Death Rides a Pale Horse

The cop’s look was suspicious, even if his tone was friendly.  How does a town this small have its own police force?  Always a fan of the getaway; I felt not too confident.  Damn, I shouldn’t have un-saddled.  Ten days riding through Georgia, and my first five miles into Alabama found me in a tight spot.

“You have some ID?”  I know the law, does he. I didn’t have to show him ID; I wasn’t doing anything that required it. Ya right. I handed him my license. The cop headed for his car with my ID in hand.

 ”This don’t look good.” I said to the guy who had brought me some pizza.  He was the Mayor’s son.

“Oh shit, you wanted?”

“Yes”

“The keys are in my car.”  he whispered “You can steal it”

I eyed his Honda.  It did look fast.  But is there room for me, my tack, a German Short-hair pointer and my horse?  I wasn’t sure.  The cop knew the roads and I did not.  I could probably knock him out easy enough, or there is the .45 in my saddle bags.  Na, that’s real trouble. I better just hope for some luck.  Its been a good ride, anyways………..

I will say this about jail in Alabama, everyone is friendly. Southern hospitality, they pride themselves on it.

The radios, computers and worldwide dragnet of the modern police system.  Being an outlaw isn’t what it used to be.

Revelation 6:8

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