The Marshal's Mission

The boy stepped back and scratched the top of his head. “Her muscles seem kinda bunched. And the arch in her neck is unlike others I’ve seen.”

“Good. What else?”

He planted fists on his hips. “Her eyes have a look about ’em. I could almost tell what she’s thinking.” He stepped closer to rub her soft nose. “And she’s good-natured. Not like Chuck and Midge’s horse. She was always mean.”

“Who’re Chuck and Midge?”

“Our hired help. Well, not anymore. One day, they just up and left.” The youngster ran his hand over the mare’s shoulder. “I love her dark mane and tail.”

Cole grinned at the boy’s horse sense. Reminded him of his brother, for some reason.

“Sheba,” Toby repeated, smoothing his hand across her. He threw a glance over his shoulder. “So what’s your name, mister?”

“You can call me Cole.”

“Thanks, Mr. Cole.”

“Nah, just Cole. Been that ever since I was your age.” He tilted his head and studied the boy. Something seemed to be weighing him down. Cole knew he didn’t have to pry. Folks volunteered all sorts of information if he remained quiet.

He didn’t have long to wait.

“Thanks for helping Blister. He means the world to me.”

“Glad to.” He paused, yielding to his curiosity about the dog. “You give him that name?”

“Yep.” The boy grinned. “A man in town didn’t want him no more. ’Bout three years ago. Pa said I could have him, if I wanted. I had a blister on my hand that looked the same color as his fur. Seemed only natural to call him that.”

“It’s a good name.” Cole leaned against the stall’s column and crossed his arms. “Tell me, do you know how he ended up with a rope around his neck?”

Had someone tried to hang the dog? Somehow Blister had escaped, only to get tangled up in scrub pine.

Toby’s mouth compressed. “Nope.”

“Y’sure? I can’t abide cruelty to animals.”

The boy wouldn’t meet his gaze as he stroked Sheba. Because his mother had schooled him about what to say? He managed a tight shrug. “Blister’s always roaming. Ma thinks he wandered too far.” He turned. “She would’ve cut the rope off him if you hadn’t come along.”

Should Cole ask about the boy’s father?

When he had first arrived and banged on the door to the house, no one answered. After seeing only the woman and Toby in the barn, he concluded the boy’s father was drunk, dead or absent. Which was it?

Given the woman’s overreaction earlier, he settled on her being a widow. One way to find out for certain.

As Cole spread his bedroll, he chose his words with care. “Wouldn’t your pa have helped?”

The youngster’s expression grew stony, fingers tangling in Sheba’s long mane. “I reckon.”

So, he and his mother are alone.

No sense pushing the boy for the truth. Besides, it was none of Cole’s business. By morning he would be on his way. He wanted to reach Silver Peaks before noon. After he found a place to stable his horses, he would check into a hotel and call it home for a spell. Should he reveal he was a US marshal to the town’s sheriff? Cole again weighed his options. Best to get to town first and check out the lay of the land.

“Are your geldings Morgans too?” Toby climbed a stall’s lower rung to rest his arms and chin on the stall’s top board. “I couldn’t tell for sure in the dark.”

“Nope. They’re not.”

“They’re pretty gentle too. Except one tried to bite me.”

Cole chuckled as he settled against his saddle. “That would be Nips. Sorry I didn’t warn you about him. I haven’t been able to break that bad habit.”

“And the other?”

“The sorrel’s Rowdy. He can get his dander up pretty quick, but overall he’s steady.”

“Toby.” The woman’s voice called over the gentle patter of rain. “Toby, where are you?”

He ran to the door. “Coming, Ma.” The youngster swiveled. “So are you coming up for supper, Cole? Ma saved over some stew from dinner.”

“Nah, I’m more tired than hungry.” Besides, he didn’t like being beholden to them any more than he already was. A worry pebble had lodged in his gut. What about them troubled him?

Toby grinned, his expression betraying wisdom that exceeded his age. “Too bad. Ma’s the best cook in Laramie County. And she makes a fearsome pie.” He took off across the sodden yard.

When Cole’s stomach growled in protest, he looked down at his concave abdomen. “Oh, hush.” Jerky and hardtack would suit him just fine.

Before first light, he would hit the road and distance himself from this place. Nothing and no one would distract him from his mission.

* * *

“What?” Aghast, Lenora’s grip tightened around the large serving spoon. “You invited him for supper?”

“I thought that’s what you said.”

“I told you to ask if he was hungry.” If so, she would have sent Toby to the barn with a bowl of stew. She wasn’t quite ready to have a stranger come into her house, no matter how friendly he had been.

“Don’t matter.” Her son rested an elbow on the table. “He said he was tired.”

“Doesn’t matter.” She finished serving leftovers into his bowl. “Please don’t use slang. You know I can’t abide it.”

“Yes’m.” He leaned his head against his fist as he slumped in the chair. “Cole sure has some nice horses. Especially Sheba.”

“Mr. Cole.” She finished laying out the remainder of the meal.

“He said to call him Cole. Without the mister.”

Lenora frowned.

“I’m sure, Ma.”

“Very well. Since he insisted.” She slid into the seat next to him. “Please don’t slouch.”