Cowboy_Dan
08-19-2014, 03:40 AM
I've been to a circus, a rodeo, and a World's Fair, and I've never seen anything like this.
I was picking my brother up from work, and as I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the light was on in my reloading room. Funny, I thought, I haven't been in there in a few days. Suspecting George was afoot, I drew my trusty .44 Special and checked the cylinder before entering the house while my brother went out back to check the trap.
The trap was a basic falling box trap such as Wile E. Coyote used in attempt to catch the Roadrunner. It was baited with a coww ingot and rigged to fall once the ingot was lifted. Before I progressed too far into the house, my brother showed up behind me saying the trap was sprung, but empty. The ingot was still in it, but he found a note in it as well.
As we approached the reloading room and I placed a hand on the knob, we could hear someone rustling inside. Opening drawers, leafing through manuals, and opening die boxes. I turned the handle, Bulldog in hand and Argentine police Cobra in my brother's, and we saw George himself!
George jumped out the window before either of us could react. We ran to the window and emptied and then reached into our pockets for speedloaders. As I dropped the spent brass from my Bulldog, I noticed George was laying on the grass. We got him, I thought. But before I could place the new rounds in the cylinder, he did one of those ninja flip-back-onto-your-feet things and was gone into the night. We checked the spot where he fell, but there wasn't a drop of blood to track him by.
After failing to find his trail, we checked the reloading room, nothing seemed to be missing, and opened George's note. It read:
"You can't trick me. You can't catch me. I don't need your ingot. Look under your chair."
Thinking this was a bit strange, we checked the floor. Nothing. Then my brother flipped the chair over. Sure enough, there was a white box taped to it. Inside was a three-die set for 6.5x55 Swede. Just what we need to feed my other brother's Mauser.
I'm kind of sorry I fired on him.
I was picking my brother up from work, and as I pulled into the driveway, I noticed the light was on in my reloading room. Funny, I thought, I haven't been in there in a few days. Suspecting George was afoot, I drew my trusty .44 Special and checked the cylinder before entering the house while my brother went out back to check the trap.
The trap was a basic falling box trap such as Wile E. Coyote used in attempt to catch the Roadrunner. It was baited with a coww ingot and rigged to fall once the ingot was lifted. Before I progressed too far into the house, my brother showed up behind me saying the trap was sprung, but empty. The ingot was still in it, but he found a note in it as well.
As we approached the reloading room and I placed a hand on the knob, we could hear someone rustling inside. Opening drawers, leafing through manuals, and opening die boxes. I turned the handle, Bulldog in hand and Argentine police Cobra in my brother's, and we saw George himself!
George jumped out the window before either of us could react. We ran to the window and emptied and then reached into our pockets for speedloaders. As I dropped the spent brass from my Bulldog, I noticed George was laying on the grass. We got him, I thought. But before I could place the new rounds in the cylinder, he did one of those ninja flip-back-onto-your-feet things and was gone into the night. We checked the spot where he fell, but there wasn't a drop of blood to track him by.
After failing to find his trail, we checked the reloading room, nothing seemed to be missing, and opened George's note. It read:
"You can't trick me. You can't catch me. I don't need your ingot. Look under your chair."
Thinking this was a bit strange, we checked the floor. Nothing. Then my brother flipped the chair over. Sure enough, there was a white box taped to it. Inside was a three-die set for 6.5x55 Swede. Just what we need to feed my other brother's Mauser.
I'm kind of sorry I fired on him.