TERROR IN WYOMING

When the woman returned from tucking the boy into the bunk at the opposite end of the room, the cowboy reluctantly pushed away from the table.  “I’ll have one more cup of coffee, ma’am, if you don’t mind.  I can’t recall when I’ve had a more delicious meal.  I guess I’d fight a fire every day for a meal like I just had.  You’re truly a good cook.”

“I cook for our hands when we have hands.  You wouldn’t be looking for work, would you?” she asked boldly, as she poured his coffee.

“No, ma’am.”  The horseman blushed, something he hadn’t done in a long, long time.  “I know I must look like someone down on his luck, a saddle bum, dressed as I am, but I’m here in the area for a purpose.  You see--” he paused as he took a deep breath.  “I ‘m a Federal Marshall.  I’m doing a little investigative work--” he continued, yet still reluctant to go on, but knowing it was necessary.  “A man’s body was found near the Kaycee Ranch north of here.  Sheriff “Red”Angus in Buffalo requested help from the Cattleman’s Association when he thought this might be related to the range wars that are giving the Association so much trouble. They in turn asked for our help.”

Beth Conley looked unsteady and dropped slowly to her chair; she had turned paper-white.  “Go on, Mr. Kendall.”

“The man had been lying there for some time--the elements--!  He had no identification on him.  This was taken from the breast pocket of the man’s shirt.  It’s a bill of sale for a purebred Aberdeen-Angus bull.  The signature on the bill of sale couldn’t be made out.”

With trembling hands, the woman took the piece of paper, which he had taken out of his saddlebag earlier in the barn.  “This is Bill’s signature.  I’d know it anywhere, even faded as it is.  And who else in these parts have Aberdeen Angus!”  Her shoulders sagged most noticeably.

“Just because this was on the body--doesn’t prove--.” Kendall said, despising the situation in which he found himself.  He wanted Bill Conley to be alive; he wanted him to come home to this fine, caring family.

“Please, Mr. Kendall, no false hopes.  Deep down, I’ve been expecting something as bad as this, but hoping against hope.  Bill would be back or would have gotten word to me by now if it were possible.”  She dragged herself from the chair and left the room.

He heard muffled sobs from the bedroom.  He couldn’t stand to hear a woman cry.  He should have handled things differently, some way that would have been easier for her.  However, he had never been in similar circumstances before, and lacked experience in a matter such as this.  Berating himself, he cleared the table, carrying the dishes and leftovers to the kitchen counter.  He was rinsing off the dishes when the woman, her eyes reddened, quietly walked back into the room.  Silently, she took over, washing and stacking the dishes, while he dried with the towel she handed him.  She put the food away before sitting down at the table again.

“Would you like another cup of coffee, Mr. Kendall?  There’s several cups left.  I could lace it with whiskey if you like.”