29 After another sip of coffee, the sheriff said, “Morgan’s made a pretty good deputy over the years. It never occurred to me he might be in Wolf ’s pocket. But, like he said himself, that dealer’s got a bunch of law enforcement folks around this part of the country on his payroll. All that aside, Wolf is damn sure going to prison this time. And maybe he’ll be willing to use some of the dirty cops in his network as bargaining chips.” “What about your deputy?” Wes Simms asked. “He’s locked up. Transported him to the jail over in the next county. Wouldn’t do to house him with criminals he might have arrested. Though I admit I was tempted. The county attorney will be drawing up charges first thing tomorrow morning. It’ll be a long list. I don’t think we’ll be seeing much of Hugh Morgan for quite a few years.” “Just make damn sure shootin’ Number Sixteen is on the top of that list of charges. And don’t let him bargain his way out of it—horses like that don’t come along every day.” The sheriff stood and scuffed at the dirt with the toe of his shoe. “One more question, Bowen—could it have worked?” Bowen thought for a moment before replying. “I suppose it’s possible. But only just. In the first place, Rowdy would’ve had to be in shape to ride, which he wasn’t, thanks to Wolf. On top of that, all the other bareback riders, including Tanner here, would have to put up poor scores. Gettin’ Number Sixteen out from under Lambert might have helped some in that regard, but the boy’s got it in him to win money on damn near any horse that’ll go out there and jump and kick a little.” “What about Wolf ’s threats?” the sheriff asked the young cowboy. “Oh, no doubt him and that ox that follows him around could’ve messed me up pretty good. But they’d have to catch me first. Besides, if it was to come down to it,” Lambert said with a smile, “I’d have fed them ol’ Wesley, here.”
The End
John T. Biggs
J
ohn Biggs has two dilemmas: he’s seen the magic that surrounds everyone, and he can’t stop writing about it. Born in Herrin, Illinois, John fell in love with Oklahoma when looking for a job. It was nothing like the movies had led him to expect. The dust bowl was over. Cowboy hats were as popular as ever. Horses too, but people mostly rode around in cars or pickup trucks when they had serious traveling to do. Oklahoma had a diverse population, and he knew he’d have to write about it sooner or later. One of John’s stories, “Boy Witch” took grand prize in the 80th annual Writer’s Digest Competition in 2011. Another won third prize in the 2011 Lorian Hemingway short story contest. He’s had over sixty short stories published in one form, and four novels: Owl Dreams, Popsicle Styx, Sacred Alarm Clock, and Cherokee Ice. His next, Clementine, will be released in April.