Horse
© 1989 Lorne Laliberte
"I said get off that horse," the voice repeated, "and I meant get off that horse now."
I peered into the bushes about me but still could not determine the source of my troubles. Nor, for that matter, had I any way of knowing what number of compagnions this stranger could have. "What man would order another to dismount without revealing his face?"
"A man who prefers to remain unseen so long as you remain mounted."
"I can hardly commend you for your manners, sir, but since I must pass, so be it." I dismounted, but held the reins tightly.
"State your business."
I considered that question carefully. Would it be unwise to reveal my true identity? "I am on
[Unfinished is right! I didn't even finish the sentence.]
War
© 1989 Lorne Laliberte
"Look! Over there!"
I dropped to the ground and tried to remember what I'd seen. Men - soldiers, two, maybe more behind the barn or at the house or near the corral. But at least two, both armed, one with a gun and the other with I-don't-know what, green uniforms or black - probably Americans, Quebeckers wouldn't have yelled in English, not without an accent. Americans, then, and that meant really armed.