benandsteve.com

By Benjamin GroffMedia© | benandsteve.com | ©2026

June 7th 2026

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A New Adventure Begins

Some heroes ride mighty steeds.

Others arrive aboard locomotives belching smoke and steam.

Deputy U.S. Marshal Chester Finch rode a cherry-red moped.

Many believed the stories about him.

Most of those stories were not true.

No, Chester Finch had not once outrun a locomotive.

He had never defeated forty outlaws armed only with a teaspoon.

And contrary to a report published in the Territorial Gazette, he was not officially recognized as “The Fastest Lawman West of the Mississippi.”

Though he had stopped correcting people years ago.

After bringing peace to Serenity, Chester had settled into a quieter life. The occasional horse thief. A cattle dispute. A drunken card game that got out of hand. Nothing worthy of newspaper headlines.

Until the telegram arrived.

It came on a Tuesday.

Tuesday was Chester’s least favorite day of the week.

Nothing good ever seemed to happen on a Tuesday.

The message was brief.

URGENT.

SITUATION OUT OF CONTROL.

SHERIFF UNABLE TO MAINTAIN ORDER.

REQUEST IMMEDIATE ASSISTANCE.

ARRIVE AT ONCE.

There was no explanation.

No details.

No indication of what sort of trouble awaited him.

Only a destination.

Dustbucket Junction.

Chester read the telegram twice.

Then a third time.

He folded it carefully and slipped it into his pocket.

“Well,”

he said.

There was nobody around to hear him.

“That can’t be good.”

The next morning he loaded his saddlebags, checked the fuel tank of his moped, and pointed its front wheel toward the horizon. Then walked back to lock up.

He glanced behind him, the peaceful town of Serenity it would soon disappear into the dust.

Ahead lay another mystery.

Another crisis.

Another town that seemed convinced Deputy U.S. Marshal Chester Finch could solve problems no ordinary lawman could.

Far away, beyond the next ridge and several days’ travel, citizens were whispering in fear.

Merchants were boarding windows.

The mayor had reportedly locked himself inside his office.

And more than one resident had been heard muttering a single strange word.

A word Chester Finch had never heard before.

Mothercluckers.

He would soon learn its meaning.

Unfortunately.

As Deputy U.S. Marshal Chester Finch would be returning just in time for the warm months—known to some as late Spring, others as Summer, and to a select few as absolutely nothing at all because they are already dead—he prepares for another assignment.

Finch swings a leg over his trusty cherry-red moped, flips up the kickstand, and activates the revolving safety beacon mounted proudly on the rear fender. He gives the siren a quick blast.

Children immediately gather.

This was a mistake.

Attempting to maintain his reputation as a man of the people, Finch reaches into the basket attached to the front of the moped and begins tossing pieces of hard candy.

His aim, unfortunately, remains unchanged from previous years.

One youngster receives a peppermint directly above the eye.

Another is struck squarely in the lip by a butterscotch disk traveling at an alarming rate of speed.

The children scatter.

Finch considers the event a complete success.

With his dignity intact and only a small amount of neighborhood property damage reported, he eases the moped into gear and putts toward his destination.

What awaits him there will be unlike any assignment he has ever undertaken.

It will test his patience.

It will challenge his courage.

It may permanently alter his understanding of law enforcement.

That is, of course, assuming he survives the journey.

There remains the possibility of being struck by a passing freight wagon, a runaway mule, or a semi-truck that somehow wandered into the wrong century.

And there is always the chance that one of the neighborhood children possesses a slingshot and a strong sense of revenge.

Those questions—and many others—will be answered in the days ahead.