Posted November 21, 2021 / Horace Potee

Horace Potee was sitting at their cabin's table, wringing his hands. The truth was, Horace was a champion hand wringer. His wife, Maude, paced behind him.

"I dunno .., I just dunno," he proclaimed. "If we had something to sell that's worth anything, we'd be able to afford more seed plus maybe get another ox to pull the plow."

"Oh Horace," Maude wailed. "I told you that movin' out here was a mistake. My brother had a job for you at the grain and feed. We'd be in a nice house and .."

Horace stiffened. "I gotta stand on my own feet, Maude. No ways am I gonna take charity from your brother, and that's that."

It was their standard evening argument. Their lines were well practiced and they seldom varied.

More hand wringing from Horace, then... "Maybe I can get lucky at cards."

This was a new twist.

Posted December 11, 2021 / Horace Potee

The noise was heard at late afternoon. The sun had just finished being swallowed up by the western horizon. It was the sound of a bucket being kicked over, so Horace stood up from the supper table where his wife and daughter remained seated in front of their Irish Stew.

"What's that?" he asked. When he opened the door, he got his answer.

There, astraddle their horses were four men, maybe cowpokes?, staring at him as he stood on his porch.

"Can I help you?" he asked, closing the door to his cabin behind him.

"You Potee?" one with a deep, gravely voice asked.

"That's me. Why?" Horace Potee was beginning to feel great apprehension.

"We're here to give you some advice, Potee. You and the other squatters are going to get out before the snow flies. We got cattle that we need to graze yonder," his arm swept out in a vague circle, indicating Potee's homestead.

"We're doin' this for your own good, Sod-buster.." another chimed in. "You want 'ta staying healthy, don't ya?"

Horace angered.

"You men clear out of here! I own this homestead free and clear. So go and stay gone."

This was met with some deep chuckles from the horsemen.

The ringleader nodded his head and the group of them backed away and then road off, their horses hooves tearing up some planted rows of vegetables.

Later inside, Horace sat wringing his hands.

"See the Sheriff," his wife implored, but Horace thought that was a weak move.

"I'm not going to be shooed off this place like a flock of geese," he stated.