There’s a wooden horse trough in the middle of our town square that’s said to be a hundred or more years old. When visitors pass through, old Wish Hawkins waves them over to show off the trough.
“There’s no more horses,” some wise-ass usually says. “Why keep that around?”
“When somebody commits a felony hereabouts, we drown ‘em in this trough!” Hawkins replies with a solemn wink, and no one knows if he’s serious—or not.
“There’s no more horses,” some wise-ass usually says. “Why keep that around?”
“When somebody commits a felony hereabouts, we drown ‘em in this trough!” Hawkins replies with a solemn wink, and no one knows if he’s serious—or not.
