On his way out he stopped to say good- bye to He stayed he knew one of them would end up dead.
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Was owing to walk as far away from Sheriff as his feel could stand, because if With some clothes, a candle, and a book he could read over and again because Sheriff had come in the night and stolen his But one dawn months later Bob awoke to find his crops gone. There wouldn't be enough fire to burn them all. After the next harvest he'd buy so many books This and returned to his land in a fury, planting his biggest crop ever. Men carted off books with children stillĪttached to them, children dragged through the streets while clinging to their So Bob went back to raising his cane, andĪfter the next harvest he returned with a stack of books double the size of theĪnd took their wages and their books. He wanted toįight, but no one had ever challenged Sheriff and lived to tell the tale. "Kill them before they grow," heīook the saw and promptly burned them all. In their eyes that seeds were taking root in all those minds. One day Sheriff waddled into town to collectĭidn't know what was inside those books for he couldn't read, but he could see Was at the market imagining all the books he'd buy for his people. But only Bob knew just when to harvest cane,Īnd each season, before Sheriff could begin moving in to snatch Bob's crops, he Having plenty of rum for the winter ahead and the one following.
#I shot the sheriff free
Sheriff thought if he could just take one or two harvests from Bob, withĪll that free can he could finally turn a profit, or at least be assured of That toxic all day, every day, and not die. The old ladies wondered how anyone but the devil's spawn could drink rum Process that liquid fire and sent it right back up to the throat.īrew felt like sucking on Death's own nipple. His overproof rum was so strong even the bombast livers in town refused to Never made money because he drank all the potential profits and what's more, He had a little moonshine business but he Even he couldn't remember what he was like sober. He'd been drunk for years on end, so long no Making rum, or doing anything at all, Sheriff John Brown was drunk. Had stamped the words SHERIFF JOHN BROWN. And in the center of that so- called badge someone It was a flat slab of gold fashioned, heįive little daggers pointing away from his icy heart. Taxes quit often, even though many suspected his badge was homemade. His gun, a solid hunk of gleaming black steel so large it looking like a mini. But they knew he never went anywhere without Government from which he claimed to derive his authority.
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No one could recall how John Brown had become sheriff. As sweet cane began growing in minds all over Stories of the wondrous places the books would transport them to. Walked through town giving books to adults and children, dazzling them with Know this joy, and soon all his profits from sugarcane went to buying books for
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he decided everyone in his hometown had to Reading a book, he felt, was like planting a seed in theīook he could find and felt his head brimming with sweet cane. Bob was a simple man who grew the sweetest sugarcane in all theįorward to nothing but the hour the sun closed up shop and he could be alone in Would ease on the rummy bodies would surely find him and rush him off to a shamįorest, in these last moments of earthly freedom, he had the stoic, chin- highĬourage of a man marching to the gallows for an act he believed in, for this In a few hours a floodlight called the sun Precision that David had used to fell Goliath long ago. That just hours ago had spent a single bullet with the same miraculous And there was a sinewy line of smoke leakingįrom his pocket, floating out from the gun buried inside it, the rickety gun All around, passing right by him, the bodies stinking of rum.