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"Where did you learn that buffoonery? When you pull out the gun, it's for shootin’ and when you shoot, you shoot. Period. You want to be a gunslinger or a two-penny circus act?"

Weasel looked at his feet. “Sorry, Paw.”

“Sorry ain’t gonna cut it. If I catch you playin’ to the gallery again I’ll ram that toy between your cheeks and pull the trigger so fast you won’t know what hit you.” He knew from experience that his father was dead serious.

Hugg went back to the table with the haul to try to summon back the good mood he was in. Muttering under his breath, he struggled to calculate how much he could possibly get for it all. The sums he was coming up with were in the thousands of dollars. That cheered him up a bit. It became short-lived, however, when he found himself unrolling a large sheet of paper. He hated when he couldn’t understand things, and there was nothing he could understand less than a document full of writing. One thing he did know: rich and powerful folks could perform miracles by showing a piece of paper like that one. It looked official and the stamps seemed familiar, like the designs printed on banknotes. If tiny banknotes could hold so much power, maybe this big one would get him even further.