* * * *
Next to the Bike Jump, Sheriff Johnson was coming up on his favorite part of the event.
“Go get it,” he whispered to Kate.
She disappeared around the side of the courthouse and took the large green tarp off the wheelchair. She brought it around slowly, so as not to give away the surprise too soon. Parking in front of James and family, the Sheriff did the honors.
“Today we honor our new Mayor, James VanFleet, for his dedication, both former and future, to this town. On behalf of Weston, we present you with this motorized marvel, handcrafted by an expert in the field. Take her for a spin!”
“Thank you, Sheriff, and everyone! I am very thankful for this wonderful gift,” James replied, saying he thought he should try it out later.
“Later!” the Sheriff called out over the megaphone. “The Mayor wants to try it out later. Maybe we can convince him to try it now. Try it now!” he said, getting into a chanting rhythm. “Try it now!”
One after another, the townsfolk joined in. “Try it now!” they hollered.
.
“Okay! All right! I’ll give it a try. Want to hop on?” James asked little Billy.
“Sure, Daddy! It looks like fun!”
“Forward, back, left, right, fast, and brakes,” said the Sheriff, pointing to the levers.
“It seems simple enough,” replied James.
James started slowly as the path opened before him. Within a minute, he was speeding around, kicking up dirt and smiling as much as Billy.
“Oh, we’re going to have some fun with this back at the ranch!” he told his son.
“They’re jazzed now!” said the Sheriff to Kate, watching the townsfolk cheering and hooting. Time for the big show!” he added.
He was able to get James on the megaphone, with everyone chanting “Speech!” as one might see at an office retirement party, where most people were only there for the free food.
“I would like to thank Sheriff Johnson and all of you for this kind gesture and support of my recovery. Enjoy your weekend, and I’ll be back to work on Monday!”
Most cheered at the news. Only a few were concerned that he was coming back too soon.
* * * *
“They are ready for everyone over at the arena,” the Sheriff called into the megaphone. “This will be the last event of the day. Thank you all for coming and enjoy the show. Please, no hands or other parts on the railing or inside the arena. Enjoy free popcorn and sodas on your way inside. And lastly, let’s cheer on our boys!”
“This half,” waving his arm across a section of crowd, “cheer for the Red Team, and everyone over here cheer for the Blue Team. Let’s go!”
* * * *
They piled into the arena, shoving popcorn into their faces and wiping butter-soaked hands on dirty blue jeans and cargo shorts.
Both men were given the simple rules only minutes before going to opposite corners of the arena, and each with designated armed guards.
“The Sheriff’s rules are as follows,” one of the deputies read. “One, try to escape and we are ordered to shoot you dead. Two, this is a fight to the death. There is only one winner, and your opponent must not be left breathing. Three, you will each receive an identical dagger, called a lance. If it is thrown, dropped or confiscated by your opponent, you will not have a resource to get it back—basically, no time-outs. Four…well, it’s crossed out, so I guess that’s it. Any questions?”
“The winner gets to walk out a free man, right?” asked Ralph.
“That’s the Sheriff’s call—above my pay grade, I guess you might say.”
Each participant was led to the arena’s center with handcuffs, leg shackles, and a two-deputy team. One lawman to undo the restraints and the other to cover him, twelve-gauge style.
The crowded bleachers seemed to strain under the weight. Even the rodeo had never once drawn this big a crowd.
Sheriff Johnson stepped out into the middle of the arena, working up the crowd.
“In the days of the Roman Empire, once the most powerful civilization on this Earth’s face, they were known far and wide for their warriors—the men who fought in battle and the condemned needing punishment for their crimes. They were strong, wild and cunning, and they were known as Gladiators.
“Today we have brought Rome to Southern Colorado. I introduce you first to the Blue Team,” he called out like a boxing announcer, raising his arms to get the cheering started. “This man hails from out of town, stands five feet, nine inches and weighs in at 158 pounds.” Cheers from about half of the citizens erupted, with most forgetting about the children sitting next to them.
“Now the Red Team!” the Sheriff announced, pausing for the fans and being drowned out by the chant ‘Blue Team! Blue Team!’”—on their feet and stomping one foot after the other on the hollow-sounding metal bleachers.
“Now for the Red Team!” he said again, smiling at the raucous crowd. “This man hails from right here in Weston. He stands in at a giant’s height of six foot, seven inches and weighs in at a staggering three hundred forty-three pounds.” Red Team chants now rivaled that of the Blue, with more than a few switching to Richard’s side only on account of his size.
“This is what I’ve been missing!” said the Sheriff, with his bullhorn turned off. “We didn’t have this kind of excitement at the hangings,” he told Kate.
“They’re scared,” said James to Janice, both watching the commotion.
“The men?” she asked.
“No, the citizens. The rabid fans are scared of tomorrow and the day after that. There are no more distractions like we used to have. No movies, social media, or even a drive in the country on a Sunday afternoon for most. This is how things like this, as bad as I imagine it will be, get confused for entertainment.”
“Anything for a diversion,” added Jason.
“That’s right,” replied James. “And tomorrow they will forget all about what happened here tonight. Can you gals
