The Urickh Town Sheriff had been alerted of the outlawed woman, and was on the lookout for her, knowing she would probably show up in his town. In fact, the sheriff was waiting by the edge of the woods when the woman herself reached Urickh. She stepped out of the forest, and was immediately greeted by the Sheriff, who bound her arms together and began to walk towards his office.

The woman struggled and was about to scream for help, before realizing nobody would help her. They had been told she was a criminal, and they believed she was getting what she deserved.

 She closed her eyes, gritted her teeth, and thought of her childhood. She thought of her dear younger brother, and of his not-so-dear temper, and she attempted to channel his energy. 

She remembered the time her brother had set up a trap to pour a bucket of spoiled milk over her head. She recalled the way her brother had always pulled the tail of her cat, who was named Barley-Sugar. On the same topic, she broiled with rage when she remembered how her brother had always called her cat “Barely-Booger”. 

That was enough. She opened her eyes. She jumped forward and socked the sheriff in the nose. She had learned another thing from her brother: Wrestling for Dummies.

 She then poked her fingers in his eyes, and pulled his meager bunch of greasy hair. The sheriff, momentarily blinded, released his grip of the rope he was leading her by. 

She bolted, her eyes fixed on the forest ahead of her. She was getting closer, closer, closer. She was going to make it! 

Just then, an eight-year-old boy walking by let go of his mother’s hand and stuck out his mischievous little foot. The woman who was running for safety tripped over it, and soon, was back where she had started. The sheriff took advantage of the moment, and bound her once again, leading her more cautiously and quickly this time. But it wasn’t necessary on his part. 

The woman had given up.

The sheriff was a large man, with broad shoulders, large, tattooed fists, and a protruding brow. He wore a large, lumpy hat, that looked as if it was concealing some dark secret. The woman could have sworn she saw it move as the Sheriff slammed the door of the fancy looking sheriff’s office. 

“Well, Sally! Here ya are! Welcome to yer surprise birthday party!” The sheriff, who had previously talked in a sophisticated, Urickh accent, was now speaking loudly and boisterously. He sounded nothing like he had just a moment ago when they were still outdoors. And who was sally? The woman didn’t know. The sheriff released his grip on the woman’s arm, and grinned. One of his teeth popped out, and his eye began to twitch like a cheetah about to spring. The woman ran for the door. She had to get out. She jerked on the doorknob, but it was locked. How had the door been locked? Just a moment ago, she had walked through it, and the sheriff couldn’t have reached it without her seeing. A groan could be heard from somewhere behind her. She turned slowly around. Something wasn’t right. 

As soon as the woman turned, the large sheriff began to dance a jig, and even worse, he ripped off his hat to reveal a fat orange tabby cat perched atop his head. Suddenly, out of a nearby corridor, music could be heard. Soon, a tall, thin man emerged, played an accordion, and playing it badly. A small, fat man leaped out of a closet and began to bang on a tin pan melodiously. An old man who looked as if he had crawled out of the earth stepped out from another door. He was holding a giant pink birthday cake. They all joined together, and began to sing:

“We baked you a birthday cake!

If you get a stomach ache,

If you moan and groan and woe,

Don’t forget we told you so!”

They all finished in chorus, and shouted, “Happy birthday Sally!” In a breathtaking chord progression. 

The woman backed against the locked door. She was speechless. What had she just witnessed? It was almost as bad as the time Uncle Lucifer had burst in the door of her peaceful home wearing a sherpa magenta leopard print onesie singing ‘Polly Wolly Doodle’! She shuddered and squeezed her eyes shut. Then the man who she thought had been the sheriff but couldn’t possibly be the sheriff because the sheriff of Urickh was sophisticated and didn’t sing in melodic minor seventh or dance jigs or hang out with old men who looked as if they had emerged straight from the dark ages spoke.

“Happy Birthday Sally! We just wanted to git up a little surprise fer you, and celebrate yer birthday. We wanted you to know that you are just about the best fifth cousin’s Uncle’s nephew’s grand niece we could ask for!” 

The woman opened her eyes.

“Who are you? And my name isn’t Sally…I uh…I think you’ve got the wrong person, sir.”

The man opened his eyes wide. His face fell. The small, fat man dropped his frying pan on his own toe, and howled in pain. The accordion player played one, mournful, off-key note, and fell silent.

The crazy old man wheezed and bared his teeth. Actually he didn’t have any…well, you could say he bared his gums. He spoke in a faint, ear grinding voice that sounded just exactly like a one-thousand-year-old tortoise that had smoked weed for all one thousand years.

“That isn’t Sally, you brainless mahogany shelf! Sally had blonde hair, not brown!”

The sheriff who wasn’t the sheriff slumped to the floor and buried his face in his hands, saying,

“Yer right! I shoulda known, but I haven’t seen sally in about thirty years, so how could i remember what color her hair was?” The tabby cat a jumped down from his head and wrapped itself around his ankles, trying to to console the poor man.

The accordion player said, “Well, Joe. I understand your mistake, but if you think about it, Sally must be very old by now. She might even be dead if she looked like this thirty years ago! But you always were the foolish one. I shouldn’t have entrusted you with the party planning—but, ‘not my monkey, not my circus’ as I always say.”

“You’ve never said that, Jenkins. Now don’t tell me what I already know!” Replied Joe.

The woman was utterly confused, but she was frankly, very relieved. The sheriff had not caught her. In fact, she realized that the real sheriff was the groaning man wearing a sheriff badge, who lay tied up and gagged in the corner. So she laughed. She laughed and laughed until the four men joined in. 

That night, the woman was happier than she thought she would ever be since she had been named an outlaw. She sat around a table with the four men, as she served up the pink birthday cake, and ladled delicious, steaming stew into their mugs. 

“Why thank you, Sally! Gee I’m awful glad you came around. I haven’t eaten this well since I lived in the garbage dump!” Joe said as he began to slurp his soup.

“I keep telling you guys, I’m not Sally! But I’m glad you like it.”

The old man, whose name was apparently BoneCrusher, chortled giddily, spraying chicken broth around the table. “We know ye aren’t Sally! But we’re gonna call you Sally! Cause’ you’re part of the gang now!” 

The woman, who we will just call Sally, for simplicity’s sake, had found out that the four men were all outlaws like her. Except that they had actually committed offenses, and Sally had not. The men had all told their stories, and Sally had enjoyed hearing all about their adventurous pasts. The small fat man, Egbert, had stolen 57 turnips from a farmer who kept a pack of savage hounds. By the end of the scrimmage, Egbert had emerged victorious, with 54 turnips and a bump on his brow. The accordion player, Jenkins, had burned down a music store called ‘The Accordions Last Stand’. Joe had tried to achieve his dream job of becoming a florist, but was named an outlaw after emptying all the flowerbeds in Yodelsvilian. BoneCrusher had apparently led a cooking class where the secret ingredient to his ‘Killingly Good Gravy’ was two teaspoons of arsenic. 

“You shoulda seen the students when they fell out of their chairs! ‘Killingly good’ I said!” BoneCrusher finished his tale, and soon, everyone retired for bed. Sally slept in cell B7 of the jail. Egbert was next door in B6, and snored loudly the entire night, but Sally slept well. 

It was certainly nice to sleep on the cold hard ground of the prison, rather than in a tall oak tree in Wigginsvin forest. But Sally’s troubles weren’t over, because unbeknownst to her, the Green Beighn, the most powerful, and supposedly the most savage bounty hunter in the Kingdom, was hunting her down.