The Marshal's Mission

As her son straightened, he grimaced—displaying his thinking face. “Do you like Cole, Ma?”

The direct question took her aback. How much could she say to her ten-year-old? Though he sometimes acted grown up, she couldn’t forget he was still a child.

“I like him just fine. But we can’t forget he’s a stranger.” She stared at her hands, clenched in her lap. “And now that your pa’s gone, we have to be cautious. That’s all. Remember what we talked about?”

Toby fingered the spoon beside the bowl. “I s’pose.”

The nearest town was located several hours away. No doubt her son was lonely. But she didn’t want him to latch on to the first stranger who had ridden onto their ranch since Amos’s death. Though something about Cole tugged at her to trust him, she resisted.

“Let’s pray.” After they clasped hands, Lenora bowed her head. “Thank You, Lord, for Your provision. May we truly be grateful.” She paused, suppressing a barrage of anxiety-riddled requests. “Thank You for returning Blister. In Your Son’s name. Amen.”

“Amen.” Toby scooped a large spoonful of food into his mouth.

Before she took three bites, he finished one bowlful. She served him more while he wolfed down a hunk of bread.

“I declare, you eat more than your pa...ever did.” She smoothed his dark, damp hair, hoping he didn’t notice her slip of the tongue.

Grinning, Toby ate two bites in quick succession. “After I’m done, can I go check on Blister?”

“I’d rather you didn’t disturb our guest. He’s probably sleeping by now.”

Scraping the spoon across the bottom of the bowl, Toby frowned. “Think he’ll stay, Ma?”

“Cole?”

“Yeah.” Eyes hopeful, her son looked up.

Her cheeks warmed as she considered that possibility. “I expect he’s on his way somewhere important. Probably be gone first light.”

“Where?”

“I don’t know. Maybe Oregon Territory. Or California. People are still crazy with gold fever.”

“Couldn’t you ask him to stay? Maybe hire him? Seein’ as how Chuck and Midge are gone.”

She took care answering, not wanting to raise his hopes. “I’d have to think on that some.”

Should she confide to her son that she planned to sell the ranch? Frank Hopper, their nearest neighbor, had not yet responded to her proposition.

Toby scratched the top of his head with his knuckles. “Why do you think Chuck and Midge left? They didn’t even say goodbye.”

Debating how much to speculate about their sudden and secretive departure, Lenora chewed her lip. “I’m sure they had a good reason.”

Last fall, Amos had begun building a small place for the couple. The frame of a building stood across the corral that was in the center of the yard. He’d even carved Midge one of his rocking chairs for which he was famous. Had Jeb Hackett bribed or threatened them? With them gone, she and Toby couldn’t manage the ranch by themselves.

In silence, she and Toby finished their meal. The fire popped and crackled, the damp logs hissing. The sound reminded her she’d have to chop more wood soon. Their winter stacks were almost gone. As soon as Lenora entertained that worry, a dam broke of all their other needs. They not only had the garden to tend to, but the cow to milk, pig to slop and chickens to feed.

The weight of each concern grew heavier.

New seedlings were just poking their heads up through the rough soil. Had she planted too early? The freezing rain may have damaged them. Then their cow was drying up. Could they hold out until their other one calved? The pig was getting so big, he would have to be slaughtered soon. But which neighbor could she call on to help?

Staples were running low as well as their smoked pork and venison. She pushed aside the unpleasant thoughts of shooting, then gutting a deer. How could she process all the meat by herself? Toby, of course, would be a great help, but the two of them didn’t have time to do everything.

She wouldn’t even begin to consider the bigger needs of the ranch—the calves that had yet to be branded and castrated, the fences that needed mending and a host of other chores. After Chuck and Midge had disappeared, she reconciled herself to selling out while she could. Though she hated the thought of taking Toby away from his home, he would eventually adjust to city life. At least he would no longer be lonely.

Appetite gone, Lenora rose and scraped the remainder of her stew into the slop bowl. Her shoulders hunched as she sighed. “You can take this to Blister in the morning. And don’t forget the pig.”

Toby slipped his arm about her waist and leaned his cheek against her shoulder. My, but he was getting tall!

“It’ll be okay, Ma. You’ll see.”

“I know.” Her chest heaved as she considered moving away.

“I been praying every night that God would send help. Do you think He sent Cole?”

Had He?

“That’d be nice.” When her voice cracked, she cleared her throat. “But let’s not make plans until we find out what Cole intends to do.”

Her son squeezed her waist before turning away to clear the table.

Later as she lay in bed, staring at the dark ceiling, she dared to whisper, “God...?” Her plea stuck in her throat.

How many times over the years had she begun a prayer, then stopped? Because she asked the same things over and over?

The nights Amos didn’t return home, she fervently prayed it wasn’t because he was thieving or gambling. When she smelled whiskey on his breath or cheap perfume on his clothes, she refused to let him kiss her. But no matter how hard she prayed, he never turned from his wicked path. He still rode with the outlaw gang.

As tears slipped down her temple, Lenora brushed them away. With a rueful heart, she thought of her husband buried in the backyard, a simple tombstone marking the spot. Under his coffin rested a satchel of stolen money.

That terrible and dark secret would remain entombed—not only with Amos, but in her heart.

As Lenora pulled the blanket higher, the same plaintive questions whispered in her mind. Why did he get shot robbing that bank? Why hadn’t Jeb Hackett been killed instead?

Chapter Three (#ub1d802f6-17df-5076-a16b-f9eb95bfc2a7)

In the early-morning hours, the tramping of horse hooves sent a shaft of fear down Lenora’s spine. She threw a towel over her biscuit dough and yanked open the door. A quick swipe of her fingers across her apron removed the dusting of flour. One hand fumbled for the barrel of her rifle, standing just inside the doorjamb.

Where was her son? She hoped he was still abed in the loft. When she saw who came up the road, she gulped. Please let Toby stay asleep.

No telling what her son would do when he saw Jeb Hackett.

He and two of his men thundered into the yard, their horses kicking clods of mud high into the air. Though the sun had not yet crested the horizon, rosy light painted the mountains to the west and the grassy plains in the south. Someone had let the chickens out already. Cole? The hens that had wandered to the rutted road scattered and squawked as the riders approached. Somewhere in the distance, Blister began to bark.

“Halloo.” Jeb reined his dappled gray beside the corral in the middle of the yard.

“Morning.” She wove a thread of politeness into her tone as she remained in the open doorway. No sense irritating him unnecessarily. Another reason she kept the rifle out of sight.

“Well, ain’t you a sight to behold.” Jeb smirked. “Your hair is done up real purdy. Like you was expecting me.”