Glory Be

Chapter Eight - The Sheriff

Earlier That Day

The sheriff believed the only good way to start the morning was with a smoke and a horse ride. He would follow the boundaries of the town at a slow trot. The steps of the horse's hoofs across the dusty ground became like a meditation to him. His gaze held onto the horizon, and the sun would slowly overtake the sky.

They usually advanced from the west. Cowboys, outlaws, gunslingers, buccaneers, bandits—Whatever they went by, their eradication was the sheriff's only desire. The obsession had become like schizophrenia. A moral split. Hands tightening on the reigns whenever a distant juniper bush shivered in the wind.

Cowboys.

They plagued this land like some sort of biblical locust swarm. Stealing, fucking, and killing. Immoral bastards. They were the type you could never trust in the Sheriff's eye. No matter how they presented themselves in town, as honest and as caring as they pretended to be, they were all the same. Out to get something or someone. The Sheriff wasn't exactly sure how they got that way. Sold their souls to the devil or so cracked out on the high of never having to actually work for something meaningful. Those bachelor's out on the plains, with no families to care to, no work to show up for; they were lazy. The lazy kind that stole from the people that worked.

The Sheriff flicked his finished cigarette to the ground. The dusty soil consumed the last bit of fire within an instant. He waited impatiently for one of his deputies, it was time to change the guard. His horse exhaled audibly, emitting a puff of air from its nostrils. The steed, a sturdy brown male quarter horse, possessed a calm, well-mannered attitude, and followed every command. Partnered for the last 5 years, the duo had stopped countless outlaws together. However, the steed was near the end of his prime—it was almost time to look for a new partner. The Sheriff gave the horse a pat on the neck, while he fumbled for the tobacco in his jacket.

The sound of galloping had the sheriff rapidly shifting towards his gun. He pulled on his reigns and his horse turned towards the noise. The sheriff groaned; it was just his deputy. He knew who it was based on the horse, only Morgan rode a black stallion. He was one of the younger men on his crew, but Morgan had a fire within him that some of his other deputies lacked. A passion and a desire equal to the Sheriff.

When the man was within earshot, the Sheriff stated, "Morgan, you finally came."

"Sheriff Stratton," Morgan acknowledged with a respectful nod, "Apologies sir, did I keep you waiting long?"

"Only long enough for my cigarette to go out," The sheriff's steed began to trot towards the town, "Keep watch to the west Morgan, I got a bad feeling about today." The Sheriff knew he felt that way most days, but it was better to always give in to that feeling of paranoia, than to be surprised when the gut feeling was right.

"Of course, sir." Morgan said, his slouch hat slipping over his eyes as he turned out to the horizon.

The Sheriff made his way back to the town, his gaze never resting from keeping watch. The town's entrance was encompassed by a large square sign. With red paint, the words, "Red Hawk, pop. 872" scrawled the wood in cursive lettering. He rode through the gates without issue and gave a few approving nods and waves to his men.

He wouldn't remove himself from his horse till he gave the town a ride-through. He liked to see things from the height of his horse. The tops of heads, the backs of trailers, and inside of businesses. He'd scan the faces of people on the streets, trying to read their intentions and emotions. He could usually tell when there was unease; It would stain the air like a sulfurous gas.

Today there was an obnoxious heat beating down from the sun. Reaping the surroundings with intense humid air. So, no conclusion could be made. Everyone looked pissed off. The Sheriff made his way to a local general store and tied up his horse outside. He adjusted his trousers and headed into the store. This general store, owned by a man named Gabriel, sold items more on the side of metal and woodwork. Such as tins, iron decorations, barrels, kitchen appliances, and more.