Looking out the window, watching the trees and the livestock flow by, Four Way Shot sighed. Sitting alongside him was his brother, Arson, and sitting directly in front of them were their father's. Four Way Shot's leg was in a heavy cast, his father had personally medicated and bandaged it, all the while giving him looks of disgust and anger, and he had been grounded until it healed. Arson hadn't spoken to his father at all since they had boarded the train, his flamethrower was wrapped tightly but it was still broken, his father had told him earlier that it had to be totally repaired.

"Here you go sir," the server said. "will there be anything else?"

"Nah, thanky though."

Watching the server, a pretty blonde woman of thirty with green eyes, serve his father a tray of food made him hungry. Since his father and his uncle had found him and his brother they hadn't had a single thing to eat. They had seen their father's drink a little and then throw the cups to the side angrily but nothing else. Seeing his father pass his uncle a piece of meat made his stomach growl, he hoped that they couldn't hear it.

"You hungry?" Arson whispered.

"Yeah, shur am." Four Way Shot mumbled.

His uncle had shaked his head, declining the offer of the meat so Four Way Shot's father was eating it in front of him. Turning his head and looking out the window again, he saw that they were passing by a pasture of cows. He saw black and white and brown cows and a few black bulls, no calves. Thinking back to his father's ranch he remembered the three cows that had calved a few months back, there were three more due within the next few months.

"Pa," he said, swallowing hard. "I gotta go potty."

"Thar's one 'cross from our room." his father said, eying him.

Sliding himself from the cushion, favoring his leg a little, he walked towards the door. Sliding it open and stepping out he smelled the fresh air that was seeping in through the door which was open a little. Not really intending to use the bathroom, his leg was itchy and he didn't feel like embarrassing himself by scratching it in front of his father, he knew that his father would bark out don't scratch if he did.

"Wish I would o' never left mah home." he thought.

A few hours after they had been whipped both of their father's thoroughly checked them over. He had discovered that he had done a lot more damage to his leg, he had fractured the lower part and the bone in his knee and foot were bruised. Arson had fared a little better regardless of him ranting about his broken flamethrower. He had ranted enough and his father had thrown the bandages down and had yelled that once he was home he'd find someone to fix it just to shut him up. They had spent two nights in a hotel and had left at six to catch a train that would take them back home seven hours ago. Hearing a knock on the door he unlocked it and opened it, standing out was his father.

"Whut's a-takin' ye so long?" his father asked.

"Jus' usin' the potty is all." he said, rolling his eyes.

"Ye wasn't a-scratchin' yerself was ye?" his multi armed hissed, wrapping an arm around him.

"No pa," he said, leaning against his father. "I wasn't."

Letting his father walk him back to the room and letting him slide him back in his place on the cushion, he remembered that time that he had come home with the Mountain Lion skin, the back of his shirt all the way open and himself dripping blood. The caretakers had been worried, it had been his father that had completely made a scene, grabbing his Winchester Model 1873, dropping the bullets all over the place then throwing it down and grabbing him by the shoulders. It had been scary, he had felt that his father was going to start shaking and cussing at him, instead he had told him that if he ever saw any trace of the animal, spore or prints or fur, to get the hell home.

"I s'pose yer a-hungry." his father said, sliding the tray over the table at him.

"Thanky!" Four Way Shot exclaimed, jumping up a little.

Arson had turned his head a little, eying his brother as he ate the meat and the fruit on the tray. He was extremely hungry but he didn't want anyone to know. He continued to look at his father, one of his eyes had a crack in it from a rock hitting it when he had fallen and the bandage on his arm was heavy, it was so heavy that he couldn't lift it. Making a sound in his throat he turned away and looked out the coach door's window.

"I'm going to make a phone call," his father said, standing up and stretching. "watch the kid."

"The usual with you." Arson muttered.

"Excuse me young man," his father said, eyes glowing brightly. "what'd you say?"

"I said, the usual with you." Arson repeated, louder for everyone to hear.

Not looking at his father he didn't notice that he had walked towards him a few steps then stopped. His father's eyes were bright red for a few seconds then dimmed down. Four Way Shot was still eating, but he was staring at his uncle, fearful of what he'd do. All his uncle did was shrug his shoulders and walk out of the coach, reaching into his pocket for his cell phone all the way. His uncle cleared his throat and leaned forward, placing a hand on his knee gently.

"Son, ye an' I both don't think that o' yer pa." he said. "He's a good pa to ye."

"Yeah right!" Arson yelled. "If he's such a great dad then why does he throw me off on someone else and why the hell does he yell at me all the time? Sounds like a great dad!"

"Have ye ever thought he a-yells at ye fer a reason?" his uncle asked. "He may seem to be bad an' all but really all he's a-thinkin' of is ye."

Kicking his leg, making his uncle's hand slide from his knee, Arson felt like snorting smoke from his nose. He didn't believe a thing his uncle had told him, he believed that his father really wanted to be rid of him. He remembered the one time when he had gotten caught with a paper, a wrapper from a chocolate bar, in his pocket. His father had started yelling and had acted like he was going to smack him a few times. After that incident he had started sneaking away his father's cigars and had collected every wrapper that had came from the chocolate bars he had eaten. He had even shared one of the cigars with his brother one day after lunch by the old rusty car.

"I suggest ye talk to yer pa," his uncle was saying. "I think ye two need to git a few thangs straight."

Flashing his eyes and shaking his shoulders a little, Arson leaned back into the seat. He didn't intend to speak to his father, he felt that it would be no good. His father never had listened to him, it seemed that all he ever wanted to do was spend time away from him, the only time he and his father were around each other was when he was in trouble and needed discipline. Pulling his jacket around himself, making a blanket out of it, he fell asleep.