Tomorrow he was going to ride to Seymour, return the mare he’d rented from the livery, round up as many men as were willing to make the trip back, and start beating the bushes for these two outlaws. Shoot. He’d pay the men for their time if he must. This had to stop before something besides chickens turned up dead.
“I need to know exactly what happened so I can report this to the sheriff tomorrow.” Mal hadn’t meant to bark the command, but if the disapproving stares aimed his direction were any indication, he’d spoken more harshly than he’d intended.
Betty wasn’t offended by his tone. She barely even batted an eyelash. She’d spent too many years around army folks to let a little domineering behavior cow her. Yet her deepening scowl told him she didn’t much care for his statement.
“Sheriff Tabor ain’t gonna do anything. I got no proof that anyone set the dogs on my chickens. Never saw hide not hair of the bandits. The birds were safely inside their pen with the gate closed when I left to walk the perimeter. If it weren’t for Helen’s shot, I never woulda known something was wrong.”
Mal turned a questioning gaze to the dark-haired woman at Betty’s side. For once, the man-shy lady met his stare without ducking away. Head high and jaw set she described the incident. “Someone unlatched the gate while Katie and I were in the house cleaning the eggs we’d gathered that morning and packing them in straw. I didn’t see who it was, but I know when I left the coop this morning, the latch was in place and undamaged. I always double-check.”
“I heard the barking.” Katie stepped forward to add to the telling. “A vicious, snarling sound.” She shivered. “I rushed to the window and saw them run straight for the gate, as if they knew the difference between it and the fence. They stopped for a minute, sniffing at the ground, but when one of the dogs hit the gate, it swung open as if the latch didn’t exist. The hens squawked and the dogs pounced.” Katie covered her face with her hands. “It was awful.”
“It was a slaughter.” Helen frowned. “Even the ones in the coop didn’t escape. Reminded me of fighting dogs. Bred to be killers. They didn’t even pause to eat what they killed, just chased down everything that moved. I grabbed my gun and ran out to try to stop them.”
“I didn’t want her to go,” Katie interrupted, tears streaming down her cheeks. “I was so afraid they’d turn on her. I held her back. If I hadn’t, maybe some of the hens would still be—”
“You did nothing wrong, Katie.” Helen’s voice was firm, almost impatient. But there was a kindness to it, too, that seemed to reassure the younger woman. “Nothing was going to stop those dogs.” She turned back to Malachi. “I shot in the air. Scared them off. They yelped and ran toward the river, leaving nothing but destruction behind.”
Betty patted Helen’s shoulder. “When I got back, I found meat scraps by the gate. Someone unlatched the gate but kept it closed so we wouldn’t suspect anything. Then they laid out scraps to lure the dogs in.” Betty turned hard eyes on Mal. “No man could’ve gotten that close in broad daylight without one of us noticing.” Her gaze shifted to the crowd standing around the wagon. “One of our own did this.”
Gasps and disbelieving murmurs spread through the crowd as ladies turned to look at their neighbors. Anger. Fear. Confusion. However, one face in the crowd registered nothing but determination. The face he admired most.
Without missing a beat, Emma hiked up her skirts, scaled the closest wagon wheel, and pulled herself up onto the driver’s box. She stood tall. Resolute.
“Ladies!” She dropped her skillet onto the bench seat and clapped her hands twice to get their attention. Unfortunately, the commotion had grown too unruly in the brief moment it had taken her to climb into the wagon.
Mal lifted his fingers to his mouth to give a sharp whistle like the one he used to call Ulysses, but Emma beat him to it. Curving thumb and forefinger and placing them just past the edge of her retracted lips, she let out a piercing blast that had him grinning with pride. Mal leaned back on his heels. He’d taught her that. They’d been kids at the time, but still . . . no one could deny the woman’s impressive pitch and volume.
Especially not the ladies milling about the street. The instant the whistle hit the air, their clamor died, and all heads jerked up to face their leader.
“Thank you.” Emma nodded, satisfied that she had everyone’s attention. “What happened at the farm is an abomination, and the fact that one of our own might have been involved is devastating. But hear me. We cannot afford to turn on each other, to allow suspicion and distrust to destroy our unity. We have an enemy to defeat, and if he senses that we no longer stand together, he will swoop in and tear us apart as efficiently as those dogs laid waste to Betty’s hens. Our strength is in our solidarity. If that is lost, we have nothing with which to make our stand.”