The Broken Rifle
Copyright© 2024 by Old Man with a Pen
Chapter 16
“What’s all this?” asked Marion. She was surveying the booty from Mr. Brown.
“Gun parts.”
“Like a kit?”
Nothing for it, he had to show her the pieces. If nothing else worked the maple plank did it.
“Not a kit,” she said.
“Nope, I can and have made locks but the barrel is out of my league. I know how ... but wasps nest flux is not any fun.”
Marion retrieved her Uberti kit from the back of the Dodge.
“Where are we doing this?” She asked.
“Don’t you have to work?” He said.
“I have positively YEARS of vacation and sick time built up ... I’m taking a month.”
“You can do that?”
“They beg me to take time off in the fall and winter.” She said, “Why bother. I’m not into cruising, I don’t ski ... I used to go dig in Arizona ... what?”
“Archaeology minor?”
“One hundred and twenty five credit hours.”
“Double major?”
“Yep.”
“Arizona?”
“Cliff Dwellings. My principal investigator died. No fun without him.”
“Okay,” he pondered. “Can you keep a secret?”
“Depends ... blood ... no ... guts ... no ... smuggling ... no? I’m pretty much reliable with the rest.”
“How about grave robbing?”
“Digging?”
“No.”
“I’m good.”
“Follow me.” They went in the cabin. This was her firast time.
The rifle trembled as the panel was opened. His little yip of pleasure was stifled by the womans screech, “Wow ... I’d never have guessed. Ooooh. Pretty.”
She had her nose buried in the handmade 6 point Hudson’s Bay Company blanket capote ... and came out sneezing. “ACHOO!” A swipe across a suddenly drippy nose. Several more sneezes and she thrust it away.
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