Summary:  Alone and in trouble, can a memory help him?
Rating:  PG  (550 words)

The Last Bullet.

By Vicki Christian

Thankfully the darkness enveloped Joe.  Somewhere out there a man was hunting him.  But he couldn’t run anymore, his ankle was broken. He kept still and hoped that his hunter would not find him, but the game would be up as soon as the sun rose.  In the light he would be revealed on the mountain’s rocky surface. His pistol was empty, all the ammunition used up in the gun battle with his pursuer.  In an hour he’d be dead.

He pulled the old yellow jacket around him. Grateful now that Pa had insisted he take a warm coat, even though it was august. In a fit of anger at being delayed, he had grabbed this coat.  It was Adam’s, but Adam was thousands of miles away.

Adam would never have got himself in this sort of dumb trouble.  Careful; that was Adam’s motto.  Joe slipped his hands into the pockets in an effort to warm them.

He felt something hard that had slipped inside the lining.  A few minutes of fumbling and he was rewarded with one .45 slug.  Now why on earth would Adam have a bullet in his jacket lining.

Then he remembered another summer’s day when he had been fifteen.

“Aw, c’mon, Adam.  You said we could practice.  That damn book-keeping can wait.”  He had paced up and down and then, emphasised his point by slamming his fist down on the desk.

Adam had not acknowledged his presence.  He had finished adding a column of figures; written the total and ruled under the figures twice.  He’d wiped his pen and set it back beside the ledger, which he’d blotted and closed carefully, before looking up.  “I said we’d practice this morning.”  He glanced at the clock, “Exactly eleven and Pa would have a fit if he heard that language,” he had admonished.

“He ain’t likely to, he’s in Virginia City,” Joe retorted, hotly.  “He said you could teach me and all you’ve done is work on them d… darned accounts.

“Alright, let’s get to it.  But you do exactly as I say.”

“Yes, Grandma,” Joe had murmured under his breath.  He picked up the leather holster and the pearl handled navy colt, and followed his brother into the yard.

“You won’t need the holster; we aren’t practicing a fast draw, just how to hit what you aim for,” Adam said, as he began setting up old tin cans on the corral fence.

Joe made a face at his brother’s back, but he set the holster aside.  There was just so much riling Adam would take.

“Now this is how you load,” Adam started, flipping bullets into his own pistol.

“I know how to load. I ain’t a kid.  I’ve shot a pistol before.”  Joe complained bitterly.

Adam held out his left hand, “Give me the gun.”

Joe was puzzled but he handed over the Colt.

Adam ejected one bullet and slipped it into his pocket.

“Whatcha doin’?”

“Never load the chamber under hammer, it could fire accidentally.”  Adam explained, patiently.

Joe waited with a pained expression, until the gun was returned to him and the target practice began.

Now he smiled to himself and slipped the last bullet into his pistol.  Just one shot was all he needed.  Thanks to Adam’s cautious habits, he’d live to tell his big brother how that long ago lesson had saved his life.