Seth slapped the reins hard on the old buckboard and hollered, “Giddy-up there mule, we’re running late. Ma will be thinkin’ I’m smooching another woman. We can’t have that now, when I get home I want to commence eating, not explaining.”

Seth peered up the lonely, dark road and thought he made out the profile of Hank Johnson. When Seth pulled up close enough he let out a holler, “Hey there, you up ahead, is that you, Hank?”

Hank Johnson slowly turned and as Seth pulled the buckboard alongside, he reached out a hand and scratched the old mule behind the ear. “What you hunting for, Hank? Opossum?” Seth asked.

“Nope, I’m on my way to fetch the sheriff. Somebody has done stole my horse, and I’m aiming to catch him.”

“You thinkin’ he might have come this way, Hank?”

“I don’t know whicha way he went, this is the road to town and the sheriff’s office.”

“Well git on and I’ll take you there myself.”

Hank said, “Much obliged,” as he climbed up and settled on the seat.

The moon came out from behind a cloud and Seth noticed the blood that was all over Hank’s pants and shirt. Seth said, “Hank I’ve known you nearly 40 years, ain’t that right?”

“Yeah, that’s about right,” Hank replied.

“Well in all that time I never knowed you to hide nuthin’ or steal nuthin’ or try to lie your way around anything.”

“What you getting’ at, Seth?” Hank asked.

“Hank, why are your clothes all bloody?”

Hank let out a laugh that surely woke up half the county. “I was killing one of my hogs when I heard my horse start to kicking up a fuss, and I didn’t change my clothes when I discovered him gone. I just grabbed my shooting iron and headed out.”

Seth responded, “Now Hank, it’s September and you know that I know it’s too warm to be killing hogs.”

“What’s your point?” Hank asked as he turned his rifle towards Seth. Seth said, “Turn that shooting iron the other way, Hank, I got the drop on you with my pistol.” Hank looked down at the blanket that was covering Seth’s legs and right into the barrel of Seth’s forty-four pistol.

Hank dropped the barrel of his rifle and, hanging his head, began to sob. Seth stopped the wagon, and said, “Tell me what in the sam hill is a-goin’ on, Hank!” Hank let out a shudder and said, “It’s like this, Seth - I came home from picking up some grain over to the mill and when I pulled in the yard I heard Sarah screaming. A minute later this big galloot came storming out of my house and took off running hard towards the woods. I hollered out to him but he didn’t even slow down. When I went in the house, I found my Sarah lying on the kitchen floor, dead. I guess I got the blood on me holding Sarah in my arms. He killed her, Seth, and I got to get the sheriff and hunt down and kill that no-good jackal.”

Seth said, “Now that’s a right shameful story, Hank. How about you sitting real still until we git to the sheriff’s office.” Seth reached across Hank and got his rifle.

Later on, after Hank confessed to killing his wife to the sheriff and he was locked up in the jail, the sheriff asked Seth to explain how he knew Hank was lying about seeing the other man. “What let on to you that it was Hank that killed her, Seth?” asked the sheriff.

“Well, I’ll tell you,” started Seth. “In the 40 years that I’ve known Hank he has never pointed his shooting iron my way, and I happen to know for a fact that he don’t own a horse. However, the biggest lie was when he said he was getting back home from the mill. Now sheriff, you know Hank ‘bout as good as I know Hank. You ever hear tell of Hank Johnson a-going to the store?” The sheriff just shook his head and, laughing, said, “No, I never have, Seth. I never have.”

I’ll be right back.

You can reach Joe Lee at clevelandtidbits@yahoo.com.