Kemper snatched a bow. “I’ll head into the Western Woods.” She pointed at a sled. “And drag our supper back on that.”
Beale and Jehle’s eyes met, and they exploded with laughter.
“Good one!” Beale said. “Before bed…” He sneezed into a handkerchief. “Tell us another.”
Kemper shook her head. “That wasn’t a joke.”
“Are you sure?!” Jehle said and then hoisted a crutch. “Hey Beale, tell you what: forget walking on a broken foot—Kemper’s humor brought me to tears!” He chuckled and then watched Beale dangle a handkerchief.
“And me to a death bed!”
The boys cackled, and Kemper gnashed her teeth, lifted the bow, and fired an arrow between
them into to a cabin wall.
THUNK!!
All fell silent.
Beale peered at the arrow and then at the bow. “Who’d taught you how to use that?”
“Before sundown,” Kemper said. “We have to—”
“Never mind sundown,” Beale said. “We’re your elder brothers, therefore you listen to us. Who taught you?”
“No one taught me.”
Jehle grabbed the crutch, hobbled to the arrow, and examined it, rubbing his chin.
“What?” Beale said.
“Her arrow sank a couple inches.”
“Inches?!” Beale wiped his nose, ambled to the arrow, and studied it. “Couldn’t be…”
“Must be,” Jehle said. “Here it is.”
Beale patted the wall. “Southern yellow pine—nature’s iron—built our cabin, and our kid sister drove an arrow ‘a couple inches’ into it?!”
“Like it was clay,” Jehle said.
“But for her to do that, the arrowhead would have to be made of—” Beale chewed his lip and then jabbed a finger at the arrow. “Pull it out.”
“What?!” his brother said. “I’m on a crutch—so, you want to watch me to fall over, huh?”
“Go on.” Beale waved the handkerchief. “My hands are dirty.”
“Do they need to be clean?”
Beal jabbed a finger at the arrow, and Jehle shook his head, shuffled to the arrow, and tugged. “Doesn’t
budge.”
“Just pull it.”
“I did, and it doesn’t budge.”
Beale huffed. “Step aside.” He clutched the arrow, leaned back, and yanked—nothing—and then wrapped the handkerchief around it and yanked again. “Come on!”
Kemper glanced out a window—and through bald stalks and branches—saw a red-orange sun dipping below a horizon, and sighed. “Guys, we’re on the verge of starving, and you decide to play games?” She marched to Beale, shoved him away, and ripped the arrow out the wall. “Well, I’m not in the mood!”
Beale and Jehle gazed at their sister.
“What are you staring at?” she said.
Beale crept to her, grabbed her wrist, and studied the arrowhead and then peered at Jehle.
“Iron-tipped?” Jehle said.
His brother shook his head. “Wood.”
Jehle gulped.
“Great,” Kemper said and tugged her wrist away. “Can I get dinner now?”