They counted to one hundred, shouting each number to make sure the Indians heard. The closer they got to one hundred, the more each boy shifted in place, ready to run and hunt.
Ninety...ninety one...ninety two...ninety three.
Stephen joined in the countdown, yelling the remaining numbers over the boys closest to him.
Ninety six...ninety seven...ninety eight...ninety nine...one hundred.
A few boys had already taken off, dodging trees as they ducked into the woods. The rest shouted a war cry and followed, their nerf guns at the ready. Stephen was in the mass as they bumped shoulders as they weaved around trees. There were only in total of eleven boys in his group but it was still a hassle to start out.
The group dispersed into the thicket, Stephen on his own. The cries of Indians and cowboys alike echoed back to him and he became distressed over the action he was missing. He tried to track down the voices but it wasn't an easy task. He headed in the direction of the shouting but paused when he heard whispering from the hill above him. He glanced up, preparing for a fight but was startled by the sudden log dropping down and rolling towards him. He dove out of the way, shouting and reprimanding the boys who almost maimed him.
He would readily admit their games were as dangerous as they come. It never stopped him from playing.