[ WP ] Two brothers , a sheriff and a mountain man , are at odds when one comes to claim justice after the other who shot a man dead .

I know this is a little bit delayed, but I've spent quite a while working on this story. It really inspired me. 
 
 Part One 
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 Deep up the mountains, the sheriff of Buncombe County drove. His name was Sly Redmont, at least that's what everyone called him. As he drove, the sound of the radio became fuzzy and more difficult to hear until it cut to static altogether. Sly was too preoccupied to notice and let the white noise seamlessly sink into rhythm with his thoughts. He nervously puffed on a cigarette, the smoke trailing out the cracked window into the crisp mountain air. 
 
 Ten miles up the switchbacks and steep inclines of the Smoky Mountains was a small cabin where Sly's brother, Lincoln, lived. Lincoln sat at the wooden table he had carved himself, with the help of an old Cherokee man. Lincoln's wife was walking around the cabin, going through the various tasks wives often do when preparing to leave for the day. 
 
 “ I just do n't, ” she huffed, wiggling her feet into her boots, “ see why you need me to go to the city and pick up more supplies. I thought you had gotten everything for your camping trip on your drive downtown last weekend! ” Lincoln looked at his watch and stood up, glancing out the window at his long driveway. He lit a cigarette, earning an immediate sigh from his wife. Born and raised in this town, her southern accent seemed to permeate even this voiceless expression. 
 
 “ I wish you would n't do that, ” she mumbled as she wrapped a scarf around her neck. Lincoln watched her with caring eyes, managing a small, brief smile. Distant pattering of feet could be heard nearing the back door. Two boys burst through the screen, loudly arguing about who stepped on whose toes. 
 
 “ Daddy! ” stomped the younger boy, “ it's not fair! ” and both boys began to talk over each other, competing to have their side of the story heard. Lincoln picked up the younger son and hushed them both gently. 
 
 “ Boys, did you just walk in the house, right past your mama, and not give her a kiss? ” Lincoln winked at his older son as his wife put her hands on her hips and raised her eyebrows. Lincoln set his young boy down and gave him a light kick in the pants. Both sons gave each other a final, quiet shove and the argument was over. Lincoln looked at his watch again. His wife noticed. 
 
 “ Alright, we better get going, boys, ” she said. “ Your daddy has things to do, and does n't need us around to bother him! ” Lincoln did n't mean to come across rudely. He could tell she was a little offended, so he walked over and placed his hands on her shoulders. 
 
 “ I love you, May, ” he said softly, and kissed her. A chorus of “ ew! ” s came from the boys, but the way his wife smiled and rolled her eyes excused it. After herding the boys out the door and into the old blue truck, Lincoln's wife called for her sons to wave at Daddy. They waved obnoxiously and Lincoln stood at the door watching until the truck was out of site. 
 
 Sly drove closer up the mountain to Lincoln's cabin. With each familiar landmark, he grew more nervous. His mind was running back to the previous afternoon, when he found out what Lincoln did and subsequently what had to happen next. He was in the office, laughing about his deputy's deer hunting story when his old friend, Moe Jackman from the Asheville Police Department, walked pale faced into the room. 
 
 “ Sly, ” he said, “ we need to talk. ” Both men retreated to Sly's office where Moe shut the door and drew the blinds. 
 
 “ What is it, what's the matter? Good Lord, you look whiter'n a birch tree. Have some water. ” Sly handed him a cup, which Moe took. He began pacing the floor, then stopped and sat down, inviting Sly to do the same. When both men were sitting, Moe leaned forward and asked if Sly remembered the murder a while back when that man's body turned up along the Parkway with a single bullet hole between the eyes. 
 
 “ The Glady Fork Case. Of course I remember, on account of how it scared more'n a few tourists, ” Sly chuckled. He stopped when Moe's face drew tighter into a frown. Sly cleared his throat. 
 
 “ I've been looking at the files, and I've triple checked, Sly, I've checked a million times... ” Moe trailed off, looking intently at his friend. 
 
 “ Well, come on! Spit it out, now! ” Sly grew impatient, eager to hear what upset his former partner so much. 
 
 “ I say I've triple checked the results, Sly, but—well, see for yourself. ” He put the files he was holding onto the desk and pushed them towards Sly. Sly opened them and began to read. After a moment, he looked up with a shocked look on his face. 
 
 “ I did n't want it to be true, old friend, ” continued Moe quietly. These words would haunt Sly throughout the night, as he researched the case and did everything he could to prove to himself that his brother was innocent -- but no, all evidence pointed to Lincoln. Moe had the courtesy to tell Sly so he could bring him in quietly. 
 
 Now Sly was on that very path, driving up a road that seemed long on regular days, but like a cross-country trip this time. He had called Lincoln at 6 AM this morning, to tell him they needed to talk. Lincoln had given a one word reply after a long pause. He must have sensed the dread in Sly ’ s voice. Sly thought of May and the boys and how they would react upon finding out that their father was a murderer. 
 
 Honks of a car brought Sly out of his trance. He was stopped at a stop sign. Looking around, it wasn ’ t hard to spot where the honks were coming from, as there was only one other car on the road. Catty-corner to Sly was an old blue truck, with hands waving furiously out the window. It took Sly a while to realize who it was. When he did, his heart sank and his eyes grew wide. May had gotten out of her truck, still running with the hazards on, and ran across the backwoods intersection to Sly ’ s window. Sly suddenly realized his cigarette had been puffed to oblivion. He quickly put it in his ashtray and rolled down his window, taking care to hide his nervousness with a big smile. 
 
 “ Sly! If it ain ’ t! ” May took a couple breaths as she came up to the window. 
 
 “ Well, how you doin ’, Ms. May? ” The genuine tone of Sly ’ s voice surprised himself. 
 
 “ How funny to see you here! Didn ’ t you hear me honking at you like a maniac? ” She smiled and pinched his arm that was resting against the window space. Sly started to stumble over an excuse, but May interrupted. 
 
 “ Good Lord, your car looks a mess. And why do you still have that radio going? ” Her words brought Sly ’ s attention to the static playing in his car. He hurried to turn it off and grinned out an excuse. She asked where he was going and he replied that it was just a short trip to visit Lincoln. May was surprised that Lincoln didn ’ t mention it, but that must be why he pushed them out of the house. 
 
 “ He ’ s always had such a soft spot for his little brother! ” She winked and pinched his arm again. Sly let out a nervous laugh. The boys, still in the truck, began calling out the window. There was a polite “ hi Uncle Sly ” before howls for their mama to come back overtook the quiet mountain morning. May rolled her eyes, wished Sly a “ see you later ” after asking about his wife, and ran back to her car. As she pulled away, she honked a couple more times and all three waved. 
 
 Sly ran his hand over his face and let out a sigh of relief. He drove on. Five more minutes and he reached the driveway to Lincoln ’ s property. He paused a little longer than normal before turning in. 
 
 Lincoln watched from his window as the telltale dust came up from between the trees, telling of a car on the dirt driveway leading to the garage. He checked his watch again. 6:47 AM, and about the time he was expecting Sly. The phone call this morning has surprised him. He wasn ’ t sure what Sly was coming to talk about, but he had a feeling he didn ’ t like. He tried to tell himself there was no way Sly would know -- but then again, if anyone did know, it was Sly. 
 
 Lincoln seated himself. He pulled his pistol out of his holster, took out the clip, checked the chamber for any rounds, and placed it on the table. He could hear the tires bouncing against the gravel slowing to a stop. Without looking up from the table, he heard a car door open and shut. 
 
 
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 See reply to this for the rest.
