Deputy Joe Bob was having trouble with the new automatics the Sheriff had issued to the force. Heck, Joe Bob had just gotten used to the revolver. Sort of used to it. Hadn't fired it by accident for a couple of months. Now, always something new.

"Dang it, weren't nothing wrong with that ole .38 no how. This don't even look like no gun."

The Sheriff himself didn't have an automatic. He still carried that big ole Colt.45 of his daddy's. It really was a hogleg. It looked scary and it was scary. He told Squire Davis that when he pulled out that hog, "folks get real nervous. Ain't hardly ever had to use it. I'm not carryin' one of those sissy guns."

"Why did you buy them for your deputies if you don't like them?", the lawyer asked.

"Well, that's what the Commissioners gave me the money for. What was I supposed to do, say no."

Joe Bob took his apart, field stipped it, and now was puting it back together and having parts left over. He was on his third attempt. The Sheriff just kept shaking his head. Joe Bob was a good guy and honest and dependable but not very good. Fortunately, the crime rate here in Wabash County was non-existent so it didn't matter. Praise the Lord!

BLAM!!!

Joe Bob had finally got it back together right. Then he accidentally fired it. Took out the water cooler; jerked back and whacked Joe Bob in the face too. Jeez, he thought, more stitches.

The Sheriff looked at Joe Bob. He thought about what to say to him. Then, he left. He went home. Next week the new patrol cars arrive.