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

“So, howz ’bout it? You game?”
Roy surmised this cryptic inquiry was connected to something Pete must
have said when he wasn’t listening.
Confusion clouded his face.
Pete chuckled.
“I said we oughta get together some time. I’ll introduce you to their
movies.”
Roy’s eyes widened.
“They made movies?”
“Yessir, they most surely did.”
Roy’s widened eyes take in the snowy hair on Pete’s shoulders.
“I’d like that. A lot.”
He’s so old, even his shoulder hair’s white.
In Roy’s world, people seldom live long enough to have white shoulder
hair.
“How ’bout tonight, then?”
Roy didn’t have to think twice. It was better than being in his room by
his lonesome, even if he did have the Sons.
“Sure.”
“Great.”
Pete resumed his journey to his apartment, but didn’t make it all the way.
Instead, he turned and presented Roy a lopsided smile and a nonsensical
question.
“You like vanilla ice cream?”
—And so it began. Later that night Roy rapped on 28/RR—
now known as the home of Pistol Pete—and listened as dozens of
deadbolts cranked aside and hundreds of chains unshackled, and
watched as the white-painted door creaked open to reveal Pete,
his hairy legs planted in a colorful pair of cowboy boots.
“They’re not all black and white.”
Roy just wondered, was all.
“I have some color ones, too.”
They’ve just finished watching Stagecoach.
“One of the best damned movies ever made,” is how Pete had
described it.
“You like?”
Roy nods.
“They dint show the gunfight.”
2 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY