Birds of a Feather II

Uncle

Uncle dreamt of sandy beaches, of the sun warming his face, of dancing girls swaying their hips his way and handing him a bottle of rum; before kissing his face and settling down beside him.

It had Uncle excited for the tropics, Dutch's vision gleaming in his mind's eye. The picture had been painted so vividly, of eating fruits and sleeping the day away, that Uncle was ready to make it home and retire once and for all.

In all truths, Uncle didn't need much to be content. With a bottle of rum in his hand, a food banquet that never ended, beautiful women clinging on his every word, and his friends surrounding him on an island far away from the troubles of harsh reality, he'd finally have everything he'd ever need all in one place.

Except them friends of his could be noisier than all hell when they wanted to be. Their raised voices roused him now, waking him from the floating wonder that was dozing beneath the endless summer sun within his dreams. The best part of his island fantasies was laid to rest before he could watch it play out.

"Calm down, Marston. He got the boy here, didn't he?"

A graveled voice came back with frustration, "I knew something weren't right. I knew it."

Uncle peeped one eye open. He'd fallen asleep next to the fire when the camp had been dang near peaceful. Now, John was pacing back and forth in front of Arthur, who seemed to be trying to talk him down. Sadie, Lenny and Javier stood next to the fire, backs to Uncle and watching the boys go at it.

"'Course somethin' weren't right," Arthur retorted. "Milton raided the goddamned camp. He and everyone else have been on our asses for months."

Uncle sat up and let out a low whistle to Lenny, who was standing closest. "Hey, kid."

Lenny slid a glance his way. "What is it?"

Uncle beckoned with a head movement for Lenny to come closer. Lenny sighed, uncrossed his arms and obliged. "Yeah?"

As John and Arthur continued their disagreement, Uncle asked in hushed tones, "What's got these two bickering like old women?"

Lenny frowned. "Did you sleep through all the commotion from just a few minutes ago?"

"Maybe," Uncle said, feeling defensive. "I need my rest or I won't get nothing done in the morning."

Lenny quipped, "You weren't going to get nothing done anyway,"

Lord, this boy was getting just as bad as the rest of them when it came to picking on old Uncle. "Come on. What's going on?"

Lenny told him, "Pearson rode in about ten minutes ago. He had Jack with him, but we ain't sure what happened to Abigail."

"Shit," Uncle remarked. Abigail was one woman he sure did have a soft spot for. Tough, she was, and there weren't too many things in this world that could stop her. It'd be a tragedy if something had happened to her. "What did Mr. Pearson say?"

"Pearson's passed out cold in that tent," Lenny explained, pointing to the one Arthur had set up for himself next to the cabin. "And Charlotte's taking care of him."

Arthur and John went at it again until Arthur snapped, "We can't do nothing until we know something for certain."

John passed him a look of disgust, fed up. Instead of furthering their argument, he stomped away. Despite that show of temper, Uncle was impressed with his restraint to not get into a physical fight. 'Course, it was Morgan he was arguing with, one of the few 'round here who could clobber a man with one hit.

Arthur sighed. "Lenny, you wanna take after John so he don't do nothin' reckless?"

"I'll go," Sadie volunteered, leaving the company to follow John striding towards the cliff side of camp.