"Oh, yeah," Johnny said quietly. "How stupid of me not to guess."

"So we're going out in the fields. I can tear the throats out of a few animals. I can hunt the dirty bastard down, and then I won't have to go for the reward on you."

Johnny jerked back. "Geez, you wouldn't do that, would you, Clete?"

"Not if I don't have to," Clete said enigmatically, pulling to a stop next to a fence. He got out, picked up the bag of "tools", and started moving. Johnny followed suit, chucking away his cigarette butt. "Pick that up," Clete said. "I don't want any evidence that we were here." The sheriff started walking across the field, toward a distant group of cattle. "Of course, I'll be called out to investigate and the forensics will turn up some dog hair, and if we can't get a price on that fucking dog's head after that, than the councilmen are dumber than I thought."

"Well, what am I doing here?" Johnny groaned. "I'm a businessman. What if someone sees us?"

Clete spat at a cow pie. "I've checked the area out and there's no one around."

"What about our prints?"

"There's lots of farmers prints around here. Just don't step in any cow shit or mud puddles. Remember, I'll be running the investigation anyway, so we'll only find what I want to find."

"But what do I do."

"I just want you to hold a few cows' heads still while I rip out their throats."

Johnny looked at Clete in disbelief. "You'll get blood all over me."

"You can buy new clothes, no problem. Nobody else can know about this – nobody – so you're elected."

"Damn!" Johnny complained. They were nearing the group of cattle and he didn't relish wrestling with the stupid, dirty animals. "I like the drugging and fucking DesirЋe Mitchell better," Johnny said. "She's the hottest, sweetest pussy I've ever fucked. I'd like to have her again."