While rubbing his chin, Roy's unshaven face bristled on a callous palm making the sound of sandpaper running over a stiff, dry brush. Lean and muscular from laboring in a mine, Roy spent most days prospecting and tending his garden. Occasional hunting trips and infrequent visits to town allowed Roy a rare opportunity to interact with other folks from the area, but Roy was a quiet, circumspect individual keeping his conversations to as few words as possible.
When Sally and Molly started up their chorus again, Roy slowly swept his eyes across the landscape. Against a distant hill in the east, Roy spotted a small trail of dust moving his direction. Studying the moving object, Roy sought to determine the nature of his visitor as friend or foe. One could never be too cautious. The front door to his cabin was open and Roy could see the Winchester rifle resting on steel pegs, just above the fireplace. If need be, he could swiftly grab the rifle and ready it for protection.
As the visitor neared, Roy easily identified the individual as the local sheriff. Tension drained away and Roy's body relaxed. The horse-drawn cart drew near, as the sheriff casually waved.
"Howdy Roy."
Roy remained in place watching the sheriff dismount and tie the reins to the fenced corral. While the horse lapped at the water, the mules made clucking sounds and gathered closer. Sheriff Owens removed his hat and dusted himself off, strolling up to the porch. He replaced his hat toward the back of his head and squinted up at Roy.
"How's it going, Roy?"
Roy grunted.
"That good, huh?"
Roy shrugged and dispassionately asked, "You thirsty?"
The sheriff smiled. "My tongue feels dry as a soda cracker. That'd be much appreciated."
Roy held out the freshly filled canteen.
Walking up the wooden steps, the sheriff took the water container and plopped himself into the lone rocking chair. Taking a long swig, the sheriff wiped his face on the back of his sleeve and handed the canteen back.
"Thanks."
The two men stared at each other for a long time, while silence hung in the air.
"You still looking for a horse, or are those two mules good enough for you?"
"Yup"
The sheriff shifted in the chair and leaned forward. "Well, I was talking with Tom down at the blacksmith's shop, 'cause I was getting new shoes for my horse. He mentioned that the Johansson's have a filly for sale."
Roy narrowed his eyes as if to say he didn't follow the sheriff.
"You know the Johansson family, don't you? They bought the Riddle homestead a few years back."