The Rifleman

Mark Mc Cain curried his pony in the hot afternoon sun when his Dad Lucas strode in from the fields. Mark was walking lightly these days because Lucas had been out of sorts lately. He hadn’t been in Northfork for a while and so he didn’t have to shoot any Indians, Mexicans or former child actors. So Mark didn’t want to get him mad. Not that Lucas would ever hit him. Lucas never hit anybody. He just shot them. But he might give him a bunch of extra chores.

“Hey Pa” said Mark as he worked on his ponies tail. He kept the tail trimmed and well groomed and damn sure there was no horse shit on the tail. He didn’t want to get any on his coveralls when he played with his horse when nobody was looking.

“That’s enough fuss’n with that horse Mark. Grab your possibles cause we are riding into town. Pack enough for a couple of days. Micah wants us to ride with him.” “Where are we going Pa. Chicago? Denver? Julesberg?”

Lucas took off his hat wiped his brow. “We are heading down to Shinbone. We have to meet up with an old friend. Tom Doniphon. He needs our help.”

“Ok Pa. I will be ready. Let me get my gear. It’s fun to visit another town every now and again.”