A Wolf in the Fold

“The next time LT cattle are stolen or slaughtered, I will send for a federal marshal or the Rangers and formally charge the Butchers. Nothing would please me more than to see each and every one of them swing at the end of a rope.”

Calista said softly, “Oh, Gerty.” Shaking her head, she made for the door. “If you will excuse me.”

We were alone. I stared at Gertrude without saying anything.

“What’s the matter? Why are you looking at me like that?” She brought her hand from behind her back and held out the poke. “Here you go. Half in advance, exactly as you require.”

“I’ll count it later,” I said, slipping the poke under my black jacket.

Gertrude snickered in amusement. “You don’t trust me?”

“I don’t trust anyone.”

“Ordinarily I would be insulted. But we will let it pass.” Gertrude put her hand on my arm again and I almost slapped it off. “I expect you to start earning that money, Mr. Stark. And remember. All nine of them, or I won’t pay you another dollar.” Gertrude patted my cheek and went in.

She would never know how close she came. I had my hand on the butt of the Remington, but I did not draw. Instead, I admired the fading glory of the setting sun, and wished to hell I made my living some other way.

Chapter 5

The Dark Sister had a fitting name. From afar, the peak resembled a giant fist thrust skyward. A dark fist, due to a mantle of forest that covered the mountain from the crown to the base.

A rutted track led toward it across the grassland. The buckboard rattled and creaked without cease. I never had liked riding in a wagon; I liked it even less by the time the buckboard clattered up an emerald foothill to its grassy crest. There, I brought the team to a stop.

According to the directions Calista had given me, I had miles to go yet to reach the Butcher homestead. It would take most of the morning. I started to reach under my jacket to ensure my short-barreled Remington was snug in my shoulder holster, then elected not to. Some of the Butchers might be watching. I must not do anything to kindle suspicion.

On the seat beside me was the Bible. I picked it up and held it in plain sight and thumbed the pages as if searching for a particular passage. When I stopped thumbing, I moved my lips to give the impression I was reading. Then I set the Bible on the seat and creaked and clattered on.

I was alert for not only the Butchers, but for signs of cattle. All the hoofprints I had seen so far were of shod horses. Nor did I come across cow droppings. But that did not necessarily mean the Butchers were innocent. They could easily hide the rustled critters in any of the many ravines and canyons that poked outward from Dark Sister like the spokes on a wagon wheel.

Hours went by. Then a bend appeared, flanked by thick forest. I don’t know what I expected to see when I went around it, but it certainly wasn’t a sprightly girl of fifteen or sixteen skipping along with the sun playing off her straw hair and her bare feet. She heard the buckboard and turned. I figured she would run off, but she stood there as bold as brass with a smile that would warm harder hearts than mine.

I stopped next to her and smiled my friendliest smile. “Should I pinch myself or are you real?”

“I’m real, and you can pinch me instead.” She had a voice like honey and eyes that brought to mind a high country lake.

“That’s no way to talk to a parson, young lady.”

She giggled and brazenly devoured me with those blue eyes. “You’re no minister, mister.”

I was speechless.

“At least, you’re not like any minister I’ve ever seen. Usually they’re fat or bald or both. You have all your hair and you’re right handsome.”

Pure delight pulsed through me. But I was supposed to be a parson, so I said jokingly, “I am going to tell your ma on you, young lady.”

At that, she outright laughed. “Why, Parson, would you have me dragged out to the woodshed and switched until my backside is black and blue? My ma would blister me so bad, I couldn’t sit for a month of Sundays.” To stress her point, she rubbed her backside, then laughed louder.

“Might you be a Butcher?” I doubted she was a town girl up here on a lark, but with females you never know.

“Daisy Mae. But most folks just call me Daisy.” She arched a fine eyebrow. “You’re fixing to visit my ma, I take it?”

“If she is to home, yes.”

“She’s nearly always there,” Daisy said. “Except for once a month or so when she goes into town for her medicine and whatnot.” She gripped the edge of the seat. “Mind if I ride along? My feet are tired.”

I did not believe that for a second, but I moved over to make room and in a lithe bound she planted herself next to me. A flick of the reins and we were in motion. “Is it safe for you to be traipsing about by your lonesome?”

“Why wouldn’t it be? I can outrun most anyone or anything hereabouts. And I know this mountain like you know the back of your hand.”