The zebra rodeo had reached Armadillo County, where over a thousand people were already lining up to buy tickets. Its reputation as the most unexpected entertainment of summer had preceded the show, exploding throughout August as the rodeo company traversed a diversion-starved Deep South.
He’d made stars out of his troupe. They adorned the covers of every tiny circulation newspaper in every god-fearing town they passed, accompanied by bold-faced headlines that oversold sensationalism. And no matter how down on their luck the inhabitants were, each of them would gladly pay a week’s wages to witness the zebra rodeo.
But Caleb Blankenship knew they did not pay to watch the riders.
They paid to see the blood.
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