Kid Dangerous Rides Again

Kid Dangerous Rides Again

From his vantage point under the low rock ledge, Standing Bear watched closely as the white stranger pulled the saddle off his horse and prepared camp. He took notice that the white man moved lightly on his feet, yet purposefully and efficiently, placing his carbine carefully near his bedroll before gathering sticks and brush for his campfire.

‘It is good,’ he thought, ’this is no careless white fool, my victory will be all the better when I take his hair.’

With no further movement, the Indian brave lay quietly waiting for darkness to fall. As the last glimmer of sunlight faded from the valley, the warrior moved inch by inch down the ridge, his knife gripped tightly in his fist…

“Henry?” Beth shouted from her bedroom, causing her husband, Henry to flinch and quickly close the lurid paperback western novel. “Henry, I’m thirsty! Bring me a glass of water, will you?”

Shaking his head and with a deep sigh, Henry placed his paperback novel on the side table. Rising heavily to his feet, the thin, middle aged accountant shuffled into the kitchen and got a glass from the cupboard.

“Do make sure it is cold water, Henry. You never take care to make sure it is good and cold.” Beth called once again. “Do you hear me, Henry?”

“Yes dear.” Henry answered, letting the water run freely from the kitchen tap before lowering his voice and muttering, “I always make sure and run the water, but you won’t let me add ice cubes, so it is never cold enough for you.”

“What’s that? Are you mumbling again?” Beth barked. “You know how much that irritates me.”

“I said yes, dear, the water is good and cool and I’m bringing it right away.”

“Please hurry, Henry, I’m quite parched. Are you sitting down there with your nose in a book again? I swear, you will go blind and I will have no one to look after me while I am lying here on my sick bed.”

“I’m coming, dear.” Henry said, trudging slowly up the stairs.

“Please hurry, Henry, before the commercial is over and the show comes back on. You know I don’t like any distractions when my show is on.”

“Here you go, dear.” Henry entered the darkened room, only the flickering images from the massive television lighting his way. Carefully, he handed the glass of water to the large woman sprawled on the bed.

Grabbing the glass from his outstretched hand, Beth grumbled. “I swear I am about to die from thirst and you take your sweet time. You have no respect for my health whatsoever!”

“I hurried as fast as I could, dear. If you would like I could bring up a pitcher of water with some ice cubes in it and you could have it right beside you.”

“You know perfectly well I don’t like water that has sat and gone stale. What else have you got to do that you can’t take a few minutes out of your busy schedule to bring a glass of water to your poor sick wife?”

“Yes, dear, I am glad to be able to take care of you, but it would be more convenient if you had it right here on the side table.”

“I said no stale water! Now, get out before my program comes back on.”

“Yes, dear, would you like anything else before I go?”

“Shhhhh, the show is starting!”

Returning to the living room, Henry picked up the tattered paperback. “Kid Dangerous had better be on his guard, or that Indian is going to take his hair.” He smiled and leaned back in his chair.

Standing Bear crept ever closer to the white man’s campsite. ‘The white eye is not as ready as he thinks he is,” the massive warrior thought, “just sitting by his campfire with that packet of papers, studying them so closely he has no thoughts of his danger. This will be a sure victory!”

Within mere feet of the seemingly unaware, white man, Standing Bear rose and charged. His knife poised for the kill…

“Henry! Come here, hurry up!” Beth shrieked. “Hurry quickly, come here!”

Henry started and dropped the book to the floor. Jumping to his feet, he ran up the stairs. “What’s wrong? Are you all right, dear?” He called.

“Hurry up, damn it! You’ll miss it!”

Rushing into the bedroom, Henry saw his wife pointing to the television screen.

“Look! There is the ad for the new gizmo I was telling you about! The one that stacks all your things in the cupboard, it keeps things all neat and tidy. We really need to get one of those!”

Henry looked at the television and back to his wife. “Our cupboard is pretty neat and tidy now, dear. I don’t think we need something like that.”

“Well I think it would be a nifty thing to have, I’m going to write down the phone number and call them one of these days. You can’t have your kitchen too neat and tidy you know. Say, since you’re already up, would you bring me some toast, I’m hungry. Some nice toast and strawberry jam would be wonderful.”

“But, dear,” Henry began, “we just finished supper only an hour ago.”

“I don’t care, I’m hungry.” Beth pulled her thick lips into a pout. “You know, a sick person needs all the nourishment she can get.”

“Yes, dear,” Henry nodded his head and turned to go. “I’ll be right back.”

Trudging down the stairs, Henry looked longingly towards the novel lying on the living room floor. I can read a bit while the toast is cooking; ole Kid Dangerous had better watch out or that pesky redskin will get him.

Retrieving the book from the floor, Henry smoothed the pages out and stepped into the immaculate kitchen. "That woman is going to drive me to drink one of these days." He grumbled. Placing four slices of bread in the toaster, Henry set it to cook and opened his book.

As the warrior lunged, the Kid dropped his Bible and fired the pistol he had concealed in his lap. The first slug tore through Standing Bear’s shoulder, the second round hitting the Indian brave squarely in the chest, killing him instantly.

“You just don’t mess with a man when he is relaxing with the Good Book.” Kid Dangerous told the crumpled corpse, as he picked up the fallen Bible. “It just ain’t right, pardner!”

“Henry! Hurry up with that toast, I’m starving up here!” Beth’s shriek came from above. “And you better not let it burn either!”

“Yes, dear,” Henry called, “I’ll be right there.”

Once the toast was perfectly cooked, buttered and covered with strawberry jam, Henry placed the plate on a tray. Opening the utensil drawer, he removed a large, very sharp, butcher knife and concealed it under the tray.

You just don’t mess with a man when he is trying to relax with a good book. He thought. It just ain’t right, pardner!

“Coming, dear.” Henry called and started up the stairs, his stride; light, purposeful and efficient.