet. Ben’s eyes followed the stare. He nearly missed the small, white thing in the dust. There was a number one on the dice.