Clarity amongst the few quickly spreads like fire in a mid summer's heat and temptress winds. He sets his chair aside and steps forward along the redwood deck as the gathered group of men and their wives press onwards. The sheriff steadies himself by grasping the coulomb with his left hand, and then proceeds to leans. Angling his eyes to the ground, he sees spots of many colors and patterns about. It doesn't distract him much for he sees it otherwise the current situation. The men and women gathered with household weapons and guns, attempt to open the fence gate. The old and waisted sheriff waits, while he feels for his pistol. His tired hand bitterly takes hold of it, and his posture instinctively mirrors that of a strong oxen or American black bear as his eyes rise.
The anger and displaced peace in his sole exposes the drift in his heart. He raises his right arm with gun in hand and he steps forward again. The sun shines itself behind his house. The gate is open, and the few clamp in.
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