graze on. It was to have a fence around it, which Patrick was making out of twigs, string and glue. Now he looked up from this with an unreadable look on his face.
“When your mum threw your models away—” began Omri slowly.
“Yeah?”
“Did she get rid of … all of them?”
“As far as I know.”
“You really are the
pits
,” said Omri between his teeth.
“Me? Why?”
“I suppose you just threw him in with the others and left him for your mum to chuck in the dustbin!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know darn well!
Boone.”
Patrick dropped his eyes. Omri couldn’t tell what he felt. He seemed almost to be smiling, but Omri felt suddenly so furious with him that this only made him angrier.
Though they had spoken quietly, Little Bear’s sharp ears had caught the gist.
“Who throw Boone? I want! Want see blood brother! Who throw, I kill!” he roared.
Bright Stars emerged from the tepee at the first roar and darted to his side. She forced him to lie on his back and pinioned him to the bed by main force until he calmed down a little and evidently promised her to behave. Then she hurried to the edge of the chest with a gleam in her eyes that boded no good at all.
“Where Little Bear brother?” she demanded. “Little Bear want! No good him get angry! Omri bring Boone. Now.”
Omri’s insides seemed to be churning up with an angerno less strong than the Indian’s. He turned on Patrick.
“You must have been mad to let your mother throw him away! Just because for some idiotic reason you wanted to pretend none of it ever happened! I’m going to kick your head in, you dim wally!” And he made a move towards Patrick.
Patrick didn’t step back. He stood with his hand in his pocket.
“He’s here,” he said.
Omri stopped short, jolted as if he’d stepped up a nonexistent step. “What—?” “He’s here. In my pocket.”
Slowly he withdrew his hand and opened it. Lying in the palm was the crying cowboy, on his white horse. Boone!—as large as life. Or rather, as small.
Omri uttered a shout of joy.
“You’ve got him! You had him all the time!” Then his grin faded. “Are you mad? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I’m not exactly proud of the fact that I still carry him everywhere,” Patrick said.
“So you hadn’t stopped believing?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to. I tried to tell my brother about it once, and he teased me for a solid week, saying I was a nut case, telling everyone I believed in fairies. It really got me. Of course I couldn’t prove a thing, not even to myself. So I decided it never happened. But I… I just kept Boone in my pocket all the time, like … well, sort of for good luck.”
Omri had picked up the figure of Boone tenderly and was examining it. The horse’s legs had become a bit bent, and Boone’s beloved hat was looking decidedly the worse for wear. But it was still, unmistakably, even in plastic, Boone. It was the way they had last seen him, sitting on his horse, in his ten-gallon hat, his hand holding a big red bandanna to his nose, biowing a trumpet blast of farewell.
“Ah cain’t stand sayin’ good-bye. Ah jest re-fuse’t say it, that’s all! Ah’ll only bust out cryin’ if Ah do …”
“Come on, Boone!” whispered Omri. And he put him, without more ado, into the cupboard and turned the key.
He and Patrick bent over eagerly, bumping heads. Neither of them brought to the surface of his mind the deep fear they shared. Boone, too, had lived in dangerous times. Omri knew now that time worked the same at both ends, so to speak. A year had passed for him, and, in another place and time, a year had passed for his little men. And an awful lot (and a lot of it awful!) could happen in a year.
But almost at once their fears were laid to rest. There was a split second’s silence, and then, on the other side of the cupboard door, Boone began battering and kicking it, and a faint stream of swear words issued
“When your mum threw your models away—” began Omri slowly.
“Yeah?”
“Did she get rid of … all of them?”
“As far as I know.”
“You really are the
pits
,” said Omri between his teeth.
“Me? Why?”
“I suppose you just threw him in with the others and left him for your mum to chuck in the dustbin!”
“What are you talking about?”
“You know darn well!
Boone.”
Patrick dropped his eyes. Omri couldn’t tell what he felt. He seemed almost to be smiling, but Omri felt suddenly so furious with him that this only made him angrier.
Though they had spoken quietly, Little Bear’s sharp ears had caught the gist.
“Who throw Boone? I want! Want see blood brother! Who throw, I kill!” he roared.
Bright Stars emerged from the tepee at the first roar and darted to his side. She forced him to lie on his back and pinioned him to the bed by main force until he calmed down a little and evidently promised her to behave. Then she hurried to the edge of the chest with a gleam in her eyes that boded no good at all.
“Where Little Bear brother?” she demanded. “Little Bear want! No good him get angry! Omri bring Boone. Now.”
Omri’s insides seemed to be churning up with an angerno less strong than the Indian’s. He turned on Patrick.
“You must have been mad to let your mother throw him away! Just because for some idiotic reason you wanted to pretend none of it ever happened! I’m going to kick your head in, you dim wally!” And he made a move towards Patrick.
Patrick didn’t step back. He stood with his hand in his pocket.
“He’s here,” he said.
Omri stopped short, jolted as if he’d stepped up a nonexistent step. “What—?” “He’s here. In my pocket.”
Slowly he withdrew his hand and opened it. Lying in the palm was the crying cowboy, on his white horse. Boone!—as large as life. Or rather, as small.
Omri uttered a shout of joy.
“You’ve got him! You had him all the time!” Then his grin faded. “Are you mad? Why didn’t you say so in the first place?”
“I’m not exactly proud of the fact that I still carry him everywhere,” Patrick said.
“So you hadn’t stopped believing?”
“I don’t know. I wanted to. I tried to tell my brother about it once, and he teased me for a solid week, saying I was a nut case, telling everyone I believed in fairies. It really got me. Of course I couldn’t prove a thing, not even to myself. So I decided it never happened. But I… I just kept Boone in my pocket all the time, like … well, sort of for good luck.”
Omri had picked up the figure of Boone tenderly and was examining it. The horse’s legs had become a bit bent, and Boone’s beloved hat was looking decidedly the worse for wear. But it was still, unmistakably, even in plastic, Boone. It was the way they had last seen him, sitting on his horse, in his ten-gallon hat, his hand holding a big red bandanna to his nose, biowing a trumpet blast of farewell.
“Ah cain’t stand sayin’ good-bye. Ah jest re-fuse’t say it, that’s all! Ah’ll only bust out cryin’ if Ah do …”
“Come on, Boone!” whispered Omri. And he put him, without more ado, into the cupboard and turned the key.
He and Patrick bent over eagerly, bumping heads. Neither of them brought to the surface of his mind the deep fear they shared. Boone, too, had lived in dangerous times. Omri knew now that time worked the same at both ends, so to speak. A year had passed for him, and, in another place and time, a year had passed for his little men. And an awful lot (and a lot of it awful!) could happen in a year.
But almost at once their fears were laid to rest. There was a split second’s silence, and then, on the other side of the cupboard door, Boone began battering and kicking it, and a faint stream of swear words issued
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