volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

The Old Cowboy dropped his scarred
warbags onto the brass bed and sighed.
He eyed the bed suspiciously.
“Sure hope you ain’t ticky.”
There was a rocking chair in the room. Beside it, a small washstand
with a ceramic basin and water jug. Above this hung a mirror, its silver
backing flaked away enough to see the wallpaper through its glass. Beneath
the bed was a ceramic slop jar. Along its rim cherubs played harps.
He unbuckled and coiled his gunbelt, then sat heavily in the creaky
rocking chair.
The gunbelt rested on his lap like a dozing rattlesnake.
The word would get around.
He slid off a boot and dropped it to the floor.
A knife was strapped to his ankle. He removed this and set it on the
washstand.
Word always gets around when you’re fast.
He removed his other boot and it joined its mate.
As with hunting, sometimes the best way to find what you’re looking for
is to sit and let it come to you.
He removed his hat, started to toss it onto the bed, thought better of it,
and dropped it to the floor beside him instead.
Best not to tempt fate.
He rocked, eyes closed, listening to the rhythmic creaking of the chair’s
arthritic joints.
After a while his eyes opened and lighted on his bags. He set his gunbelt
on the floor beside his hat and stood. From inside one of the bags he pulled a
book and took it with him back to the chair.
He resumed rocking.
The book was cracked and foxed and worn from years of fingering. On
its black cover faded gold leaf announced Holy Bible.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 20