Southern Sausage Biscuits from The Careless Cook

 

Southern Sausage Biscuits from The Careless Cook

 

Need a quick and very tasty hors d’oeuvre?  You cooking husbands know the drill.  You’ve heard it before.  “Honey, I’m having the girls over for tea, but I need something for them to nibble on. By the way, they’ll be here in a little over an hour.”

 

“Great,” you’re thinking, “I’ll have another hour to sleep and greet these charmers in my bathrobe, right after I polish off two shots of Jim Beam.”

 

I’m here to save the day and postpone a tongue lashing from your one and only, who does not favor Jimmy the Beam for breakfast, or lunch for that matter.

 

Where did I get such a marvelously easy and tasty recipe and why do I tag on “southern” to sausage and biscuit?  Well, you see, my momma was from South Carolina and a wonderful cook.  When I was old enough to hold a spoon, I was stirring this or that, amid murmurs of “This needs a little more salt”, or “I add allspice to the crust.” Her chicken fried steak, pounded by my father with a coke bottle to tenderize, was a treat that had neighbors and stray cats swarming.  Then there was her lemon cake and deviled crab.  Oh, honey chile, I could go on until your taste buds melt.  When we lived in Michigan, every winter she and my father made chocolate candy of endless varieties, left to cool on the back porch, on a frozen marble slab.  A friend of mine hit it on the head:  To hell with Godiva Chocolate!

 

Ok, grab your food processor and let’s hit the culinary road!

 

First the biscuit recipe

 

Heat the oven to 450ºF

 

2 cups flour (I’ve tried both all purpose and bread flour…makes no diff)

1 teaspoon salt

3 tablespoons baking powder

6 pats of salted butter

¾ cup of milk

 

Put everything but the milk in the food processor.  Mix and then add the milk. Mix until the ingredients form a ball in the processor. Too dry?  Gingerly add a little more milk.  Don’t want soggy dough!

 

Flour a large space on the counter and roll out the biscuit dough in a rectangle, a little longer than it is wide.  The dough should be about a quarter inch thick.

 

The filliing

½ pound of loose sausage (I used half a pound of Jimmy Dean Natural Sausage)

 

All sorts of possibilities.   Use hot sausage or add cayenne to the Natural, or use mild or hot Italian sausage.  You’re the cook!  Do what the hell you want!

 

Use fingers or a spatula to spread the sausage over the dough.  I used both, just because I’m not particular and just want to get the job done.

 

Once the sausage is thinly and evenly spread, wet one edge of the dough to make it stick, and roll it up jelly roll style (see photo).  I find it's easier to cut if you let the whole roll rest in the frig for about 30 minutes.

Cut half-inch wide rounds and place on a baking sheet. Bake for about 12 minutes. As I’ve said many times, every oven is different, so add or subtract the minutes.  The sausage biscuits should be lightly browned.  But, don’t overdo it or the biscuits will be hard and your significant other will never forgive you for morning Jim Beam breath.  You want fluffy biscuits and a fluffy life!  Sage advice from The Careless Cook.

 

 

Unexpected Visitors

 

Unexpected Visitors

 

The email was succinct.  “We are coming a little south of you to visit our grandchildren, and were wondering if we might stop in for a couple of days to see how you’re doing.  Should be there tomorrow morning.”

 

Clora and Alfred Wiggins were old friends, at least friends of my former wife.  They’d been our neighbors when we lived in the part of the country where snow was thought of as so beautiful!and interminable winters a gift from the creator of all things large and small.  My wife had shared that view, until we moved to the land of sunshine and sunrises over the Atlantic.  Then she suddenly developed a keen yen for golf and an even keener yen for the golf instructor, Jack “Wizard” Campbell.  

 

Clora and Alfred still lived in the land of the eternal snowplow, and had for almost sixty years. Both are older than I, but also have personalities and dispositions that are more suited to hibernating bears than more social animals.

 

He was a retired tree surgeon and she had been president of the garden club for a short while.  Not sure what they do now.  Probably putting a keen edge on insufferability, and adding to their list of suspicions.

 

My first question I asked myself was, how long did they plan to stay and the second was why after years of silence did they want to see how I was doing?

 

But no matter the answers, I couldn’t turn them away.  I could withstand almost anything for just a couple of days.

 

They pulled into my driveway in their RV on Wednesday, with their Irish Wolf hound, Vagabond.  You only need to know a few things about Vagabond, besides his immensity.  First off, his nose is a crotch rocket. Steel cups mandatory for those things you hold dear.  He also requires four or five square meals a day, and thinks of a yard as a port-a-potty that goes where he goes.  Clora and Alfred don’t seem to mind the mounds that looked like African warrior ants built their dream castles on my lawn.  I do mind.

 

“Oh, he’s just in a new place,” Clora says.  I’d like to send him to a better place.

 

Yes, and he finds a new place every time the front door opens, if he makes it that far.  The porch and my welcome mat will do in a pinch.

 

“What do you have planned for us to do while we’re here?” asked Alfred, showing the same smile he’d use if he held a winning ticket at The Kentucky Derby.

 

I wanted to say, “Well, the first thing is a game of dog shit removal. Sorry I don’t have a shovel. You’ll have to use your hands. ”  But, I didn’t say that.  I could have said, “Let’s try your sniper skills with a game of put the dog down.”  But, I didn’t say that either.

 

I’d previously suggested they keep their mucus mutt in the RV, but Clora must have heard that suggestion before and was ready for it.  “Vagabond thinks he’s a human and I just can’t bare not to have him where we are.  He gets so lonely.”

 

Why oh why can’t he get lonely for the RV and hump the built in sofa instead of mine? 

 

I haven’t told you what Clora and Alfred look like.  Clora has short, rather unkempt gray hair, wears rimless spectacles and has a body that last exercised toward the final stages of the Civil War.  I’ve begun to think the name Clora was her mother’s little joke, short for chloroform.  Her endless opinions could make lemmings take another stab at cliff jumping.  She can begin a reasonable, if useless story about nothing and still manage to tag on a recounting of each and every cousin’s marriage, the good and bad of society and why foreigners should learn English before they dare… etc, etc, etc.  I sat quietly and was quickly striding toward dreamland when Alfred dared to disagree. “All foreigners aren’t bad.  At least some of them.”

 

Clora’s look of damnation shut him up like a well hit one iron to the forehead.

 

Alfred is not a bad guy, as tree surgeons go. He does shave and has clean fingernails, and unlike his darling wife, he is razor thin, and keeps tidy what’s left of gray, wispy hair short.  He does follow his wife into the world of rimless spectacles, last purchased at a discount during the great depression. 

 

They finally got down to brass tacks over dinner at the Golden Diner Buffet.  “It’s my darling’s favorite,” said Alfred.  “She really likes the custard pie, don’t you sweetie?”

 

Like it? This woman’s appetite could scare pastry chefs.  I’m surprised the desert server didn’t say, “Sorry ma’am, only one pie to a trough.”

 

Oh, well, I told myself, just one more day and good god almighty, free at last.

 

“If you wouldn’t mind,” Alfred begin, “and if it’s ok, our son has gotten a bad cold and we’d like to stay another few nights.  You know my Clora has a heart condition and type 2 diabetes, plus high blood pressure.  We just can’t take a chance.”

 

Damn, doctor, this sure is puzzling, especially the part about the diabetes.  Yes, why don’t we start her on two packs of Marlboros a day and keep an eye on her.

 

“Goodness, I wish I could say yes, but Local 151 Bearers of Bad News has it’s reunion tomorrow.”  Once again, I forfeited the right to sanity and didn’t say it.

 

I nodded a simple yes and even managed a smile.  Not my best smile, certainly, but weak and mournful fit the occasion. 

 

“Oh, wonderful,” Alfred said.  “Tonight we’d like to take you out to dinner at the Lickin’ Chicken.”

 

“Do they have a full service bar?”

 

“My Clora and I don’t drink.”  He gave me a pious glance.  “Our savior doesn’t approve.”

 

Lots of different thoughts on that.  Jesus didn’t turn the water into grape juice.  Would have been a different outcome, possibly involving violence. Once again I held my tongue, except to offer a suggestion.

 

“You ought to try it.  Really helps with pain and stress and boredom.”

Three Sensational Novels!

Three Sensational Novels!

Ah, the vanity of self promotion.  With most of my faithful readers ensconced in their tidy mansions, with wives or loved ones, living the quietly dull life and eagerly yearning for adventure, I take this brief moment to reintroduce you to the pleasures of reading…specifically my three novels, which Amazon will so thoughtfully deliver to your door in paperback form, or via electronic delivery for fans of Kindle.

The covers of all three are on the both the top and right side of this page, and have certain things in common:  They are all southern mysteries with southern charm and dark secrets….but of course practically every novel is a mystery.   All three take place in Cassarora County, a fictitious place that probably sounds like a place where you grew up, crawling with quirky characters, and blistering secrets. All three have stand-alone plots, but the second and third novels share central characters.

To take them in order, and I know you want to!:

Cassavora County – local politics, a possible murder, and a tangled school board that knows a little less about education than high school drop outs.  Jake Morgan is running for a post on the school board and finds he's in a snake-pit. Ah, the twists and turns of small county politics, with very private and dark goings on in the privacy of locked door and closed curtains.

As one reader wrote:  The whole political mudslinging package comes coated in Southern Fried charms, with an unmistakable whiff of honeysuckle that will keep you spellbound to the end of every antebellum page.  … Edward Rasimus, author of several classic books on the air war in Vietnam

Lowdown. Dirty. Shame. introduces Jack Hudson, a small town writer who volunteers to help a college frat buddy keep tract of a wayward wife, someone with whom Jack is very familiar.  And before he can take a breath, he’s caught up in a wife’s disappearance and surrounded by dangerous secrets.  A private investigator who's not sure he's an investigator and all of a sudden definitely doesn't want to be.

A reader’s comments:  A treat for readers…Jack Hudson, a likeable guy in a small town…He’s witty, smart and attractive, a wicked trifecta…If you like to root for the good guy, that at times looks dirty, then Jack is your man and this book is a must read!  William Stroud second novel, Lowdown. Dirty. Shame. is yet another fun read, with wit and charm, just like his debut novel, Cassavora County.   …Stephanie McKee, noted educator and world traveler.

Maybe Murder is the latest novel in the misadventures of Jack Hudson.

As usual, Jack is caught in the sticky business of life and death, kill or be killed.  And he’s being blackmailed. And the body of a girlfriend’s ex is found in his home.  And, his girlfriends, old and new, have their own secrets and agendas.  Such is the life of a small town writer.  The situation in Cassavora County has never been darker, or more confusing, or deadly.  Somehow Jack has got to figure out how to survive the madness, while sorting out his love life, staying out of jail, and most importantly staying alive.

One note of caution:  As you desperately prowl Amazon in a frenzied search for these fine, glorious, interesting southern mysteries, use both the author’s name, William Stroud, and the name of the book. There are several William Strouds on Amazon and many similar book titles.

Chicken Chorizo Stew from The Careless Cook

 

Chicken Chorizo Stew from The Careless Cook

 

I went into a local supermarket for a single item that had nothing to do with food.  But on the way to getting paper towels, I passed the meat counter and a small, innocuous sign that claimed if I bought one package of boneless, skinless chicken breasts, they’d give me a second one FREE!

 

My cooking brain was immediately captured by the boundless possibilities.

 

As they say, follow your dream, but don’t pass up opportunities.  My dream was to buy paper towels…

 

But, once you start down the path of opportunistic occasions, you can’t just turn off the flow of creative juices.  Hey, sliced fresh mushrooms at half price certainly fell into that category.  Into my basket they went.  A package of baby carrots?  Certainly.  A can of Goya black beans, 30% off, likewise a small can of…

 

Men and women of the jury, do you blame an innocent and very careless cook for expanding his dream from paper towels to a proper repast?

 

What if Orville and Wilbur had stuck to just making bicycles, or Henry Ford had settled for making one tin lizzie at a time?  Think of Gordon Ramsey stopping after he gloried over his first peanut butter sandwich!

 

Of course the world would have been better off if the folks at the Wuhan Lab had been a tad more careful following their opportunities.  There are exceptions.

 

But, I wasn’t about to stop my dreams for chicken breasts just because others had minor shortcomings here and there!  My mind was churning far past chickens.  Wonderful, flavorful chicken Stew! Time to add some spice to my life!

 

Time to add some spice to yours!  Forget about ordering a pizza, or settling for a bowl of cereal.  Think big! Think marvelously tasty!  Think about….

 

Chicken Chorizo Stew by The Careless Cook

 

Ingredients

3 large, boneless, skinless chicken breasts, cut into bite-sized pieces

1 32 oz carton of chicken broth

2 cups baby carrots

1 large onion, diced (I used a sweet onion)

2 cups (1 package) sliced mushrooms

1 can black beans, strained and rinsed

1 small can mild, diced chiles

1 large chorizo sausage, quartered and sliced (I used the hot Portuguese version of chorizo)

Several stalks of fresh oregano. 

Olive oil, as needed

 

But, as with any careless cook, if you don’t have exactly what you need, flex your culinary muscles.  No problem using another type of beans or onion, or peeling and chopping regular size carrots. Don’t like chorizo, use smoked sausage. No oregano in your kitchen garden?  Use the dried version, or pick another herb you like. Things are still going to turn out deliciously fine!

 

Puttin’ It Together

In a frying pan, sauté the mushrooms in a little olive oil until they are golden.  Add the onions and cook until translucent.  Remove mushrooms and onions from the pan and put them in a large soup pot.

In the same frying pan, add a little more oil and sauté the bite sized chicken chunks. When they’re browned, add them to the soup pot, along with the chorizo, the black beans and the green chilies.  Pour in the chicken broth.  Toss in the stalks of oregano. Cook on medium heat and give the stew a quick stir. 

Put the top on the soup pot and let it simmer for about 30 minutes to allow the flavors to blend. Remove the oregano stalks before serving.

 

Yes, it is delicious!  Yes, you should give yourself a pat on the back.  I suggest putting down your glass of wine before you do that.

 

Now time to follow the opportunity for another glass full to accompany this wonderful and remarkably careless meal.

Blender Lime Pie by The Careless Cook

Blender Lime Pie by The Careless Cook

 

This time it’s Lime Pie in the blender.  I’ve already given you a blender lemon pie and a blender banana cream pie, generous soul that I am.

 

Blender Lemon Pie by The Careless Cook

 

Blender Banana Cream Pie by The Careless Cook

So, I said to myself, as I finished the second swallow of a Perfect Manhattan, “Let’s see how the magic works with limes.”

 

Limes are a little smaller, so why not try two limes?  Lime skins are also more bitter than lemon skin, so…..well, I’m jumping along too fast and starting to spill my drink.

 

You may remember that Daphne wanted to know how to take the seeds out of lemons, if I was using a WHOLE lemon.  This time, for Daphne’s sake, I include a photo of what peeled limes look like and also came upon a fundamental question about limes.  

They have no seeds, so how do the citrus growers grow new trees? Hummmm……well, not all limes are seedless, although those at the grocers, usually Persian or Tahiti, are.  Other limes, such as the small key limes do have seeds.

 

So, Daphne, once you’ve peeled the limes, just chop ‘em and you don’t have to worry about the seeds.

 

Seedless limes are propagated by grafting, which is the chosen method because grafting is a plant version of cloning.   Clone great fruit and you get great fruit.  Another reason to graft is to take advantage of trees that have strong roots.  This is the simple version because I know my three faithful readers getting irritated and anxious to follow me back into the kitchen to get going on the cooking and of course to top off the Manhattans.

 

Blender Lime Pie by The Careless Cook

 

Ingredients

 

2 whole limes, washed, PEELED and chopped (Be sure to remove as much of the white pulp as you can…it’s bitter.)

3 large eggs

½ cup butter, melted (1 stick)

a slosh of vanilla extract

1 ½ cups sugar

 

1 deep dish piecrust, either store bought or home make (recipe for piecrust is on the lemon pie post)

 

Heat oven to 350ºF or 180ºC

 

Putin’ It Together

 

Put all the pie ingredients (not the piecrust!) in the blender and blend longer than you would for lemons.  Limes tend to have more pulp. So if you want a smoother consistency, after blending, strain out the pulp.  I prefer to leave the pulp in.

 

The pie will take about 40 minutes to bake, but every oven is different, so I suggest starting with 30 minutes and check it.  Add another five minutes and more if needed.  My pie took 38 minutes.

 

The center of the pie should not wiggle very much when it’s done, however, if you eat too much of it, you might.

 

Note:  The flavor is both sweet and tart, which to me is perfect.  If you want it sweeter, just taste the custard while it is still in the blender and add more sugar to suit your taste.

 

Yes, a good lime pie is important, but even more important is a good Manhattan.

 

Perfect Manhattan (From the bartenders at 45 Jermyn Street, London, England (Jermyn is pronounced German)

 

2 oz Four Roses or another good Bourbon

½ oz sweet vermouth

½ oz dry vermouth

a twist of orange peel

 

But, wait a sec….where did the name Jermyn come from?  Short answer:  Henry Jermyn, 1^st Earl of St Albans, who was at the forefront of the construction of the St James area of London.  He was also a loyalist and fervent monarchist during the time of Charles I (executed 1649) throughout the Protectorate (Oliver Cromwell) and the restoration of the crown (Charles II) in 1660. 

 

See how much just one Manhattan can teach you!  Settle down, sit down, and have another.  Let’s talk a bit about the English Civil War….

Tasty and Hasty Pasta by The Careless Cook

Tasty and Hasty Pasta by The Careless Cook

 

Sometimes things just spring to mind.  No, not that.  I’m referring to food.  I’d just had a swim and was driving home when pasta did the springing.  My body was begging for some solid carbs with Italian flavors, accompanied of course by some Italian vino.

 

My water-soaked mind quickly reviewed the contents of the pantry, with a glimpse into the freezer section of the frig.

 

Had this, had that, had those other things. Good supply of fruit of the wine. All I was missing was pasta.  Could have been something of a show-stopper.

 

But, the show never stops for The Careless Cook!  My self-steering car automatically pulled into the parking lot of a friendly grocer.

 

A self-steering car?  You may well ponder.  Yes, I was steering it myself.  And I was lying about the friendly grocer.  It was a large supermarket chain; impersonal, but stocked with a vast array of what I was looking for. In seconds I was in and out and headed home. 

 

You see, meals don’t take a lot of planning, if you keep your kitchen well stocked with healthy supplies and your mind well supplied with a sense of culinary adventure.

 

I know my three faithful readers are all about adventure and I can see by their half empty wine glasses they’re ready to join me in the kitchen.

 

Let me top you off with another splash or two of a nice, silky smooth Primitivo. Salute! (Sal-ut-tey)

 

Tasty and Hasty Pasta From The Careless Cook

 

Ingredients

1 lb ground beef

a package of sliced mushrooms

2 spring onions, sliced

1 ½ cups cherry tomatoes, sliced in two

1 cup chopped, oil cured, sundried tomatoes

At least two big handfuls of fresh spinach

1 package of pasta (I used Mueller’s Lemon Pepper Rotini) I found that the short rounded pasta blends better when you’re not using a sauce.

Salt and pepper to taste

Italian seasoning to taste

Olive oil as needed

Grated Italian cheese and chopped cilantro for garnish

 

Puttin’ It Together

 

Boil the pasta according to package directions.

Sautee the sliced mushrooms in a little bit of oil, until they are lightly browned.

 

In a larger pan, cook the ground beef, breaking it up as much as you can.  When the beef is cooked add all the other ingredients except the spinach, but including the sautéed mushrooms, and cook until the cherry tomatoes are softened.  Add the spinach and continue to cook until the spinach is wilted.  Add salt, pepper, and Italian seasoning to taste.

Drain the pasta and return it to the pasta pot.  Slosh in a little olive oil and stir.

Add the cooked beef mélange to the pasta and stir.  Questo è tutto! That’s it!

Plate it, add the garnishes and slosh some more wine in the glasses!

No doubt you will be greeted with applause and a request for more wine.

 

 

  

Peckerhead, a Short Story

 

 Gordon Peckerhead Wass a ruffian of the first order.  He preferred be called Slide or Mr. Slide and he's already killed three men for calling him by his last name.  His father before him had killed two and his mother one.  Calling the family fierce was like calling a Tasmanian devil irritable.

With both his parents gone to the great beyond, Mr. Slide ran the Manahoy gang in the town of Liquid Springs, not to be confused with the nearby town of Dry Gulch.

 

Dry Gulch was called by it’s native American moniker, Rushing Waters, until Slide and his gang took over the area’s water supply and community swimming pool.  Before the swimming pool had been free, but now anyone who wanted to swim paid Slide and his boys a nickel to get in and another nickel to get out, plus interest of a penny an hour.

 

Jack Spanker, Mr. Slide’s number two, also called Number Two by the townspeople, had a rough time with math and was easily confused. Youngsters often swam for an hour and exited for a penny instead of 6 cents.

 

The other members of the gang sharpened their skills by going into the desert to shoot slingshots at cougars and make a run for it.  Two members hadn’t run quite fast enough.  Cougars never tired of the game.

 

Sheriff Duewa Diddy, had only killed one man for calling him by his last name.  But, it had been a fair fight. The sheriff took the guy’s gun and gave him a running start.

 

Right now, Sheriff Diddy had a giant problem.  The town folk in Liquid Springs were starting to complain about the rising cost of hay, now that Gordon Peckerhead had cornered the hay market and burned the fields of those who complained.

 

The problem could be easily solved by buying hay from Dry Gulch, except the Dry Gulch fields had all withered and died.

 

Sammy Hoof had come up with another solution, breeding cows that ate only a quarter of the hay a normal cow ate. Sadly, they were skinny, very skinny, and only stood two feet tall.  Milk was still labeled a gallon, but only contained a cup, and a twelve-ounce steak could fit in palm of your hand.  

 

Sheriff Diddy had a solution.  The city council recertified measurements.  A cup was now officially a gallon, and six ounces of steak became twelve ounces.  A large bail of hay would now fit in a lunch pail, while ranchers were prohibited from breeding anything but short, skinny cows.

 

Even with the new measurements, it was more than the suffering citizens of Dry Gulch had.  They started moving to Liquid Springs.  Land prices in Liquid Springs shot up like English arrows at the Battle of Crécy.   Nobody was terribly happy.  Mental illness was a pandemic.

 

The city council altered the times of the day. Daylight was declared to be from two in the morning to midnight and official night shrunk to two hours.  They called it moonlight saving time. Liquor stores within a hundred mile radius gave their employees cash bonuses and threw street parties in major cities.

 

Merchants opened their doors at four in the morning, but couldn’t hire enough employees. Worst yet, customers didn’t show up. Revenue dropped into the bottom of a deep well.

 

The city council of Liquid Springs voted to raise taxes to pay for newly arrived citizens of Dry Gulch to have affordable housing.  One council member lost the will to live after being marinated in a pond.  Another quickly changed his vote, in the middle of the street with a gun to his head.

 

It was time for the citizens of the two towns to combine forces and take action.

The action came the by name of The Silver Kid, whose father had been a gunfighter, The Lead Kid.  His grandfather was The Happy Kid, the founder of Liquid Springs, which at the time was called Damp Springs.

 

The day The Silver Kid kicked the door of the saloon and strode in was the day the citizens of both towns realized they’d made the right choice.

 

The first thing The Kid noticed was cowboys going in the ladies room. He pulled out his polished steel Bowie knife and told the cowboys, all two of them, one of whom was the Sheriff, to stop bothering the ladies, or stand by to become steers, with all the rights and privileges to squat instead of squirt.

 

He didn’t have to use his knife to make some conversions, and to get the sheriff to take off his badge, toss it to The Kid and make a hasty retreat, the saloon doors swinging.

 

Next, The Kid turned and called out Peckerhead, who was sitting at a poker table with a large stack of chips in front of him.

 

“Men have died, calling me by my last name!”  Peckerhead got up and reached for his long barreled forty four.  Chips scattered.

 

“And men have died interrupting me,” The Kid said, pulling out both silver pistols and dotting the i on Peckerhead’s liver, crossing the t of his throat and turning the h for head into an H.

 

The silver pistols sparkled as they spun and were holstered in a flash.

 

Mr. Slide slid.  

 

Within the hour, gang members fled the city, and those who stayed repented of their sins at the Sin No More Church of Holy Smoke. The collection plates soon had to be carried by weightlifters and the pastor bought his wife new shoes. 

 

The two towns shared a cemetery, Chelsea Boot Meadows, featuring a state of the art Jenn-Air crematorium and bakery.  Trouble was, nobody could afford to be buried there.  And nobody wanted to buy the bread. The Silver Kid paid for one body to be camped for eternity.  Citizens put weights on the drowned council member and left him to sink in the pond.

 

Moonlight Savings Time, however stayed on the books.  Nobody knew why and nobody wanted it.

 

The towns merged and became Liquid Gulch.

Many years later, a statue of Peckerhead stood in the town square and his time became known as a time of great prosperity.  Beside him stood a statue of a very small cow and a tiny set of scales.  Under the statue the plaque read, Mr. Gordon. Slice, Prosperity For the People. A true gentleman of the old west.

 

In that same future decade, The Silver Kid was vilified by the town council as a killer and his statue was taken down in the dead of what was left of the night.

 

A nearby town of Dusty Fields lost their water rights and soon citizens of the town began to emigrate…

PINTREST DID NOT PERMIT ME TO ADVERTISE THIS STORY AS WRITTEN.  NO SPECIFICS GIVEN, BUT I TOOK A GUESS AND HAVE CHANGED THAT PART OF THE BARROOM SCENE.