volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

Finally, besides blinking, Roy can breathe.
Maybe, just maybe, Old Guy isn’t going to kill him.
At least, not right away.
A second wave of relief washes over him when he hears the
gun uncock.
Roy Weston lives!
But he’s still a prisoner. He lowers his hands and brings them
to rest on plush chair-arms. He’s still prisoner of a guy wearing a
robe and cowboy boots, and holding a gun.
Roy’s eyes, finding themselves thawed from staring into the
gun’s barrel, roam towards one of the room’s table lamps built in
the shape of a conestoga wagon, like they had in pioneer days.
But Roy doesn’t realize this.
Roy knows very little about American history, stuff like
George Washington tossing his wooden teeth across the Potomac
river and Paul Revere riding to warn about the French.
What is it about the French?
Stuff like that.
He knows even less about Alaskan history.
They probably would make him learn some, if he moved
there.
Old Guy leans back and rests the gun on his lap. He seems
distracted, as if some weighty matter is troubling him.
“What about Gene Autry?”
Now that he’s going to live some more, Roy recalls his
bladder.
“No, sir.”
Old Guy frowns.
“Hopalong Cassidy?”
Roy shakes his head.
Old Guy’s deepens his frown.
“Tom Mix?”
No.
“Broncho Billy?”
No.
“William S. Hart?”
Sorry.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 1