Page 31 of In These Hills

“You bet I will. Maybe give her extra oats?”

The boy’s exuberance coaxed a smile. “A little won’t hurt. Doc inside?”

“Yes, sir. With them sickly ones.”

Dodge found Doc Wyatt kneeling in a stall, glasses riding low on his nose. “What’s the verdict, Doc?”

“Afraid it doesn’t look good. I’m glad you culled these two when you did.”

“What do you think it is?”

“While I’m not certain, my best guess would be—”

“Texas fever,” Dodge said quietly.

Doc glanced back. “You already knew . . .”

“More like suspected.” Dodge removed his hat and raked a hand through his hair. “Any cattleman worth his salt has heard of it.” He studied the cows collapsed in the hay. “Weakness in the limbs. Blood in the urine. They were stumbling and groaning when I found them. But if it’s Texas fever wouldn’t you find—”

Doc Wyatt held up a dingy white kerchief splotched with blood—and containing numerous enlarged ticks. “These were still alive when I pulled them off.”

Dread hardened Dodge’s stomach. “What about the seventy-five steers ready for market? We’re driving them to Tullahoma today.”

Doc shook his head. “Not with this, you’re not. If it is the fever, you’ll be shut down for weeks. Maybe months.”

Dodge let that sink in, hearing the money he’d hoped to earn drain away. “No sales to national markets. No local buyers either. The lost revenue will be sizable.”

“I’m afraid it might be a lot worse than that, Dodge. Because the fever tick—if that’s what it is—isn’t your usual cattle tick. After mating, the females don’t drop off after each molt like usual. They stay attached, feeding until their life cycle’s nearly spent. Then they drop off, lay thousands of eggs, and die. The larvae live in the grass until other animals happen along and—”

“It starts all over again.” Dodge glanced out the open door of the barn. “So you’re telling me I not only have a pasture full of sick cows, but that a whole slew of tick eggs are in field grass ready to hatch?”

“I’m afraid that’s the big and small of it. But remember, I don’t know for sure yet that it is Texas fever.”

“Don’t you, though, Doc?”

The older man hesitated. “If we’re right, and I hope we’re not . . . the sick ones won’t last long. Emaciation, fever, anemia, blood in the urine, then death follows fast. That’ll pretty much answer the question. I’ll send these ticks to a colleague who works for the Department of Agriculture in DC. See what he says. But I don’t know of any medicine able to treat this.” He started to stand, then faltered.

Dodge grabbed his arm. “You okay there, Doc?”

The older man straightened and rubbed his lower back. “I’m fine. Just old as these hills, that’s all.” He rubbed the bridge of his nose. “You’ll need to check the entire herd. Horses too. Quarantine anything showing symptoms. And don’t move the cows from that pasture.”

Dodge nodded. “How long does a field stay infected?”

“Weeks. Sometimes months. All depends on the vitality of the young ticks. Dead of winter is a struggle for them. But spring . . .”

“Can people get it?” Dodge pictured Bethie riding Ginger Snap all over that field the previous afternoon.

“I don’t know, but best to take precautions until we do.”

They walked to Doc Wyatt’s wagon.

“I appreciate you coming so fast, Doc. I’ll let Uncle Jack know.”

“Hopefully things won’t go as bad as I’ve laid out.”

“In all the years I’ve known you, Doc, I don’t ever recall you being wrong.”

The older man laughed. “That’s because you weren’t around in my early days. I made plenty of mistakes. The secret, I learned early on, is always learning from them. Never waste a hurt, as my dear Lucille used to say.”