The Heart's Frontier

NINETEEN





Luke slid out of the saddle and draped Whitey’s reins loosely around the gnarled stump of a scrub bush. Ahead of him lay the uneven ridge of land that sheltered the rustlers’ stolen herd. To his right the ridge ended in a narrow flat pass. Moving with caution, he started up the hill.

What am I doing here? I can’t recover the cattle by myself.

But that wasn’t his purpose, and he knew it. No, he was here to give himself a mental beating. Three hundred of his cattle, his responsibility, lay right on the other side of that ridge, and he couldn’t get them. No…not couldn’t. Wouldn’t.

What if the Switzers’ presence is an excuse? Would I give the order to go after them if I didn’t have the responsibility of protecting Emma and her family?

A Bible story his grandma used to tell replayed itself in his memory. He could see her sitting near the hearth, rocking in her chair the same way Mrs. Switzer did.

“The Lord understood raising livestock, He did,” she told her audience of three little boys. “He knew that every sheep matters. He said if there were a hunnert sheep but only one got lost, the shepherd ought to go find it. And that’s why he comes after you time and agin, no matter how often you go off.”

She’d looked right at Luke when she said that. Being the oldest and most adventurous of the brothers, he’d had his hind end warmed more than once for wandering off without permission.

He shook off the memory. The point, of course, was about the Lord pursuing His children. But the story was based on a premise, that the shepherd of a flock valued each and every sheep enough to go after them when they were lost. And what was the difference between sheep and cattle? Especially cattle that belonged to someone else, cattle he’d been give charge of.

The fact was, Luke wasn’t sure he would go after those rustled cattle even if the Switzers weren’t around. The shoot-out this morning had shaken him badly. He wasn’t afraid of dying, but he didn’t intend to lose another one of his men.

I really am a lousy trail boss. Pa would go after what he wanted no matter who was standing in his way, no matter the risk.

The realization lay heavy on him as he dropped to his belly and crawled the rest of the way up the hill to get a final look at the proof of his failure, his stolen cattle.

Like the herd a few miles behind him, this one rested peacefully. They huddled close together in the center of the bowl, from this vantage point like a solid rug of multicolored cowhide. It was impossible to count them by starlight, but judging by the size of the area they occupied, there were upwards of seven hundred head. He glanced toward the camp. A fire burned bright, which meant the men had posted a guard, but they weren’t circling the herd on horseback. Instead, they were probably counting on the ridge to form a natural corral which the cattle would not cross in the dark.

Luke considered creeping down the hill to get a closer look at the nearest steers. No doubt the Triple Bar brand could still be identified because the thieves hadn’t had time to slice it off and rebrand them, but he’d love to know if a fake brand appeared on the hides of the others.

A movement east of the camp halted him. A horse galloped through the narrow break in the ridge. The sound of hooves pounding the ground echoed around the bowl and stirred the men who sat near the campfire. Luke counted three figures as they climbed to their feet and greeted the rider. So, the fourth rustler had finally returned to his desperado partners.

The ever-present Kansas wind blew wispy clouds across the night sky. A break in the coverage revealed a half moon, and white light painted the dark landscape with luminescence as the fourth man’s horse came to a stop. He dismounted and then dragged something off of the saddle. He tossed his burden to the ground, where it rolled away.

As Luke watched, the dark shape moved, stood upright, and then crouched on the ground.

It was a person.

Luke froze, his eyes fixed on that dark, huddled figure. Moonlight shone clearly off a white kapp. Blood drained from his brain, and the world spun in an eerie, sickening dance. An Amish head covering. And the darkness in which the figure was swathed was an Amish dress.

Emma. That person was Emma.

And she was in the hands of murderous cattle rustlers.