Before my dad could hang up, a question sprung to my my mind and I made sure to ask him the question.
"Say, dad, before you go, I got a question to ask you," I spoke quickly.
"Sure, go ahead..." Jacob Wayne replied.
"How are Jackson and Leona doing?" I wondered.
"Leona, I think is close to being fully recovered and has actually begun cleaning up what the gang thrashed in her lab," Jacob Wayne answered, "Jackson... he's healing... but slowly, I'd assume your partner is in the same boat?"
"Yeah," I said, giving a nod my father couldn't see, "Officer Barnes is getting some strength back, but he still has a couple of weeks before he'll be ready to come back to work."
"Jackson is much the same," Jacob Wayne has answered, "though much of that is what we've heard from Leona and from Jackson's "replacement"."
"Replacement?" I wondered.
"Jackson can't really do his job as a probation officer in his condition at the moment," Jacob Wayne replied.
"Is he out of the hospital?" I asked.
"Yes," my father responded, "Leona has taken him home with her..."
"He isn't..." I began.
"For the moment he is still human," Jacob Wayne sighed, "but I believe her attraction to Jackson is becoming stronger and partially instinctive. She's referred to him as "pride" a couple of times when I've visited him. I've also found that she is very protective of him..."
"I see," I responded slowly, "Tell Jackson that Molly and I wish him well and hope he recovers well... and hopefully, he and Leona don't do something that would jeopardize her probation and get Jackson in trouble."
"Thanks, George, and I'll tell them you and Molly wish them well," my father replied, "How is Molly, anyway?"
"Doing well," I told him, "Relieved to an extent that Beauregard is gone, but I'd almost tend to think that everyone is."
"Your mother will kill me if I don't ask this... but... are you a "dad" yet?" Jacob Wayne asked slowly.
"What?... NO!... Molly isn't pregnant," I stammered in surprise, "we won't be able to try until next winter."
"Planning?"
"Genetics," I sighed, "Molly and I found that that she is on a "heat cycle"... and the Bengal Tiger's mating season is during the winter months. Molly and I purposely skipped this winter's "season" because we didn't feel we were financially ready to start a family... and that we had all the stuff with R.A.M. and my transformation going on... we didn't feel we were ready."
"And a smart choice, son," Jacob Wayne commented, sounding very much like an experienced father, "families are big responsibilities, son. Your mother will want you and Molly to produce grandchildren for her eventually, but for right now... enjoy being a married couple. Don't rush things."
"We aren't," I replied, deciding not to comment on my Mother's ideas. I knew she loved Molly and I, even though she had a hard time accepting that we weren't going to live close to Peoria. If she wanted to be the stereotypical grandmother who spoils her grandchildren, I had no serious problem with it, as it would make the few times that Molly and I would be able to visit them even more special.
"Good to know, son," Jacob Wayne replied, "give Molly all my love... and your mother's too."
"I will, dad, thanks for calling," I spoke, "Molly and I love you guys too."
And with that, our conversation ended. With that done, I finished changing and went downstairs to help Molly.
"Who was on the phone, George?" Molly asked as I returned to the kitchen.
"It was my dad," I told her, "he congratulated me on the closing of Beauregard's case, provided an update on Leona and Jackson, wishes us the best of love... and my mom wants you to be pregnant."
Molly returned a half curious smile, "I'd like to be pregnant too... little versions of us to love and cherish... to watch grow into different versions of us... but we agreed that until things settle down... starting a family isn't the smartest idea..."
"And my dad agreed to that," I nodded and pulled Molly into a friendly hug, "he advised we enjoy being married without children while we can... because once the pitter-patter of little paws start... I'm afraid we'll never sleep again."
"Oh, stop being so over dramatic," Molly chuckled, "it'll be a big change when we can welcome children of our own into the world, but I'm sure we'll get some time to sleep."
++++++++++++++++++++++
The next few days past rather quietly. I met with the man who was to run the auction and he took me through a basic outline of what he planned to do. While papers that hadn't been collected as evidence, books, movies, taped programs (that didn't contain anything incriminating), photographs, and some other personal items were delivered to members of Beauregard's family, living elsewhere in Montana, there was still a lot of things that would be sold off at auction. That which didn't sell, would be donated to any charity that would take them.
Of course, the main things that were to be sold were Beauregard's cattle and his land. They would have to be sold. I was pretty sure the cattle would sell, either to a rancher that had sympathized with Beauregard or to a major meat packing plant that would send representatives to the auction, looking to get meat at a cheap price. The land, however, was a different issue.
"As you can see here on the map, Officer Wayne, Pierre Beauregard didn't actually own all the land his ranch occupies," the hired auctioneer explained in the station's interrogation room while he went over the plans for the auction, "what he did is actually a fairly old trick. When he bought the land for his ranch, he didn't buy one big block, he bought several small patches, which all happened to be the few sites where one could get water. He then likely refused to allow trespassers on those plots and anyone that might have owned the other plots of land simply abandoned it because they couldn't sustain a living there..."
"Seems underhanded to me," I grumbled.
"And a lot of people probably do see it that way, but it's generally a good scheme," the auctioneer shrugged, "it saved him a lot on taxes, since the vast majority of "his" land was technically "common land" open to everybody, it's a trick a lot of early ranching barons tried in the late 1800s to early 1900s, but largely fell out of favor when they learned that these ranches were too large to be manageable."
"So, Beauregard's copied a failed system?" I wondered.
"Not necessarily failed as impractical considering the scale that this scheme was first used on," the auctioneer replied, "what broke the big ranches long ago was the fact that they were simply too big. The hands couldn't patrol the entire territory frequently enough to deter robbers or predators... or simply to have cattle bust down a fence and escape... or to have large numbers of animals freeze to death in winter because they're strung out over too much territory to effectively bring them all in... Beauregard, however, didn't go as big as those old Ranch Barons did. His ranch is big, yes, but still manageable in size, given the employment data your comrades have provided me with."
"So how do you plan to sell it?" I asked, "if Beauregard only legally owned a checkerboard of good patches, we can't auction off the land he didn't officially own..."
"On a technicality, we can," the auctioneer assured me, "since the land wasn't officially owned by any individual, it is to be considered communal... the property of Columbia Falls from the get go... which the city can hire me to auction it off as they wish. Your mayor and city council have already accepted the deal."
"I see," I commented, "and if no one buys the land itself?"
"It all goes to the city of Columbia Falls to develop as they see fit," the auctioneer shrugged, "which could mean anything... it could be left vacant and Beauregard's house will rot and decay into nothing as the prairie/mountains reclaim the land for itself... or you could see a whole new system of suburbs be built there. It'll depend on the mood of your City Council."
I slowly shrugged.
"Now, on to some of the details in which you will be needed," the auctioneer spoke, "we'll be holding the auction itself in the barn, here..."
He pointed to the barn right next to the house on the map.
"Considering what a big whig this guy thought he was, I'll bet we have a fairly large crowd, either to get what he had or to at least see what he had," the auctioneer continued, "and I will need you for crowd control. I have hands that will deal with the moving of the merchandise, but I will need you to be nearby and on the alert..."
"You think there will be a problem?" I asked.
"I wouldn't think there would be one..." the auctioneer sighed, "but with the large expected crowd, you can never be too careful."
I slowly nodded.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was a fairly cool morning when I made my way out toward what had been Beauregard's ranch on the day of the auction. Frank Rhoer and his family drove past going the other way on their way to work at Michael York's ranch, handling the cattle Molly and I now owned and helping Michael York with anything he needed. No one had told me if the brand that Albert Ames was making was finished yet, and to be honest, I was now getting curious to see the finished product. But I put that aside for a moment. I had work to do, and work that I knew how to do.
Even though the auction hadn't started yet, there was already a fairly large amount of hustle and bustle going on around Beauregard's ranch, home, and barn. I found the auctioneer in the barn, supervising the construction of a small raised platform near one of the normal gates to take the cattle out of the inside pens or to move them to another. Several men who the auctioneer had likely brought with him were doing the work while others were setting up chairs in the isle way between the two sets of pens.
"Ah, Officer Wayne," the auctioneer turned with a smile, "glad you can make it. As you can see, we're putting on the final touches before we open."
"I see," I nodded, "What's with the ramp?"
"To lead cattle up and onto the selling platform," the auctioneer explained, sounding like he was talking to a dunce, which with regard to a lot of the ranching side of the auction, I probably was, "we try to sell them one at a time... or mothers and calves if they have any. Selling them in bulk would tend to get too pricey... especially considering the number that are here. If no one buys them, we'll issue a block price to the meat packers... thought they may buy up the animals as individuals as well."
"Oh."
He then explained where he wanted me to stand and move around during the course of the auction itself. I nodded and followed along, trying to ignore the bombardment of my nostrils with the scent of cow manure. As the men aiding the auctioneer finished their work and the time for the opening of the auction actually approached, a few people started to trickle in and take their seats. Some appeared to be local ranchers, some appeared to be ranchers from other areas, but happened to be close enough that they received the advertisements, and a few seemed to be either businessmen or people from the town itself.
"You were right," I commented to the auctioneer as more and more people came in, "it does appear like you'll have a big crowd."
"And hopefully, everything is a success," the auctioneer nodded and approached the podium on the little stage that had been made for him, "good morning ladies and gentlemen, and welcome to the State Auction of the Property and Livestock of Pierre Beauregard, found guilty conspiracy, assault, and other crimes..."
"BOOOOOOO!" came a jeer from the back of the crowd.
"Please keep all comments quiet, please, thank you," the auctioneer answered it, "we will start with a..."
"BOOOOOOO!" the same voice jeered again.
"Why would you want any of the jerk's junk?" a second chimed in.
"Please," the auctioneer began.
"He was a jerk!" the second voice retorted before the auctioneer could say anything more.
The auctioneer glanced to me, and sighed and began to move around the crowd of people, paying attention with my ears as the two continued to heckle the auctioneer.
"BOOOOOOOOO!" the second voice jeered.
"The jerk's junk ain't worth it!" the first added.
People were turning to look in the direction of where the taunts were coming from, and it turned out to be from a pair of teenagers who looked like they spent a great deal of their free time helping on their family's ranch. The seemed to ignore me until I got around to where they were.
"Excuse me, but I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," I spoke in a low voice, placing a hand on a shoulder of each teen.
They both jumped and turned to face me.
"I'm going to have to ask you to come with me," I repeated.
"He was a jerk!" the first repeated.
"Maybe, but he's paying for it now," I responded a little more forcefully, and putting a more growling edge to my voice, "come with me, NOW!"
The two teens gulped and got up. They moved the chairs to let them go straight out, and then put the chairs back, and began to head out of the barn.
"You may continue," I called to the auctioneer, and then followed the two teens out of the barn.
They followed through a maze of parked cars and trailers until they got to a beat up Chevy parked on the side of the road.
"Alright, do the two of you want to explain what all that was about?" I asked.
"Why would you defend him?" the first teen asked, "you and your wife got more reasons to hate him then anyone!"
"I am not defending Beauregard," I answered, "I am defending the right of the State of Montana to sell his property in accordance with the judgment of the court that found Beauregard guilty. Your sort of display... was not appropriate, even if you hated him."
"We never really cared much about him before," the second teen answered, "we're doing this for our father."
"Your father?" I asked.
"Our old man "loved" Beauregard like a brother," the first teen answered, "he helped him get established here and acted as a sort of "shield" against many of the old timers that got grumpy at Beauregard because of his success."
"He'd do anything to help his friend," the second teen added, "and then you and your wife moved here and Beauregard decided you had to go... so our pop did as he always did... he stood by his friend. Joined his little club and payed his dues..."
"Which turned out to be a substantial part of our college fund," the first grumbled, "with the understanding that he'd be reimbursed... at least partially... and then he found out through the trial and such that Beauregard's been usin' him from day one... that he stole our father's money that was intended to help us go to college. And then we found out that we couldn't get that money back..."
"And Beauregard will spend the rest of his life in prison because of that," I told him.
"And now they sell of the jerk's stuff?" the first responded, "letting them take what he essentially stole from every person he ever met here? Reward others with things that Beauregard needed men like our father to "give" to him? Beauregard ruined our father! Ruined him!"
"Do you know what he's done since Beauregard was arrested and the evidence announced?" the second questioned, "Do you?"
I couldn't answer.
"He's moped! He just sits around and drinks, looking sorry for himself!" the first answered, practically yelling, tears going down his face, "and people want to buy what was bought by betrayal?! IT'S NOT FAIR!"
"Life isn't always fair," I responded, "if it were, my wife and I would have had our happily ever after with no fur, no fangs, now claws, no tail, no stripes. It is what you do with adversity that will make you who you are, not expecting everything to be fair to suit you."
"But..." the first began to protest.
"And would closing down the auction really appease the hurt that Beauregard has put on your father's heart?" I questioned, "will doing this really make that pain go away."
"No... but it'd make us feel better," the second answered, "the man was a jerk and his whole charade of being a kind, honest man ought to simply rot away until it's forgotten... not get bought off by someone else."
"In a way, Beauregard will be forgotten," I told them, "at least the way he projected himself to be... the lunatic that wanted power... that will likely always be remembered... and I know none of that can make you or your father feel better, but you need to let it go. You can't go around carrying this grudge."
Both teens looked down for a moment.
"I'm going to let you off with a warning," I said firmly, "about all you did was cause a minor disturbance, and to be honest, if I were in your shoes and at your age, I can't say I would do something different. You have a legitimate reason to be angry... but go home, and push it away. Don't let it stew on you."
Both teens sighed and got in their car, and slowly left. As I watched them go, I sighed heavily. That seemed to have more of a personal touch then I had thought. I would probably forever consider myself to be in opposition to Beauregard, and felt that he had hurt Molly and I in certain ways because of the animosity between us... but in this case... someone who had been friendly with Beauregard had been hurt by the man's actions. And a part of me wondered how people could do such things to those they considered their friends.