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They noticed Illinois was full of plains as they made their way slowly across the state. Some said that roving bands of Indians were still about, so Erin was vigilant. She worried for their animals but mostly for the safety of her family. On good days, she had the children walk with the piglets behind the wagon to give the oxen a break from the additional weight. Timmy was the only one that rode almost constantly in the wagon with Molly since he was too little to walk for any length of time. Still, he tried.
“Beautiful country,” Molly commented, looking at the fine farmland they were passing and wondering why there weren’t more people.
“Seems kind of barren,” Erin responded from where she sat on the mare, exchanging Timmy for an eager Theresa, who climbed like a monkey onto the back of the horse. Erin didn’t let go of the young girl’s arm until she felt her settled snugly on the back of the saddle with her other arm firmly wrapped around her pa. Erin glanced around, a little alarmed that there were so few trees. She wondered if the prairie was going to be worse. The Great American Desert as some called it, could only be worse. She saw what she thought were buffalo in the distance, but they were too far away to make out for sure. She turned the mare back to swing wide around their small herd and get behind them. “All set back there?” she asked the little girl.
“All set, Pa,” she confirmed, delighted to be riding the mare and giving Erin a little squeeze around the middle.
“You let me know if you see anything,” she told the little girl.
“I will,” she confirmed. She looked around avidly at the backs of the cattle and the farm horses as well as the small herd of pigs that jogged behind the wagon. They would run up, stop, and wait for the others to catch up before jogging on behind. One of the calves was big enough now to follow with its mother. King and Queenie took turns checking on the pups, sticking their noses into the hammock periodically, and the walking children looked in frequently. These new playmates of theirs were a lot of fun, and they didn’t want anything happening to them. Already, one of them had fallen and died, and the children had been devastated as Erin buried the body beside the road.
The roads they took across Illinois were mainly flat and monotonous. The long grasses were springing to life and enticing the horses and cattle, who snatched bites as they were herded along. They relished the evenings when they could graze and the days when Molly called a halt, so they could do the wash because at those times, they could graze to their hearts’ content.
It was much different as they began heading down the hills towards what would lead them to the Mississippi river. When they asked for directions, they had been told the road they were on would lead to a ferry that could take them across the spring-swollen river. The mud they experienced on the road was not pleasant, and Erin resorted to hitching up the farm horses from time to time to help get the heavy wagon out of the quagmires. The immense strength of the oxen and horses made it seem like child’s play, and she was tempted to leave them hitched together all the time, but it was a waste of resources and besides, it looked ridiculous. They continued to receive offers for the extra oxen and horses, but Erin refused them. She was intent on getting them to Oregon and having them for the farm she intended to establish.
One day as they made their way down the steep banks to the river, they realized the enormity of what they needed to cross. Molly was outraged at the fee the ferry charged to take them across the huge river. Because of the number of animals traveling with them, they could barely fit on the one platform, and she worried the entire time they were on it. The river was the biggest she had ever seen in her life. Erin stood and watched as the muddy waters swirled and huge tree trunks rolled by, the bargeman seemingly impervious to the danger as he steered them expertly across the great river. She sensed the strength of this river and worried the entire time they were crossing it. She’d ordered the children to stay in the wagon and stood there, her hands in fists, unable to help or do anything as they slowly made their way. She was aware that the children were watching her and her reactions. She went among the crowded horses, petting and calming them. They also disliked the fact that the ground beneath their hooves was moving. The cattle were restless, not liking the close confines of the large, moving platform, and she knew there was nothing she could do if they decided to make a break for it. She nearly stepped on a piglet, but she moved it aside with her boot at the last minute as she headed for Billy, petting along his neck the way he liked, watching his wide horns respectfully.
On the other side, the animals stepped over the gap between the ferry and the land, one by one. Only when they were climbing the steep bank, did Erin breathe a sigh of relief. Pulling the mare along, she glanced back once more to be sure they hadn’t left anything behind and clucked to a slow-moving piglet, who jogged to catch up with its siblings. King made a noise in his throat to hurry it along. She saw the ferryman watching them before he turned to speak with someone who had approached him about going the other way.
Molly pulled up when they were well away from the river, something Erin had advised as fever and ague frequently started in river bottoms. With spring in full force, they didn’t need anyone sick. There had been sniffles, of course. Traveling in late winter had been arduous, and they didn’t need to invite sickness into the wagon.
“Well, Molly, m’dear,” Erin said affectionately as she finished hobbling the horses and left King guarding the cattle. “We made it across the mighty Mississippi.”
“I hope we never have to cross anything like that without a ferry,” she admitted as she set up a tripod over the spot where she wanted a fire started. The children were collecting twigs and branches.
“Did you see the trees riding down on the current?” she asked, feeling the fright again even after what they had gone through.
“I’m just glad it’s over. I know you were worried,” she said quietly, seeing the children return with the sticks.
Erin would have said more but didn’t want to scare the children. Instead, she spoke about her chores and milking the cows with the help of Theodore and Tabitha, who were learning quickly. They weren’t strong enough yet to strip those last drops from the three cows, so Erin did it for them. The fourth cow was due any day, and Erin looked at her worriedly. Having a fourth calf in their herd would be troublesome. Already, the oldest one was gamboling about, creating problems. The second was almost too big to be put in a sling against the wagon anymore. Having young’uns like that slowed them down, and now that the river was behind them, she worried more about the time it would take to cross Missouri and meet up with the organizers of the wagon train in Independence. Still, she thought they were making good time, and Molly was keeping track of the date in her journal. It was a good thing too, as the days blended into a sameness that Erin could not keep track of. She was travel-weary, but she had hardened, as they all had.
“Did you know that one of the cats is about to give birth?” Molly asked her when the children had been sent to bed and she was writing in her journal by the light of the fire.
“Yeah, that big gray cat?” she confirmed, pleased with the idea and yet, worried at the additional mouths to feed. The cats fed themselves, but she knew that Molly saved scraps to supplement their hunting, feeding them when they deigned to eat her offerings.
“Yep, that’s the one. She’s ready to pop.”
“The children will be pleased.”
“That they will,” she confirmed as she wrote quickly and finished, closing the journal and stashing it in the bag Erin had made from rabbit skins she stitched together.
“What did you write tonight?” she asked, curious.
“About the crossing.”
Erin nodded, thinking about how scared she had been and the time leading up to that enormous river. She’d deliberately chosen a northern route, so they wouldn’t have to contend with the mighty Ohio river, but the Mississippi River had been as big as she feared, maybe even bigger from the winter melt. “We should lay in more supplies tomorrow,” she mentioned, knowing they would be in the large town of St. Charles in the morning. They were camped outside it now but far enough away that they couldn’t see the lights or hear the sounds of the town.
Molly nodded, glancing into the fire but not staring as it would blind her. “We just follow along the Missouri River and that will take us to Independence?” she asked, to confirm. She knew the route as well as Erin, having gone over it many times and hearing the answers when Erin had asked for directions.
“Yep, that’s what they tell us,” she confirmed, wondering if she should take up smoking a pipe to complete her disguise. Her father had been a pipe smoker, and she knew some of his pipes were in one of the trunks, although the taste and the smell of tobacco didn’t appeal. Already, she lathered up her face each day and used the razer minus its blade to fool the children. It got her cleaned up, and she did it with no fear of cutting herself. She wouldn’t let the children see the razor up close, so they couldn’t see there was no blade.
“We should get those tents,” Molly reminded her, smiling slightly at what that would mean...some privacy away from the children and perhaps some intimacy. She missed that. Once there were others, strangers, around them that might disappear again, and the opportunity would be lost.
“I’ll be sure to inquire,” Erin promised, grinning at the implications.
They slept well, relieved that they had the large and dangerous river behind them. Erin scrambled up towards morning when she heard King and Queenie sound off. By the time she got her boots on and got out to where the foggy morning showed her the herd, someone had made off with a couple of her cattle.
“Dammit all to blazes,” she swore under her breath. She wondered why the dogs hadn’t stopped them sooner, and then she saw both were licking their chops and staggering. Worried that they had been poisoned, she pulled them one at a time to where the fire would be. She fed the fire quickly, the coals igniting as they licked at the wood and began burning brighter.
“Erin?” Molly asked, sleepily. She too had heard the dogs and couldn’t miss Erin hastily dressing and springing out of the wagon.
“Yeah, come out,” she answered softly, hoping to avoid waking the children. She didn’t know if she should make the dogs throw up, but they seemed sleepy. She grabbed Queenie first, since they needed her to nurse the pups, and that made her job more important. She stuck a finger down the bitch’s throat. The sleepy dog fought her, and Erin wrapped her legs around the fighting dog, trying to avoid her large, sharp teeth.
“What’s going on?” Molly asked, shocked to see Erin in combat with Queenie, clamping her legs around the struggling dog.
“I...think...the...dogs...have...been...drugged...or...poisoned,” she got out as she tried and failed to make the dog vomit.
Seeing King staggering near the fire and about to lay down, Molly ran to the box where she kept their cooking supplies and grabbed bicarbonate of soda. She quickly poured some into a cup, mixed in a little water, and as Queenie struggled more and more weakly with Erin holding her, almost choking her with her finger down the dog’s throat, she poured the mixture past her wife’s finger.
“What...is...that?” she gasped as the dog choked on the water for a moment before gulping it down.
“Bicarbonate,” she answered, hurriedly mixing more for King.
Erin released the dog, who immediately started to heave when the mixture hit her stomach, causing her to throw up the meat she had eaten. Erin hastily backed away and jumped on King, prying open his mouth for Molly, who poured the mixture past the dog’s tongue as he fought weakly. He too was soon throwing up meat that had already started to dissolve in his stomach.
“What in the world?” Molly said as she looked at the contents of the two dogs’ stomachs and pushed Queenie away from the vomit when she went to eat it again.
“I think someone tried to poison the dogs,” Erin repeated, reaching for a shovel to throw the tainted meat on the coals that had flared up.
“Do you think we got it in time?”
Erin shook her head, not knowing. They could only wait and hope. She quickly put down water for both dogs to drink. They were weak and looked very tired. She didn’t know what she would do if they died. She depended on both dogs, and they needed Queenie to nurse the pups.
“What happened?” Molly asked, putting a hand on Erin’s shoulder, seeing her about ready to cry.
“I heard the dogs barking and got up but not before someone stole some of the cattle. I better go check–” she got up to hide that she was near tears over the dogs.
“I’ll stay with the dogs,” Molly offered, and Erin waved as she walked off, picking up the gun she had dropped to drag Queenie to the fire. The adrenaline was getting to her, and she was very angry as she examined the stock. Two of the cattle had been driven off, and Billy was snorting hard through his nostrils, probably from defending his cows from the thieves and trying to prevent them from stealing more. They had all relied on the dogs more than they should have.
There was nothing Erin could do now. She returned to the fire and saw both dogs weakly drinking water from a bowl that Molly kept offering them, refilling it when necessary. Finally, she just let the panting dogs alone. They looked terrible. She wondered if the intent had been to kill the dogs or merely put them to sleep. Either way, both dogs looked exhausted. The meat in the fire smelled wonderful but she wondered and worried about it as both dogs went to sleep. She kept checking that they were breathing.
“I don’t know what to do,” Molly said helplessly.
“I don’t know either,” she returned, feeling anger toward their unknown thieves. These two dogs were wonderful. They’d given their all for the family and may have paid for it with their lives. They could only watch and wait. Already, Erin could hear the squeaks indicating that the pups were waking.
“Do you think I dare let the pups feed off her?” she indicated Queenie, who was sleeping near the fire, the worse for wear after her struggle with Erin.
“I don’t know. I simply don’t know. If the dogs were poisoned, would that get into her milk?”
Erin shook her head. She didn’t know. The pups were too young to be weaned. It would be a nightmare trying to feed the remaining nine.
Erin went off to start the milking, hearing the children begin to stir in the early morning light. She couldn’t watch her dogs, her beautiful Tervurens, die. There were chores that had to be done, and she found herself wiping her eyes as she tried to get them done. She was unable to answer the children’s questions as they offered to help. She heard Molly talking to them softly when their repeated questions went unanswered by their pa. She reluctantly returned to the fire with the full pails of milk. Both dogs were still asleep and still breathing. She breathed a sigh of relief at that and shared a look with Molly, who glanced at the uncharacteristically quiet children. Realizing she was probably scaring them, she cleared her throat.
“Can you help me feed the stock?” she addressed them all and was pleased to see them start, the two oldest immediately getting up to help with their normal chores. Doling out the feed for the poultry was easy, and the children made sure to fill the dishes with water for the animals. The puppies were crying, so Erin handed them to the children, one by one. “Take them and put them to Queenie’s teats. She’s too tired to do it herself,” she explained, hoping whatever it was the dogs had been given wouldn’t affect the milk. She watched as the children carried their precious cargo, taking one in each hand with Tabitha carrying the extra to the sleeping dog.
Once the stock was tended, Erin saddled up the mare. “We’ll be staying the day here,” she informed Molly, who nodded.
Molly watched fearfully as Erin saddled the mare, adding the two guns to the saddle. She put them in the scabbards on each side, but this time, it seemed to have a more ominous feel to it. Erin checked her pistol before putting that in the back of her belt under her coat and checking that her hunting knife was in its own scabbard. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
“I’m going to get our cattle back,” she replied and swung up before Molly could stop her, heading back to where she had seen the tracks. She could still see the trail that led to and from their camp. She began to follow the trail, looking up frequently to see where she was going, so she wouldn’t be surprised. She had her pistol in her hand, and she was ready and willing to use it. She saw one of the men had a strange patch on the bottom of his boot, and the other seemed to have small feet. She memorized the outlines of their footprints, so she could recognize them if needed. She lost the trail as she came close to town, many other vehicles already passing in the early morning. But she had seen where the trail was headed and went to the stockyard where she found her two head of cattle.
“You there!” she called to the man, who was obviously the proprietor. “Did someone sell you those cattle?” she pointed, having put away her gun when she entered the town.
“Yeah, Jacob Marlow did. Why?”
“Cause they’re my cattle, and he stole ‘em,” she replied.
“Oh, yeah? Can you prove it?” he challenged, smiling and showing mossy-covered teeth. Erin swallowed, knowing she was outmatched in their maneuverings.
“He sold you stolen cattle, and yeah, I’m gonna prove it,” she replied. He laughed at her. She turned her horse and headed for the nearest saloon. She looked down on the ground as she traveled the streets, wondering if her hunch was right and a man such as this Jacob Marlow would spend the illicit money as quickly as he got it. She looked down into the mud of the street, watching for telltale signs of the boots she had followed into town. She didn’t find any signs at the first saloon, and she didn’t find any at the second either. In fact, she visited three or four before she saw the tread she was looking for. Slowly, she got down from her mare, tying it with a half hitch to the rail in front as she put her pistol back in her belt beneath her coat. She removed both her rifles and slung one to her back. The other she used to open the batwing doors of the saloon. She’d never been in one before, and she waited a moment as her eyes adjusted to the gloom. She saw only one man in the saloon. He was eating what looked like fried eggs and drinking whisky. The bartender behind the bar was polishing glasses and looked up as Erin came through the doors.
“What can I get you?” he asked heartily, eyeing the rifle in her hand warily.
“I’m looking for Jacob Marlow,” she asserted, and the man at the bar looked up immediately. “You’re Marlow, ain’t you?”
“N-n-no, I hain’t,” he stuttered.
“If you ain’t him,” she said as she advanced on him, “you know who he is, and I suggest you tell me the truth.”
“Look here...we don’t want any trouble–” began the bartender, reaching under the bar.
“You pull out anything other than a glass, and my gun is gonna wreck this place,” she threatened, slowly easing the point of her gun over at the man, who backed up immediately. She turned it back towards the man who had stopped eating and was staring at her in consternation. “You Marlow?”
“What if I am?” he asked, suddenly sounding belligerent.
Erin never hesitated. She was close enough now that all she had to do was lean in with the gun. She struck the man upside the head with the barrel, and blood spurted from where the metal hit his skull.
“Hey, now–” the bartender protested but stopped when Erin looked at him while keeping the other man in her sight.
“Are you Marlow or not?” she asked again, remembering the dogs and their retching and itching to pull the trigger.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m Marlow. What’s it to you?” he asked, fingering his head and feeling a ton of hurt for it. “What the hell ya hit me for?”
“You’re lucky I didn’t kill you for the thief you are. You start walking now, and don’t try anything funny or I’m going to shoot your ear off, so everyone knows how yellow you are—trying to kill dogs to take advantage of folks.”
At the words kill dogs, his face paled and any doubt that he was involved in the theft of her cattle was gone. “You have no proof...” he began, his hands going up to show he didn’t have anything in them. “This is a matter for the sheriff–” he tried to continue but she interrupted.
“Yep, it is a matter for the sheriff, but where I come from you handle your own problems and he sorta backs you up with what you decided. I decided you’re gonna walk from here on your own two feet or they are gonna bury you today,” she indicated her finger near the trigger, and he got her message. He started to walk.
“Hey now, you can’t–” the bartender again tried to butt in.
“And you can tell the sheriff my name is Erin Herriot, and I got a wagon outside of town. He can come see me when we finish our business here,” she informed him, not willing to give the man her back as the two of them made their way towards the door.
Erin turned sideways and lowered the brim on her hat, so she wouldn’t be blinded by the light when they left the saloon. She was right to do so because the man tried to lunge to the side. She let him, and he came up against the edge of her rifle barrel again. Well, maybe she also helped him meet it, causing another abrasion. “Don’t try that again,” she said, glancing back into the saloon and taking a step away from the entrance. If the bartender tried to shoot now, he didn’t have her in his line of sight.
“Jeeze, I didn’t do nuttin’,” he said, rubbing his head where he had just hit it on the gun.
“Yep, and turkey’s don’ fly,” she answered, indicating that he go down the steps before her. As he passed, the mare shied away at the smell of the man. Erin reached with her free hand to untie her and pulled the reins, so the horse would follow. They made quite a sight walking down the middle of the street. Erin, much smaller than Marlow, her gun out in front of her, both being followed by the plodding mare.
“Whatcha got there, Jacob?” someone called out, laughing.
“Call the sheriff. He’s got a gun on me,” he answered back.
“Yeah, call the sheriff,” Erin called. “And you, shut up,” she said to Marlow. He eyed her with his peripheral vision, but it was hard to see from the one eye where she had originally clouted him as it was swelling up.
Erin walked him back to the stockyards. The man visibly cringed as they came to the yard where her cattle were held.
“What’s going on here?” the man she had met earlier demanded.
“This man stole my cattle,” her chin indicated the two that were standing in the pen alone.
“I bought them fair and square. You got any papers on them?” he asked, looking aghast at the blood he could see on the side of Jacob Marlow’s head.
“Nope, no papers. But I can prove they’re mine and he stole them.” She turned back to Marlow, addressing him. “Empty your pockets now!” she ordered him.
“M-my p-pockets?” he stammered, shocked and surprised.
“You heard me,” she gestured as though to slug him again with her gun. “Now!”
Slowly the man reached into the pockets of his pants and removed a good-sized bankroll. Erin guessed it wasn’t all from the cattle he had stolen, but probably all dishonestly earned. She grabbed it from his hand before he could do anything, and he lunged in reflex, but she was too quick for him, pulling the money out of his grasp. She used the gun against his skull again, this time a little harder, and he went down. She stepped onto his back, holding him there.
“Now, how much did he sell you the cattle for?” she addressed the other man.
Eyeing the bankroll, a speculative look came into the man’s eyes.
“Don’t get greedy,” she cautioned him, gesturing with her rifle barrel.
The man mentioned a sum, and she rolled off the greenbacks, only half of what he had stated, before shoving the rest into her pocket.
“That ain’t enough,” he protested as she threw the money at his feet in the mud.
“Get the rest from ‘im,” she thumbed toward the man floundering in the mud as she got off him, stepping away, so he couldn’t pull her down. “I’m taking my cattle, and in the future, you’d be well-advised to check before you buy any cattle that might be stolen.” She got up on her mare, looking down at the man who had hastily picked up the money before it blew away. “Open the gate,” she ordered him.
“But I hain’t been paid for–” he began.
“I said open the gate,” she repeated in her most ominous tone, gesturing with the rifle barrel. “I also said get the rest from ‘im.” She found slipping into the vernacular easy. Around here wasn’t much different than some back home. “Have the sheriff come out and see me and my wife at our campsite, and I’ll be sure to tell him what happened, including how this scum and his partner tried poisoning my dogs.”
The man’s eyes flickered for a moment at this information, and he moved toward the gate to open it. Erin started whistling, and the two cow’s heads came up. They were used to getting treats from this whistling person, so they began ambling towards the gate. The man stood there, his mouth slack as they walked calmly by him and began walking up the road past the mounted rider. Erin started the mare after them and then pivoted in the saddle, so she was riding backwards and could keep an eye on the two men. The one was still trying to pick himself up out of the mud, and the other stared at her, shocked. She rode backwards until she went over a small hill, then pivoted around and put her feet in the stirrups. She put the gun into the scabbard and nudged the mare to go a little faster, urging the cattle to a quicker pace.
It took a while to get back to their camp. Once or twice, she thought she was lost but recognizing her own horse’s hoofprints had helped her find her way back. She reintroduced the two stolen cattle back into her little herd, and Billy greeting them by blowing snot through his large nostrils. When he looked at her, she thought for a moment he might have winked at her, but knowing it had to be a trick of the light, she checked the stock before heading for the wagon. She dismounted at the end and tied off the mare.
“Are you okay?” Molly asked, coming to throw her arms around her.
“I’m fine. I’m fine,” she assured her, giving her a little hug before pulling back and asking, “Is everything okay here?”
“The dogs are still sleeping, but I was so worried about you.” She looked Erin over, from the gun slung over her back to the pistol in the back of her pants beneath her jacket. She glanced at the mare and saw the other gun in the scabbard. “Did you get the cattle?”
“I went for them, didn’t I?” she smiled, showing her even and very white teeth. She didn’t want to boast, but she felt fine for the task. “How are the dogs?” Her smile fell with worry.
“They’re sleeping,” she repeated. “No change.”
“Well, they ain’t dead, so that’s good,” she relaxed a little in relief. “We may be getting a visit from the sheriff,” she added, quickly explaining before the children could come and demand their attention. “Let me handle it if he does,” she warned.
“What if those men come back?” she fretted, worried that Erin had pulled a gun on a man and hit him.
“Then I shoot first and ask questions later.”
“Could you? Could you really kill a man?”
Erin had thought about this often on their trip out here. She knew they would be going into hostile territory and might encounter Indians. Yes, to protect her family, she could kill a man. She nodded immediately. “I want you to keep a gun nearby,” she whispered, but that was all the time they had as the children clamored for their attention, demanding to know what had happened and telling her about the sick dogs even though nothing had changed. Erin gave them a greatly sanitized version of what had happened and walked to look at the dogs. The pups had fed off Queenie and were all sleeping. She wondered now if the intent of Marlow and his accomplice had been to give them some sleeping agent and not to poison and kill the Tervurens.
Erin kept herself busy repairing loose things on the wagon, checking on the cattle, and checking the hobbles on the horses as they grazed. She was ready when a heavy-set man came riding up to their camp accompanied by another man. One rifle was in her hands, and the other was on a sling over her shoulder when he dropped down from his horse.
“You Herriot?” he asked, looking toward the campsite at the woman who had a shotgun in her hands, the five children, and the two dogs laying by the fire. A pig and a litter of piglets were under the wagon, and he could see cats peering at him from within the wagon. He glanced at the cattle and horses he could see beyond the wagon. It was obvious they were movers.
“I am,” Erin admitted, talking respectfully.
“I hear you hit one of our citizens,” he began, glancing at the guns again.
“No, sir,” Erin responded.
“You didn’t hit Jacob Marlow?” He sounded surprised.
“Nope.”
The man looked perplexed, glancing back at his companion as he too got off his horse. They both frowned. “I have reason to believe,” he started, turning back to Erin, “that you hauled off and hit one Jacob Marlow and accused him of stealing?”
“I didn’t hit Jacob Marlow, my gun did,” she clarified, waiting patiently, her heart beating a mile a minute.
The children, who had been playing in front of the wagon, all stood silently behind Molly, who watched worriedly.
The man next to the sheriff huffed out a breath, covering his laugh.
“So, you admit to hitting Jacob Marlow?”
“No, sir. I admit that my gun hit Jacob Marlow, but that’s better than shooting the thief outright, don’t you think?”
“You still hit the man....”
“No, sir. My gun hit the man. I’m too small to do that, and he’s a big man,” Erin countered, trying to sound reasonable and not let her sense of humor get the better of her. “He and an accomplice stole my cattle. I tracked them back to town and found where he sold them. He graciously,” she changed her tone on that word, “bought them back for me and paid me for my time.”
“So, you are saying you didn’t steal cattle from the stockyards?”
“Why, no, sir. Marlow was gonna work off the difference in price. That was agreed upon as I left.”
The man looked perplexed. He had been given a vastly different story and had seen the lumps and blood on both sides of Marlow’s head. He wasn’t sure what to make of the man before him. He wasn’t much to look at, a little on the scrawny side, but the gun he held in his hand was well oiled and obviously ready to be used. He knew what Marlow was about, and he knew what this man said was probably true, and Marlow and someone had stolen his cattle. However, he couldn’t allow the man to just come into his town and hit people with his rifle barrel. “He agreed to this?” he asked, incredulous. Marlow didn’t work unless he had to.
Erin nodded. “The stock broker heard it, and I paid him back with the money Marlow gave me.” She sounded sincere, slightly puzzled, and looked the sheriff straight in his eyes.
He didn’t know what to make of this. It was the damnedest thing. “Where are the cattle he supposedly stole?”
“The cattle he and his accomplice actually stole,” she articulated, sounding a lot different than she had that morning, “are back with my herd,” she pointed behind her with her thumb where she knew the cattle were grazing. She had corrected his statement too and saw that it annoyed him. “He also poisoned my dogs, but we got them to throw up the meat he fed them before it did much damage. They’re sleeping it off, but you can bet I’ll file charges if either of them dies.”
The sheriff looked at the beautiful, sleeping dogs. He had never seen dogs remain sleeping when someone came around. Strangely, he believed Herriot. He chose to believe the man. Nodding slightly, he glanced at the man with him and then back to Herriot. “I see,” he murmured, his hand coming up to play with his mustache. “I hope your dogs will recover,” he asserted. “You planning to be here long?”
“Well, we were going to come into town to shop, but given the incident this morning and not knowing who it was helped Marlow, I’m no longer agreeable to that idea. We will go tomorrow when the dogs are stronger.”
He glanced at the dogs again, the woman holding the shotgun, and the five children. The children were far too old to be this couples’, and they didn’t look anything like the parents. He nodded once. “Well, you’re welcome in town, if you come in peaceable-like. If I think of any other questions, I’ll be back.”
“You do that, Sheriff,” Erin agreed, watching the man and his companion get back on their horses. She watched as they waved and turned around, heading back the way they came. Not until they were out of sight did she slump slightly in relief, having bluffed her way out of that one. She looked at Molly, who looked like she was about to cry. Nodding slightly, she went to put the extra guns away and get back to doing some work around the camp.
“What was that about, Ma?” Theo asked, speaking for all of them as Molly went to put the shotgun away.
“Nothing. Your father had some problems with that rustler this morning, and he took care of it,” she abbreviated.
The children, easily distracted, went off to play. “Don’t go too far,” she called. Molly watched as Timmy started playing with the piglets under the wagon and was joined by one of the cats, who stalked and then played as well. She glanced back at the sleeping dogs, wondering once again if the milk Queenie had let down had been tainted as well. The pups, along with their sire and dam, were all sleeping soundly about the fire. She wondered if any of them would recover.