Everyone gathered on stools around the counter. For a long time the only sounds were spoons on crockery as the boys ate bowl after bowl of chili and drank beer. After they had their fill, the entire party moved to the living room and chatted away the remainder of the evening. It felt as if they had known each other all their lives.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Tav studied the remnants of the camp, hands on hips. "Why would anyone do this?"
"Maybe someone doesn't like sheep," Susan said.
"Then why not just shoot them?"
Zack rubbed his chin. "This may have nothing to do with sheep. This destruction is very thorough. I think they were looking for something."
Eagle Feather raised an eyebrow. "What could anyone want from two lonely shepherds?"
"That's a good question. The destruction is so complete, it could mean they never found what they were looking for." Zack moved down the slope toward a tattered sleeping bag. "Maybe we will be luckier."
Zack looked at Tav, who shrugged his shoulders. "Worth a try."
The four spread out across the arroyo. Even Big Blue sniffed around amongst the litter, although likely on his own quest for something he could eat. The two Shelties sat and watched. The arroyo was completely littered, yet there were pathetically few belongings. A half hour later they all came together.
"These boys lived a sparse existence," Susan remarked.
"Here's something." Eagle Feather had a small spiral notebook in his hands. "This was stuck between the wooden planks of the platform." He leafed through it. "It looks like a journal, there are dates on the pages. Some are ripped out. It’s written in English.”
“What’s the date of the last entry?” Zack asked.
Eagle Feather handed the small book to Zack. He glanced through it, saw it was written with pen in careful cursive as if for a school paper. There was no date on the last entry. He flipped back a page. “Here, this one has the date August 12 at the top of the page. The final entry could be the next day, August 13, but he never got the chance to finish.”
“Well?” Susan said.
“Well, what?”
“Well, what does the final entry say?”
Zack grinned at her, began to read. "Very cold during the night. I was glad Junior came to cuddle with me. Beautiful morning, with the clear light that comes just before the sun rises, a new freshness to the air.”
“A romantic,” Susan said.
Zack read on. “Later today we'll go to Hidden Springs and try our luck. If we leave mid afternoon we can be there and back before too late. Julio says we won't find anything; the map is too ambiguous. But I think I see a pattern. I am excited to try it."
"And?"
"That's all. It ends there."
"So. He mentions a map," Eagle Feather said.
"A map suggests an entirely different purpose to their presence at the spring," Zack said.
"It suggests something different might have been going on there, not necessarily what everyone thought," Susan said.
Zack turned an eye toward Tav. "Was anything resembling a map found on their bodies? It could have been anything, it might not have looked like a map at all."
Tav shook his head. "No one mentioned anything like that, as far as I know."
"I think we'd better double check."
Tav looked at his watch. "It's time I got back anyway. I've left my store locked up too long. I'll call the sheriff's office with that question, let you know what he says." He looked at the two dogs. "I'll take the Shelties with me, get them something to eat, see about someone to watch the sheep."
Zack nodded. "You go ahead. We'll stay and sort through this stuff a while longer"
Tav whistled, motioned with his arm. The two dogs came and trotted along with him.
Zack watched them go.
"No rifle."
Zack turned to Eagle Feather. "What was that?"
Eagle Feather waved an arm at the demolished camp. "We have not found a rifle. A shepherd would have a rifle. A pistol is no good at long range against varmints.
Zack nodded, thought about it. "No one mentioned finding rifles at the crime scene, either."
"Maybe whoever did this took their rifle, if they had one," Susan said. "Maybe whoever wrecked this camp killed the boys. Maybe they wanted the map mentioned in the diary."
"Whoa, there, slow down. We need some evidence to make those connections."
"If we find the rifle, maybe we find the killers," Eagle Feather said.
"Any ideas?"
Eagle Feather shrugged. "If the boys bought rifles in this area, the store might have a record."
Susan nodded in agreement. "Zack, I know it's a big leap from assuming the boys had a rifle to assuming the person or persons who wrecked their camp stole the rifle, but even so, what could it hurt to inquire? If we find one or both boys had bought rifles, we now have a solid line of inquiry."
Zack put up his hands. "Okay, okay. It's a good idea." He gazed around the littered slope. "Let's give this place one last thorough search before we go."
This time they went about it in a more organized fashion. Eagle Feather began his search at the downhill extremity of the debris, Susan at the top. Zack worked across the middle, and Blue went where he wished. The sun was high, the arroyo exposed to its rays. In another hour, Zack was damp with sweat, ready to call it off. A glint of silver caught his eye. It looked like a torn piece of packaging. He picked it up. There were red letters across it which read: "Winchester Super-X High Velocity––". The rest was torn off.
Zack called to the others, handed the fragment to Eagle Feather.
"Winchester Super-X High Velocity Ammunition 22 Long Rifle 40 Grain," Eagle Feather said, finishing it. "I recognize this. I use this ammo myself." He handed it to Susan with a grin. "They had a rifle."
"Your idea to check local gun shops looks even better now." Zack looked at the sun. "I think we're done here."
They trudged back across the slope, hot, sweaty, and tired.
Susan looked at the sheep. "I get the sense these fellows would remain right here forever just munching away, oblivious to all the drama around them."
"I envy them," Zack said. "Life can have too much drama."
Eagle Feather caught his tone, glanced at him. "Think you and Libby might get back together anytime soon?"
Zack grimaced, shrugged. "Nothing has changed, really. I can't promise to give up my work, she doesn't want me to move back until I do." He gave a resigned grin. "I drive out to see them every chance I get. I probably see them more now than before we separated." He sighed. "I get it, though. She couldn't live with the constant threat of danger, not just for me, but for her and our child."
They emerged from the scrub. The red Jeep was below them in the wash. Zack glanced at it, stopped and stared. "Oh, shit," he said.
All four tires were flat.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
Sunlight woke Col from sound sleep. He felt its warmth, blinked, let his eyes wander. He was in a strange bed, strange place. Memory came slowly. He sat up and immediately emitted a groan of pain––every muscle ached.
His clothing lay heaped on the floor. Across from him Julio was asleep, sprawled on an identical platform bed. They were in the bunkhouse, he remembered. They were at the Darnell Ranch.
The thought of Kella came to him. He flushed with embarrassment at his behavior the previous night, hoped he hadn't created a lasting impression as an utter fool. He vowed to remedy it this morning, somehow.
He yawned, stretched, felt the universal ache but otherwise felt rested and for once, clean. The bunkhouse had a wonderful hot shower; Col had monopolized it before bed. He dug in his pack for the clean set of jeans and shirt he'd set aside for civilized occasions. He had just pulled on his boots when the ringing clang of a metal triangle sounded. It was time for breakfast.
Col nudged Julio through the blanket with the toe of his boot. When his friend's eyes opened, he said, "Breakfast," and without waiting clumped acro
ss the bunkhouse floor toward the bright sunshine framed in the doorway. He crossed the packed dirt yard. Mrs. Darnell, white aproned and smiling, was on the porch.
"Morning, Col. Is Julio awake?"
"Just now," he replied. "He'll be along."
He followed her from the morning chill through the kitchen door into snug warmth smelling of fried bacon and coffee. Mr. Darnell was seated at the long plank table, filling his plate from a heaping platter of sausage, bacon and scrambled eggs. A tall pot steamed on the wood stove, potatoes crisped in a skillet. No Kella, he saw at once.
"Sit, boy. Eat your fill," Frank Darnell said. "Those as are late must meet their fate, as my dad used to say." His eyes twinkled.
Col pulled back the bench and slid in front of an empty plate. A hot cup of coffee was set before him. He held it under his nose and let its steam enliven him before venturing the first burnt-tongue sip. The moment was delicious.
The bench moved, shifted as someone's weight settled in next to him. He dared not look right away; her fragrance, the warm brush of her arm announced her presence. Before turning toward Kella, Col first lowered his very full and hot mug to the table, careful, determined not to make any slips in front of the girl. He turned to her, his glance met by curious green eyes.
"Good morning," she said, her voice sleepy and soft.
Col opened his mouth to reply.
"Buenos dias." Julio's loud salutation came before Col could speak. His friend stood dark against the brightness of the doorway.
"Come in, come in," Frank Darnell said.
"Good morning," Mrs. Darnell and Kella said in unison.
Julio sat at the table opposite Kella, smiled at her, looked at Col. "How do you feel this morning, amigo?"
Col groaned. "I am searching for a muscle that does not ache."
Everyone laughed.
"I think you did wonderfully well for someone who never rode a horse before," Mrs. Darnell said, her eyes crinkled and kind.
"When I first met him, he couldn't climb either. Now it's all I can do to stay with him." Julio grinned fondly at Col.
"So you boys climb, do you?" Frank Darnell said. "I did some climbing back in the day." From there, the conversation moved to climbing experiences and on to other explorations with the discovery of the inevitable similarities and differences. All assembled were adventurers––two young men footloose and happy, and a family of pioneers living in the final vestige of unexplored and seldom seen wilderness. Common threads abounded.
After a long, leisurely breakfast, the group left Mrs. Darnell to her chores, mounted up for the ride to the pasture where the sheep grazed. Col felt anxious as he saddled Rat, but surprised himself with the ease with which he managed to mount, and his relative lack of discomfort in the saddle. He was becoming an old hand quickly, he thought.
"Your uncle is a savvy man," Frank Darnell said to Julio as they rode. "He studied sheep breeds and selected the perfect combination of hardiness and yield in his sheep. Few know the type––Painted Desert Sheep, bred from Far Eastern breeds. They lamb twice a year; produce a good weight of wool each spring. Your uncle's herd has already doubled in size, even with predator loss and sales to locals." Frank swung sideways in his saddle to smile at Julio. "Better yet, they are great scroungers and can find forage in even the sparsest conditions."
"How are they when water is scarce?" Julio asked.
"No animal does well without water," Frank said, "but these do better than most."
Behind Frank and Julio, Col and Kella rode side by side, appearing to listen to the conversation in front of them, yet with a mutual awareness of one another.
The riders passed through the two gates the boys had negotiated the night before and traveled on north toward the head of the valley. The baaing of sheep came to them long before they saw the creatures spread out on the gentle slopes of the mountain foothills. With their black and white coloring they were difficult to see against the shadow-speckled hillside.
"What keeps them from wandering?" Julio asked.
"––or from predators?" Col added.
"Two things," Frank said. "First, there is a fence line beyond this first range of hills to keep them in this valley. As for predators, the answer to that is coming toward us right now." He pointed. Two dogs were sprinting toward them, joy written in every movement.
Kella laughed. "They are happy to see us, but even more happy at the prospect of breakfast."
Julio had already dismounted to greet the dogs. "Are these your dogs? What are their names?"
Frank laughed. "No, these are your dogs. Their names are Shep and Junior. Your uncle purchased them along with the sheep. They will go with you when you move the herd." He looked at Julio, then at Col. "Believe me, you'll be happy to have them. They know more about herding sheep from instinct than most people ever learn from experience."
Kella swung down from her mount and extricated bowls and dog food from her saddlebag. "They're mighty cute, too."
The two Shetlands sat side-by-side, tongues lolling, waiting for the bowls to be filled and put before them. They politely ignored Julio's advances.
"They'll be happy to meet you, but not until after breakfast," Frank said, with a laugh. "Meanwhile, why don't you mount up and I'll show you the herd."
They left Kella with the dogs and rode up the pasture. At their approach, a large ram, horns thick and curled, stepped forward to challenge them.
Julio reined in, surprised. "I've tended plenty of sheep, I've never been challenged by a ram quite like that before."
"You've never tended this breed of sheep before. They originated on Texas game farms, more for hunting than wool. Your uncle tells me they are Mouflon crossed with Rambouillet, Merino, and Texas Blackbelly."
"Look at the beard on that big guy," Julio said.
Col stared. "Those horns are massive. He's like a mountain sheep."
"These sheep are self sustaining to a very high degree," Frank said. He grinned. "That will make your job easier."
"Speaking of our job, where are we supposed to take this herd?" Col asked. He scanned the hillside. "There must be a hundred of them."
"Roberto leases an area of mountain grassland around a spring at a place called Hackberry Mountain. It's about 20 miles east of here." He waved an arm off in that direction.
"You mean we've got to walk this mob twenty miles?" Col was shocked.
Frank laughed. "Ordinarily that'd be nothing for a shepherd, but it's pretty near impossible from here, what with mountain ranges and private holdings and BLM land in between. We'll truck ‘em." He sat quiet for moment, calculating. "You've got maybe 85 head here, rams, ewes and lambs, give or take any birthing that might have happened last couple of days. We might make it in two trips with my cattle truck." He sensed the boys' eagerness. "Plenty of time, though. Let them feed a bit more here, fatten up. Where you're goin', forage is a bit scarce. Besides, we haven't had company in some time." He looked at both boys and smiled.
The man's smile was infectious; you couldn't help but grin back, Col thought.
"Guess the dogs are done eating," Frank said, looking behind him.
Col looked, saw the two dogs coming toward them like rockets. Kella wasn't even in sight yet.
"Told you they'd be wanting to meet you," Frank said, laughing.
CHAPTER 15
Zack inspected the front tire. Eagle Feather walked a wide arc around the vehicle, his eyes on the sand. He came full circle, looked at Zack.
"No footprints here but our own."
"This tire was not slashed," Zack said. "It was shot."
"Shot?" Susan said, alarmed.
Zack nodded. He looked at Eagle Feather.
"They've all been shot," the Navajo said.
Susan looked puzzled. "I didn't hear anything."
"We may have been too far around the face of the mountain to hear the shots."
"Tav's vehicle was spared, apparently––it's not here," Susan said.
"How long ago di
d he leave, do you remember?" Zack looked from Eagle Feather to Susan.
Susan looked at her watch. "He had at least an hour head start."
Zack studied the tire marks where Tav's SUV had been parked. He shook his head. "Tav's tires were all inflated when he drove away, apparently before the sniper arrived––or perhaps the sniper wasn't interested in him."
Eagle Feather gazed up the wash. "The shooter would have had to change position and angles to shoot all the tires from up there."
Zack stood at the left rear tire, looked at the hole in it, glanced up the slope following the angle of shot in his mind. He walked to the right rear tire and did the same. "He shot at a sharp angle, didn't move all that far, would have been somewhere around those bushes." He pointed up the wash.
"That's good shooting."
Zack rubbed his chin. "The sniper could of left off after shooting the front tires, and have accomplished the same thing. I sense some anger there."
Susan had her phone in her hand. "You two can admire the sniper all you want, I'm going to get us a ride home."
"You got a signal out here?" Zack asked, surprised.
Susan smiled, nodded, pushing numbers.
Zack reached into the Jeep for the metal detector.
"You think the bullet went all the way through the tire," Eagle Feather said.
"This front one did, anyway. I saw the exit hole on the backside. The bullet passed just above the rim, it should be in the sand here somewhere." Zack turned on the detector, moved it over the sand behind the tire. The beep-beep came almost immediately. He set the detector aside and dug into the sand with his hands.
"I hate to bring up an unpleasant thought," Susan said, "but what if the sniper is still around and decides to practice on us instead of tires?"
"Keep moving or low," was Eagle Feather's advice.
Susan immediately crouched behind the Jeep.
"Did your call go through?" Zack's voice came muffled from under the vehicle.
"I called Tav. He's arranging for a tow."
Eagle Feather raised an amused eyebrow, had begun to speak when a loud "Gotcha!" came from Zack. He crawled out, opened his fist. A rifle slug lay on his palm. "It's a bit flattened from the impact, but a lab should be able to identify the caliber, and maybe even the type rifle."
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