He sauntered into the café

boots covered in mud

dusty all over

tanned from clay

not the sun from

the day.

He laid his weathered

leather hat on the table

she brought him hot coffee,

set it in front of him,

took a look at his face,

dark brown under

all the earth.

But his eyes,

cold blue steel,

piercing like the color

of pale frozen water

beneath an iced over pond,

she caught her breath

when she saw them.

They held her soul,

and she struggled to let go

of the cup and finish

serving his pie ala mode,

kept looking over her shoulder

as she watched him finish

his meal and then motion

to her with hands enlarged

from years of hard work

in the fields.

Without warning,

he opened it wide, and

she handed him the bill

and in an instant he

grabbed her hand,

pushed it open and

placed a small cloth sack

in her palm before

closing her fingers shut,

grabbing his hat

 and heading out the door.

She scarcely could move,

but when she did,

she opened her hand

and pulled open the strings,

moved it cautiously

to the left and the right

inspecting the contents and then

realizing she held pure gold dust

in her hand,

she sat back in the oak chair.

Couldn’t believe her eyes,

still sittin’ bewildered

when the sheriff

popped in for

some coffee and pie

of his own.

She told him the tale

as she served him his due,

the sheriff listening carefully,

‘cause he didn’t know quite what to do.

Look Sue, he told her

in a most serious tone,

don’t go telling this tale to just anyone.

See just today a little past Glidden

I saw an old boy like the one you describin’.

Folks heard he had gold

somewhere a-hidden,

so they chased him down

and worked him over.

No one found the gold

They was expectin’.

But I can tell you right now

where you can find him.

He’s still stretched long and swinging

from the Hanging Tree limb.