A Novel Idea
Chapter Four
Charles Emerson Winchester III was chuckling to himself as he read the last chapter, the one written by Father Mulcahy. He had barely digested the final word when he picked up his pen and began to scribble madly.
"You ought to put that money into stocks, young man," the good Father advised. "Invested properly, it will appreciate beyond your wildest dreams. You would likely never need to work again… and you certainly wouldn't have to take on any more contemptible assignments such as murdering comely actresses for no reason that you're aware of. Now, taking a look at a few of the more profitable stocks out there, let's do some simple calculations and see just how much of a windfall you could expect in 2-, 4-, and 6-year increments…"
"Winchester!" Potter called out, but it was too late. The major had already left his office and was no doubt quite pleased with himself for mucking up a perfectly good story with deadly dull investment strategies. Potter rolled his eyes but then remembered the rules: no changing previous chapters, and no complaining, either.
"What a pip," he said out loud. "Just where in blue blazes am I supposed to take this tale now?"
Their horses clip-clopping along at a leisurely pace, Gloria Babbitt and Harvey Peterson chatted amiably and admired the pretty purple-pink sunset in the clear Arizona sky. Suddenly the sound of gunfire pierced the air.
"Oh my God, somebody's after me again!" shrieked Gloria as her horse reared up at the sound.
"Don't panic!" Harvey told her, trying to calm both horses as best he could. Which, any horseman could have told him, was a lost cause. When horses are spooked, they're spooked, and there's no talking sense to them.
Gloria's horse bucked and threw her off, and she landed on the ground with a thud. Harvey called out her name and dismounted his own animal, going to her side to see if she was all right. "Gloria? Darling?"
Then came another round of gunfire, and Harvey whirled around to see what in tarnation was going on. Three men on horses galloped up to them, seeming to materialize from out of nowhere. "Hey there!" one of the men called out. "You're ridin' in dangerous territory here, folks. We wasn't shooting at ya, but y'all could get caught in the crossfire, if you ain't careful." He spat onto the ground before he continued. "You might not'a seen 'im, but that was outlaw Jesse Jameson that just rode on through here, and we're out to capture 'im! Y'all are OK, ain't ya?"
Harvey, kneeling next to Gloria, double-checked with her to be sure. She nodded, but she didn't look too steady. "Yeah, we're OK."
"Well all right, then." The man spat again, then turned to his cohorts and waved his arm. "C'mon, let's git after that bastard!" And the three of them rode off in a cloud of dust, their horses looking magnificent, with manes flowing and tails high.
"See that, dear?" Harvey said, patting Gloria's arm, trying to calm his beloved. "Just a false alarm. Nobody's trying to kill you. They're after some outlaw."
But she was shook up good and Harvey could see that their evening of horseback riding was going to have to come to an end. She needed to lie down and rest.
"Oh cow manure!" Potter exclaimed as he threw down his pen. He'd managed to bore even himself with his own chapter, and worse yet, he didn't know where to go from here. The lovebirds were out in the middle of nowhere with spooked horses (or have the horses galloped off by now? Potter didn't know), and the shoot-em-up part was over with already. "Damn," he muttered. "This writing thing ain't as easy as you'd think. That Zane Grey was a word-wielding genius."
He stared at his last sentence for a few more minutes, waiting for inspiration to strike, but it never did. Finally he shrugged and wrote "end of Potter's chapter" at the bottom of the page, and took the novel-in-progress to the next scribe on the list.