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Twenty One
"Well, I'd like to thank you at least for bringing the man along who brought the accusations. I can tell you that Mr. Riley in particular has been responsible for harassing several of my deputies in their duties, and he simply won't listen to reason on the subject of his supposed claims." Sheriff Barnes sat forward. "There simply isn't any basis to his claim that his cattle are being stolen. He brought up north a herd of barely fifty head of cattle, barely six months old. Who would want to steal those cattle?"
The Deputy's face remained neutral. "What do you say to his claim of a witness who says that he's been offered a deal on stolen cattle?"
"I'm sorry to say that there's simply nothing to those claims. I personally rode up to Caspar, and asked after the man. They say he's a drunk, nothing like a ranch owner."
Glen's face darkened. He didn't like any of this. In fact, it downright stunk. Something was going on, and as much as he had hoped to get his hands clean of the trouble that he'd faced so far, it seemed less and less likely that he was going to find anything without digging in deeper.
"That's very interesting news to me."
"We spoke to the man anyways—he doesn't tell the story anything like Mr. Riley here tells it. Mr. Beck said that he, Mr. Riley, and the hussy he's living in sin with, were going around asking anyone who would tell them to name Mr. Rod Dawson as the man who had stolen their cattle, even offering to pay."
Glen grit his teeth but remained silent.
The conversation continued, but he stopped listening. Each bit a lie, compounded on the last part, with just enough of a ring of truth that Glen would be lucky if the deputy didn't walk right out now.
He stayed, though. It was infuriating, but he stayed. There was nothing else to do, after all. If he left, then he wouldn't even be able to hear the lies that Barnes told, and he would be totally unprepared to respond to them afterward.
Glen let out an unsteady breath. The remark about Catherine was uncalled for. Let the criticism of him, of his lifestyle—things that Jim Barnes couldn't possibly have known about Glen's history with gambling, mixed into absurd tales of gambling debts to men he'd never had the displeasure to meet—all of it could come and he would deal with it gladly.
But it was only the star on Barnes's chest that kept Glen from putting a fist through the man's nose. After what the man was saying now, right in front of his face, he wouldn't piss on the man if he was on fire. And what made it worse, was from the look on the Sheriff's face, he knew it, too, and it didn't make one lick of difference.
Catherine sat back against the chair.
"Flu?"
"Yes, ma'am. Sounds like perhaps a bit of bronchitis, as well."
"Should we be worried, Doctor?"
She didn't like the look he made, while he was thinking about it. She didn't like that he had to think about it at all. The answer should have been obvious. She hoped it was obvious. The answer should have just been, 'no, ma'am, it'll be just fine.'
From the man's face, it was obvious that it wasn't.
"If you can keep her here, I can treat her. The danger will pass in a day or so, and I can release her after a week or so—does that sound fair?"
"Thank you, Doctor." Catherine could feel tears welling up in her eyes, and she willed them away.
"Now—about the matter of payment."
Catherine had been dreading this. But it wasn't unexpected. The Doctor seemed to fidget, all of a sudden, from one foot to the other.
"I can pay, of course. What do I owe you?"
"Well," he took a moment, adjusted the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. "Give me a moment."
He settled into a chair at his desk, pulled out a piece of paper, and started writing numbers down. She could already see from the distance she was at, she wasn't going to like the number he came up with. But she was already sure that would happen. She wasn't going to like any number that he said, and that didn't change the fact that she would have to pay it.
If she had to sell her cattle at a loss, it didn't matter. Ada, Cole, and Grace were all she had, and she couldn't give them up.
She swallowed when he stood back up. Pressed his spectacles back up his nose.
"The total, once we account for the time she will spend in my care, will come to Eighty-eight dollars."
She was right. That was a month's expenses. But that didn't change the fact that if it was for Ada's health, then she would pay it regardless. She couldn't afford to be stingy, not now. She pulled a thick wad of bills out of her pocket and started counting.
They rode north in silence. The Deputy might have believed the story that Barnes fed him, or he might not have. It was hard to say, but Glen didn't like how well the story had been told. Practically as if it was rehearsed. He knew the truth himself, and Glen considered himself good at reading other people, but without knowing to a certainty, he wasn't sure he could have called the man out as a liar.
