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But the tears wouldn t go away.
* * * *
It was a slow night when Sheriff William Chase sat in his office
brushing the dirt of a busy day off his boots. As he rubbed the leather
back and forth, he thought of the time five years ago when the little
town of Thunderbolt was wild and rowdy, consisting of little more
than saloons, dance halls, gambling parlors, and brothels. But the west
was growing and slowly gaining in respectability with lawful
businessmen and hard-working pioneers who craved a sense of
stability and demanded law and order.
The time had come for a sheriff, so they inquired until they were
put on the trail of William Chase, a former Pinkerton Detective Agent
and wildcat oil driller. When they found him, he was on a wolf hunt,
capturing hundreds of wolves single-handedly without ever having to
kill one. They roamed in packs, killing cattle, baby steers, and
chickens until Chase put out traps for some and stalked others one by
one. He would keep them from attacking him by jamming his hands
down their throats.
The town felt if a man had all that to his credit, he could most
certainly turn a town like Thunderbolt into a thriving community. It
turned out to be a good decision because after Sheriff Chase got in
office, up sprang a school, a church, and a bank. Thunderbolt was on
its way until the town fathers began a town hall, formed a council, and
took over the city.
Now, the sheriff stalked a new kind of wolf.
His face was tanned, his eyes piercing and dark, and his hair was
closely cropped and dark. He didn t look in the mirror much since he
wasn t a vain man, but one thing about Sheriff Chase, his boots were
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always clean. Many times when Storm would come into his office
he d see the sheriff with his foot on a chair brushing his boots off.
You at it again?
Always keep your boots clean, Storm. If a man s boots are clean,
then you know he s got a clean soul. The sheriff turned and gave his
brush to Storm. Be my guest.
Laughing while he took the brush, Storm lifted his leg, rested his
booted foot on the chair, and began a regiment that would somehow
take hold. From that day on, Storm s boots were always shining
clean his and the sheriff s.
Now, as the sheriff got up and peered through his window at the
people passing by, he saw couples coming and going. Some were just
dance hall girls being walked home by a cowboy after a rowdy
drinking party at the saloon. Others were farmers hurrying to get
home to their wives and kids. Hurrying to a warm house, a comforting
wife, and kids to play with until suppertime. It all painted such a
beautiful picture.
A sheriff s life wasn t conducive to marriage. What woman would
want to be married to a man that might die any day? She d never
know when he went to work whether he would be coming home.
Although the sheriff longed for marriage, he couldn t do that to a
woman. That s why he hadn t married and why he probably never
would.
He d made his decision a long time ago while chasing down a
dirty, rotten killer that went free for raping and killing a seventeen-
year-old kid. That was the day the question of lawman or husband
was put to him.
He chose lawman.
He didn t regret that decision as a rule, but right about now
All at once he smiled when he saw his good friend Storm
Benedict with a beautiful young woman on his arm coming this way.
He opened the door and said, Howdy, Storm. He looked down at
92 Kelly Conrad
Sable and tipped his hat. We must have a new citizen in
Thunderbolt. Mighty pretty one, too, I might add.
Sheriff, this is my mail-order bride, Sable Denis.
Oh, your bride.
Yeah. You said to let you know when she was here. She just
arrived a couple of days ago. You been out of town, so this is the first
chance I ve had to bring her in to meet you.
You ain t married yet?
Not yet. If the weather holds up, we ll be goin over to see the
parson and let him set the day. He looked down at Sable. Sable
wanted kind of a pretty weddin , not just a quick I do, so I m gonna
see what day the parson has open.
Well, Sable, I m mighty glad to meet you. Now, you make this
weasel take good care of you, hear? Don t let him get away with
nothin . I ll check on you from time to time to see if you re all right.
What do you mean? Sable asked, confused.
Oh, nothin really. It s just this wild country out here. It s full of
outlaws, gunslingers, a little bit of everything. I like to police the
prairies every chance I get. You know, look in on the homesteaders
and such. He looked up at Storm. You tell her, Storm.
Well, Sable, I hate to admit it, but he s right. But don t you
worry none. I ll take good care of you.
Well, thank you, sheriff, Sable said. I m sure I ll be fine with
Storm.
Storm put out his hand to the sheriff. Thanks, sheriff. It looks bad
out there, so we d better be gettin on over to the church. You ll check
in with the town fathers, won t you? Tell them everythin is fine?
I ll do that, Storm. Bye now.
As soon as they closed the door, Storm looked up at the sky and
then headed toward the buggy. We d better get goin , he said as he
put out his hand to help her up.
Sable pointed toward the church and said, Shouldn t we be
gettin on over to Parson Brown s now?
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Well, ordinarily I d say yes, but I just noticed the sky. It looks
bad. I think I need to get you home before it starts. We can do this
tomorrow. He took her hand and pulled her along to the buggy and
helped her up.
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