A Wolf in the Fold

The shortest route to the LT was through Whiskey Flats. But the citizenry would wonder if they beheld the parson riding hell bent for leather through the middle of town. I had to skirt it, which added another fifteen minutes.

Chafing at a pace that would win a race, I still had miles to go when the sun sank. I was glad of that. My one worry was that some of the LT cowboys would spot me and want to know why I was in such an all-fired hurry. I had to get in, do what needed doing, and get out again with no one the wiser.

Hannah had said her sons would wait until late. Exactly how late was the question. Late as in sometime after supper, or late as in after everyone had gone to bed. Were it me, I would wait until the Tanners—and the cowpokes in the bunkhouse—had turned in. Never leave anything to chance was the cardinal rule I lived by. Or tried to. Life had a knack for spoiling the best-laid plans.

I had to hand it to Hannah. Striking at the Tanners was brilliant. Gertrude would never expect it, not on her very doorstep. And Hannah was right about Gertrude being the bullwhip that drove the husband and son. Remove her, and Lloyd and Phil might end the blood spilling.

Cattle appeared. Not a lot at first. The nearer I drew to the ranch buildings, the more cows there were, and where there were cows, there were bound to be cowboys. I did not come across any, however, which was puzzling.

Brisco was lathered from neck to tail when I finally reined to a halt. Swinging down, I was about to slide the scattergun from my bedroll when I changed my mind. I chose other items from my saddlebags. Better to deal with Ty and Clell quietly. And the dog. I must not forget the dog. I must not forget it could hear me and smell me from a long way off.

I had killed dogs before. I never liked to kill them because I was fond of dogs, but sometimes they had to be dealt with. I always did it quickly so they wouldn’t suffer, and so they would not bark or yip and give me away.

There I was, cat footing across the prairie and thinking about dogs in general when I should have been thinking about Samson in particular, and Ty and Clell. I was forgetting the rules that had kept me alive for so long, rules I had made myself. It showed how rattled I was about Daisy.

I came on a gully I had not known was there, stumbled down the slope, and collided with someone slinking along the inky shadow at the bottom. The next instant iron fingers clamped like a vise onto my throat.

Chapter 11

In the dark above me loomed Clell Butcher. I seized his wrist and sought to wrench his hand from my throat, but he was as strong as a bull. His other hand locked on my right wrist even as his knee gouged into my gut, and he slowly bent me backward into a bow. All the while, his fingers dug deeper into my flesh.

I could not break his hold. I could not throw him off. My lungs started to ache for lack of air.

Clell grinned wolfishly. His face lowered to within an inch of mine and I could feel his hot breath on my cheek and smell the onions he had recently eaten. Suddenly he recoiled and straightened, and the next thing I knew, he had me by the shoulders and was shaking me and saying, “Parson! What in God’s name are you doing here?”

I couldn’t answer. I was sucking in precious breath.

“I’m sorry, Parson! Honest, I am! I had no idea it was you.”

I sagged to my knees so my body hid my right hand as I slid it under my pant leg and into my boot. I suppose some folks would call my boot knife a dagger since it was double-edged and slender, but to me a blade is a blade and I always called it a knife.

A hand gently clasped my shoulder. Clell was bending over me. “I’m awful sorry, Parson. But I took you for a cowboy.”

I had to swallow a couple of times before I could rasp, “I was looking for you and your brother.”

“Why? And how did you know we were here?”

“Your mother told me,” I managed to get out. “I know what you are up to. I came to stop you.”

“This doesn’t concern you, Parson. Go back to town, where you belong.”

The throat or the eye? That was the question I was asking myself as he helped me to my feet. The throat did not always kill a man right off. A big bear like Clell would take a while to expire, thrashing and gurgling and maybe calling out. I had seen it before.

“Ma should know better,” Clell was saying. “She’s always been respectful of men of the cloth, but you could have got yourself killed.”

“Where is your brother?”

Clell gestured vaguely in the direction of the buildings. “Over yonder. We drew straws. I’m watching the horses. They’re up this gully.”

“And the dog?”

“Samson is with Ty. Land sakes, Ma told you about him, too?”

“I can’t let you murder the Tanners. We must find Ty and stop him and get out of here before the entire ranch is up in arms.”

“Sorry, Parson, but no.”

“Excuse me?”

“We have it to do if we’re to save our family,” Clell declared. “And neither you nor the Bible nor God Almighty will stop us.”