Sheriff Rexford Reynold was a man to visually drink up. To call him ‘chiseled’ or ‘rugged’ was an understatement; he was a straight up beefcake (and, Fox Den being cattle country, folks knew good beef when they saw it). Despite being in his mid-forties, the sheriff’s jet black hair only showed the slightest hints of graying at its roots, and when he donned his lucky ten-gallon hat no one could notice a thing. His body was ripped; even in his official sheriff uniform it looked like his muscles could bulge out with the slightest flex.

However, once one overcame the initial awe of his sheer strapping form, it was hard not to notice Sheriff Reynold’s other physical attribute: Sheriff Reynold was a one-armed man.

He did not like to talk about the situation that had caused his limb to go missing. Those who had grown up beside him in Fox Den knew that it happened nearly twenty years ago, when he was a virile and far more outgoing young man. But the exact details of the event remained shrouded in mystery; even if directly asked, the sheriff refused to answer. It was clear whatever had happened had changed him into a much more reserved and serious individual.

Short one arm or not, Sheriff Reynold was quite efficient as a lawman. There was hardly an illegal act that happened within the Fox Den community of which Reynold was not aware. While he did have the assistance of his deputy, Asberry Alcott, no one paid his subordinate any mind. It was clear Sheriff Reynold knew the law of the west and even more so how to enforce it.

Sheriff Reynold’s arrival gave Sam mixed emotions; on one hand, the lawman’s indication that he possibly knew about his illegal goings-on filled him with a tinge of concern he might be caught. On the other hand, Sam would be lying to himself if the sight of Sheriff Reynold standing casually by the table didn’t get his heart beating a little. The lawman was hunky.

Flat, however, was all nerves and not doing well at the sight of Reynold.

“Evening, sheriff,” Simpson said, maintaining his professional neutrality, “can I get you something to drink?”

“Thank you, Simpson,” replied Reynold, “as I tell you every time, I don’t drink, but I do appreciate the offer. Besides, I’m working right now.”

“Suit yourself. I remember back in the day you were pretty good at drinking.”

“Back in the day, yes. Long ago.”

“What can we do for you, sheriff?” said Sam slyly, trying to remain cool and collected. He had to- Flat was already starting to shake with fear besides him.

“I wanted to talk to you two,” the sheriff motioned to the table beside where he stood. “Care to relocate?”

“W-What do you need to talk to us about?” spit out Flat, shaking with each word, “I don’t think there should be anything. We- we haven’t done anything wrong. I don’t know what you heard, but-but…it wasn’t us - ”

“-Flat’s been a little under the weather,” Sam cut in, trying to cover for his friend’s suspicious behavior, “you gotta excuse him. Took some medicine earlier, must not be mixing well with his drink. Making him say stuff he has no reason to be saying as no one’s said anything about anything being wrong.” Sam hoped Flat picked up on his word choice and would try harder to relax.

“You’re right, no one’s said anything about anything being wrong,” confirmed Sheriff Reynold, “so why don’t you two come over to the table and I can talk to you about something else.”

With no other option for them, Sam and Flat slowly collected their glasses and made their way to Sheriff Reynold’s table.

“I hear the Fox Den National Bank was robbed today,” said Sam as he took his seat. “Flat and I were out of town, so seems we’re hearing about the happenings here a bit late.”

The sheriff nodded. “It was robbed, yes.”

“I also hear there were lots of witnesses. Guess they say it was one big guy who did the job! Crazy!”

“-What kind of whiskey are you boys drinking?” suddenly inquired Sheriff Reynold.

“I…uh…” Sam stared at the glasses before him. “You know, whiskey. Whatever we normally drink.”

“Hey, Simpson,” Reynold called to the bartender, “what kind of whiskey are these boys drinking?”

“Best stuff I’ve got. It’s called ‘Desert Drop' or some such thing. Good stuff.”

“Expensive stuff?”

“Of course.”

“Of course,” Sheriff Reynold repeated, turning back to the table. “I didn’t realize you two had the means to be drinking expensive whiskey, let alone two glasses each of it.”

Flat’s shaking seemed to slightly increase.

“Oh, is it the expensive kind?” Sam feigned ignorance, “I guess you got our order mixed us, Simpson.”

“I didn’t mix up anything, Sam,” Simpson said back in a matter-of-fact tone.

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“Simpson,” Sheriff Reynold nodded, “you are a good bartender. If you’ve served these boys the expensive whiskey, it must be because they had the means to pay for the expensive whiskey. You said you were out of town earlier, Sam? What were you doing out of town?”

“Well…we were…” Sam found himself at a loss of words.

Sheriff Reynold continued: “It seems you’ve heard about the robbery in town today, but I don’t suppose you two heard about the robbery outside of town, did you? Old Man McAffey’s horse ranch was robbed earlier today as well. It happened just before sunrise. McAffey said there two men- one taller and lean, one shorter and more rotund- and they each made off with one of his top-quality horses. McAffey said at first he was thinking of confronting the criminals himself, but then as the sun began to rise he could see them better and knew exactly who they were. He decided it would just be easier to report the crime to me.”

“Huh,” Sam uttered, but said nothing further.

“So, McAffey said he saw us? He must be mistaken!” exclaimed Flat, still not doing well to keep calm. “We were doing something else outside of town! We were nowhere near McAffey’s place! You can’t trust that old man’s vision, he’s essentially blind!-”

“-Flat, there’s that medicine talking again!” Sam tried to swoop in once more, “Sheriff Reynold’s ain’t said anyone saw us. Not that anyone would have seen us. You best not pay Flat’s behavior any mind, sheriff. Like I said, he isn’t well.”

“No, he doesn’t seem well.” The sheriff’s gaze casually returned to the glasses on the table before him. “And you’re right, Sam, I haven’t said anything about anyone seeing you. You were sharing news with me, I was sharing news with you. As you said, you were outside of town- for some reason, I know it’s hard to place this many hours later exactly why- and now you’ve returned to town with enough money to buy plenty of fancy whiskey for yourselves. Just normal happenstance for you both. Hey, Simpson?”

“Yes, sheriff?” the bartender replied, once again in a professional manner.

“Have these boys ever gotten fancy whiskey like this before?”

“Not that I recall.”

“So they usually drink your cheap stuff?”

“My ‘spit’, as it was just called, yes.”

“-Say, fellows,” Sheriff Reynold addressed the men seated beside him, “you’ve been in Fox Den how long? A couple of months? Came from Kansas, isn’t that right?”

“…I don’t recall us ever mentioning where we came from, Sheriff,” replied Sam.

“But it was Kansas?”

“…yes.” Sam was now beginning to feel a bit of Flat’s nervousness.

“I see. I got a letter earlier this week from a Mashal De La Cruz; said that a couple of fellows who were suspected of being horse thieves somewhere in that state, I can’t say I recall the name of the city at this moment, had disappeared, but they had been spotted heading this direction awhile back. Wanted to know if I’d seen them. Letter gave a pair of names that I thought sounded like yours but I have to admit I didn’t have my reading glasses on at the time...”

Sam shot a glare at Sheriff Reynold. “Okay, sheriff, what game are you playing at?”

“’Game?’” he chuckled. “I’m just making conversation.”

“Mighty directed conversation if you ask me.”

“Well, I haven’t done so yet, but if you would like me to I can- are you and poor, unwell Flat here horse thieves?”

Neither Sam nor Flat gave a reply but their faces were telling.

“Well, now,” Sheriff Reynold stroked his chin, “No answer could mean anything, I suppose. But assuming I were to already know you two are the horse thieves mentioned in the marshal’s letter, and assuming I were to already know you two were responsible for the theft at McAffey’s this morning and assuming I were to already know that you sold the horses you stole to the Panchett Brothers to take out of state which is why you now have money to burn, I would imagine that puts you in a pretty sticky situation with me.”

“-It was supposed to be the last job!” Flat cracked, all but certain they were found out, “just enough so we could lay low and get by while we looked for legitimate work! I told Sam we shouldn’t, but we needed the-”

“-Shut up, Flat!” Sam elbowed his friend with force. Flat may have been a good associate in their line of work, but he was pathetic when he got nervous and spilled his guts with the slightest provocation.

The two men turned towards the sheriff, but found him to have a look of indifference.

“Go on, fight. Get it all out,” he shrugged, “I already know what you two did. In fact, I already knew who you two were when you rolled into town. But be careful not to spill that expensive whiskey if you decide to throw blows at one another.”

“Oh yeah, sheriff?” Sam said back with a sneer, “you know who we are? You’ve just been waiting for us to slip up so you could pounce? Or are you talking big, and only are saying this now because of what that letter from De La Cruz told you?”

“Does it matter?”

“-You said we were of more use to you free!” Flat’s eyes went wide, his mind back to the earlier part of the conversation. “When you came in, sheriff! You said we were of more use to you free! What did you mean?”

The sheriff smirked a little. “You’re right, Flat. I did say that when I came in. I’m glad you were listening beneath all those jitters you’ve got going on.”

“What did you mean?” Flat pressed again.

“Well…” Reynolds sat a little straighter in his chair, “it means exactly what I said. That I think you’re worth more to me free than imprisoned. That is, of course, if you’re willing to shoot straight with me. First things first- you were the pair who stole McAffey’s horses this morning, weren’t you?”

Both men sat still a moment.

“Yes or no? I already know the right answer, but I want to hear it from you before we can talk about freedom.”

“…yes,” Flat softly said.

“And? Sam?” Reynold looked towards Flat’s companion.

Sam crossed his arms with a sore look on his face. “I ain’t no fool, I’m not confessing to anything.”

“Sam, just tell him,” pleaded Flat, “you know what happens if we go back to Kansas.”

“I can assure you once I have your confession I will not arrest you,” Sheriff Reynolds said with reassurance.

Sam cocked his head, slightly confused. “You’re…not going to arrest us? Even if we confess?”

“No, Sam.”

“…well, sure, yeah, we took McAffey’s horses this morning. What’s the catch?”

“Why, Sam, I’m glad you asked. You see, now that you’ve both confessed to me, I’ll keep my word. I will not be arresting you. However, as I said, I got a letter from Marshal De La Cruz; I didn’t tell you the full contents. Marshal De La Cruz was writing to let me know he would be in Fox Den in the next day or two; he wanted to alert me that his intentions are to apprehend you two should he find you.”

“What?!” Sam slammed his fist on the table. “So, what, we’re still getting arrested?!”

“Not necessarily.”

“What do you mean, ‘not necessarily’? You’re gonna turn us over to that marshal!”

“What I said, Sam, was that Marshal De La Cruz wanted permission to apprehend you two…should he find you.”

Sheriff Reynold stared at the two men for a moment in silence.

“Boys,” he finally remarked, “what if I were to give you a chance to beat your charges with me…and be somewhere De La Cruz could not find you?”

Sam and Flat glanced at one another.