Slow Poke walked somberly back to the campsite just outside of Hungry Holler, the current town in which he and Brave Billy Barnes had just concluded their latest adventure.

This one had started like most did. Billy had run into a woman in distress, with the local banker about to foreclose on her farm soon after her husband, a drunk and a gambler, had been gunned down by some local bigwig's men. Of course this time as always, just at the last moment Billy saved the day, proved the bad guy to be in the wrong and left him sitting in the jail of some newly appointed white hat wearing Sherrif.

Poke, as Billy sometimes called him, had, as always, done most of the heavy lifting: gathering supplies, setting up ambush sites, covering Our Hero in numerous gunfights, and now, as always, while Billy rode off into the sunset with the widow in tow, back to the saved farm site to spend a night in some sort of sordid celebration, Poke was left lugging everything back to camp that Brave Billy didn’t need.

It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate Poke's contribution.

“Lord knows, I always get my fair share of whatever reward comes our way,” Poke said.

His voice seemed to drift like dust blown by the wind over the sagebrush, out across the empty night.

“He really is good to me. Why didn’t he buy me that ol’ Missouri mule back in Warsaw last time we were back east?”

Of course, there was no reply except that of a distant coyote’s yelp.

Arriving at the camp, Poke sorted everything and put things away in their respective places. Then he sat down and began cleaning the weapons.

He knew there would be a lot to do before Billy returned. Pistols, rifles, and shotguns would all need to be cleaned and oiled. There were quite a few clothes that needed washing and mending.

He uncorked a jug and took a swig of cheap whisky, then put some salt pork and beans in a Dutch oven over the fire, which he had rekindled first thing upon reaching camp. Then he remembered that left rear wheel on the old supply wagon that held all their tools of the trade was beginning to complain something fierce and Poke knew it would not make it another mile down the road much less a day's travel though the bad lands, so after finding the need rocks and poles to make a sufficient lever to heave the wagon up high enough to get the wheel off he replaced what needed replacing and re assembled and greased the parts so he wouldn't hear Billy sayin' "what's that noise" every half mile or so. with that done he fed the animals and then himself. He thought how nice it would have been if Billy had been her to just sit back and recap their last few days over a quiet meal. shaking his head he laughed at the thought " No he'd not liked the salt pork in the beans' another chuckle " how many times i got to tell you bacon or ham! no salt pork!" so picking up the dirty dishes Poke went down to the creek and washed away the remanent of his solitary meal. he then returned to the wagon and reloaded everything right where it should be. “Put everything in its proper place. That’s what ol’ Billy boy would say!”

Poke pointed one finger to the sky as if making a profound statement.

Somewhere between repairing tack and feeding and brushing down the animals, a thought occurred to him.

“Why is it that I’m not the one who rides off to get the girl? And why am I the one always doin’ chores?”

Again, the darkness beyond the firelight gave no reply.

“Why, tomorrow he’ll ride in here sometime after the noon sun has passed, and most likely, as soon as I sit myself down for the first time all morning, he’ll say, ‘Saddle up, Lazy Bones. We’re burning daylight. We got a lot of miles before we get to where we’re going!’”

Poke let the thought drift off.

He pulled from the jug, taking a few rapid, long swallows, then sat down on a big rock and just thought about his present situation in life. The sun was just starting to rise, and the world around him began changing from night shift to fresh morning.

“No, sir! I ain’t gonna put up with this servitude, not a single ’nother minute!”

He stood there, warming up to his own courage.

“When he comes a-gallivanting in here at God knows what time, I’m gonna tell him straight out, ‘There’s gonna be some changes ’round here, mister!’”

He took another pull from the jug.

“Have me washing his drawers and cleaning his pistols…”

He shook his head.

“And if he has anything smart-like to say, I’ll tell him, ‘When was the last time you washed a dang pot? Huh?’”

Now, with all the chores done, Poke sat down for really the first time all night. He leaned back against the wagon wheel, pulled an old horse blanket up across his chest, and slipped off to sleep.

Not fifteen minutes after Poke had closed his eyes, Billy arrived in camp.

He looked down at his partner slumbering against the wagon.

“Look at him. Probably been up most of the night. He’s gonna be stiff this morning!”

Billy playfully kicked Slow Poke in the thigh and said, “Saddle up, Lazy Bones. We’re burning daylight. We got a lot of miles before we get to where we’re going!”

Poke jumped like he’d been snakebit and hollered, “Right away, boss! Got it all ready to go! I knew you’d be chompin’ at the bit to get a move on. Let me get the team hitched, and we’ll be off.”

Billy just shook his head and laughed as Poke hurried into his regular routine.

Billy wiped his brow with a bandana and mumbled under his breath, “What would I do without you?”

The End