Contributor: John Laneri
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It was a Sunday morning when Sheriff Matt Carson arrived at the Judge's house – a large Victorian located on a hilltop overlooking Neverton, a small community along the cattle trail to Fort Worth.
The Judge was none other than the Honorable Theodore Busard, a man that controlled the countryside with a firm hand, a powerful will and a rope that fit readily around many a neck.
Hurrying to the Judge’s office, the Sheriff – usually a relaxed, confident man – was justifiably tense, unsure of the Judge's intentions.
The old man looked up, peering over half glasses. “Take a seat Sheriff. We need to talk.” He pointed a gnarled finger to a stool then returned to his telescope, a newer model that kept him abreast of the happenings in his domain.
To the Sheriff’s eye, the Judge was an frightful man with a skeletal...
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Author:
John Laneri
