The Fourth of July Holiday was a pleasant interruption of some of the more stressing things that remained points of stress for Molly and I. Tabby deliberately taken time off from her campaign, as did Hireman. This gave us nearly a week free of local campaigning. The people at the national level continued to, but for the moment, the local Columbia Falls race attracted far more attention.
And with the Fourth of July holiday now over, a lot of the campaign was getting ready to pick up again. For Molly and I it was a mixed bag. On the plus side, it meant that we could by our tags for the fall hunting season soon. On the negative side, we’d have to put up with the language of a political campaign. On that side, the only relief was the fact that Tabby hadn’t told an outright lie or stretched the truth to suit her policies yet.
“Well… things couldn’t stay quiet forever,” Molly spoke a couple of days after the Fourth.
I then sighed as she folded up the local newspaper and focused on her breakfast. And things had stayed quiet, relatively. But that had largely changed this morning. Among the letters to the editor was a lengthy letter from Hireman himself in which he listed all of the things he claimed he had either backed or championed during his time as School District Superintendent. His letter ended with some line about replacing him would mean that the school district would have to start over with inexperienced leadership in a time of crisis. A list of supposedly similar failures, from history, followed...
Not to be outdone, there was also a letter from someone who had apparently been among the camp of ranchers that Michael York belonged to. His letter had almost nothing to do with the issues at hand, but existed as a reminder of who Hireman had associated with. Mostly saying that a vote for Hireman was a vote for Beauregard, who was a cheat and a liar to begin with. In regards to Hireman’s record with Animal People, it was correct, but it was still a sign of the intensity of the campaign. One that frustrated me, regardless of the side.
“At least things were quiet over the Fourth,” I sighed, “how long until election day again?”
“The election is part of the normal election schedule,” Molly answered, “So… November second is election day. And today is July sixth. Several more months to go. Most of July, all of August, September, and October, and then two days in November.”
“Not nearly short enough,” I sighed.
Molly nodded. The end of the campaign couldn’t come quickly enough for both of us.
“The fourth debate is scheduled for next Monday,” Molly told me after swallowing a bite or two of eggs, “I saw that in their schedule.”
“Where do they plan to hold it?” I asked.
“Again in the High School Gym,” Molly answered, “to make sure that everyone can come in and listen or participate.”
I slowly nodded and finished the water from the glass that I had.
“I assume you’ll want to go again?” I asked her.
“Yes,” Molly nodded.
“It’ll be a date then,” I shrugged, “but for now, I need to get going.”
++++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
And things at the station had remained fairly quiet as well. There was nothing beyond a few minor routine calls. So far the worst had been a guy who had surplus fireworks from the Fourth and decided to set them off from the middle of the football field that the high school used for its games. No damage was done, but the incident kept our Night Shift busy on the nights since the Fourth. The guy only had to pay a minor fine for launching unauthorized fireworks. From what Officer Barnes and I would find out when we came in in the morning, the guy had been shocked to learn that we largely looked the other way during the holiday because the holiday was dedicated to fireworks.
“He honestly wondered that?” I wondered aloud as I clocked in.
“That’s what the night shift’s report says,” Officer Jenkins chuckled as she filed the report in a cabinet, “didn’t know we had laws to protect the public from fires.”
“Guess we can’t tell people they have to be smart, eh?” Officer Barnes chuckled.
“I guess not,” I shrugged.
From there, Officer Barnes and I went out to head out on the patrol for the morning. Things had been quiet prior to the days patrol and at first it looked as though things would stay quiet. At about eight thirty, though, that changed when our dispatch officer contacted us.
“Officer Barnes, Officer Wayne, come in,” our current dispatch officer spoke over the radio.
“Officer Barnes, here,” Officer Barnes answered the call, “go ahead…”
“We have an animal related issue for you two,” the dispatch officer answered, “looks like some rancher’s had his cattle stolen… or at least some of them.”
“Stolen?” Officer Barnes questioned.
“Yes,” the dispatch officer answered, “Animal Control has already been called in case you can prove they escaped and find there are other predators in the area.”
“Are we being expected to aid in searching for the missing cattle?” Officer Barnes asked.
“For a short ways,” the dispatch officer answered, “just in case they couldn’t take all of them for a long ride… or if they were killed outside the ranch property. If it looks like they were loaded onto a trailer or something… we’ll put out announcements about stolen cattle.”
“Ten-Four,” Officer Barnes answered, “can we get the address?”
The dispatcher answered. I didn’t quite recognize the address, but I did recognize the name the dispatcher gave. Albert Ames. The man who had sold the small herd of cattle to Molly and I for her Uncle to raise, had had at least some of his cattle wrestled away from him.
“What was that?” Officer Barnes asked me, hearing the surprised gasp I had made when hearing Albert Ames’ name being mentioned.
“The name of the guy who’s been “robbed” in this case,” I spoke, “I know him.”
“Ames?”
“Yes,” I nodded, “among the “Old Guard” as it were among the town’s ranchers. Around the time that we had Beauregard behind bars, he won the auction for the Smith’s cattle and sold them to me. Seemed like a relatively decent guy. Really hated Beauregard.”
“And now someone’s robbed him of his animals,” Officer Barnes sighed, “well… maybe you can track them. You and that nose of yours.”
“I can try, I guess,” I answered, “but tigers, like all cats, aren’t trackers… at least not the way dogs are. Bloodhounds, Basset Hounds, Beagles, and even with the German Shepard Dogs used by the police and military. They’d be far better at tracking then I would…”
“You’re all we got though,” Officer Barnes replied.
“Joy,” I sighed heavily.
+++++++++++++++++++++++++++++
It was Albert’s son Joshua who greeted us at he gate to his father’s property. He came right up to the driver’s side window and spoke to Officer Barnes.
“If you’ll follow me, I can take you right to where they were let out,” Joshua Ames said to Officer Barnes and then began walking down a dirt path.
Officer Banes followed him at walking pace, as Joshua never got on four-wheeler or a horse, or into a car or truck. The slow pace was probably a good thing though for us. The dirt path was narrow and bumpy. Our car’ suspension would have never survived a high speed chase over such terrain, and it wasn’t doing too much better at slow speeds. After a little while, we came to the end of the path and parked behind the SUV that the Animal Control Officers had already arrived in.
“We’ll have to go the rest of the way on foot,” Joshua Ames spoke as Officer Barnes and I came out.
It was an obvious statement, but no one pointed that out.
“Do you know what happened?” I asked as Joshua lead us to a side gate and then went into the field beyond.
“Not really,” Joshua answered, “I came out with the truck to refill the water tanks for the cattle to drink out of and found the whole pasture empty. Ran one sweep to make sure and found the fence cut in one area.”
We continued on over the open pasture. Unlike Michael York’s ranch that included more mountainous and forested areas around its edges, which would easily be a private hunting preserve for Molly and I, Albert Ames’ property was a bit flatter and far more open. As if any trees that had been there had long since been cleared. It probably allowed for a larger herd, but I wasn’t knowledgeable enough on the subject.
Officer Barnes and I followed Joshua over a small rise and then down a slope that was far steeper then I had expected going up the other side of it. As we did so, we found Albert Ames standing by the fence with the two Animal Control Officers. Both of the officers were armed and all of them looked like they were waiting for us.
“Hello, Officer Wayne,” Albert Ames spoke politely, “I apologize this is how you have to visit us… on duty… how are your cattle?”
“Fairly well,” I commented, “All seem to be healthy and so forth… though Frank plans to sell off the male calves as soon as they’re big enough… to make sure there isn’t any confusion inbreeding the younger males with the females in the herd…”
“Not all animals are as vulnerable to genetic mutations as humans are,” Albert Ames told me, “though… it is common to avoid inbreeding… to keep enough diversity in the gene pool to insure that some freak plague can’t wipe out the species.”
Officer Barnes and I nodded.
“Your son has told us what he knows,” Officer Barnes spoke, “Is there anything else you have to add?”
“Not really,” Albert Ames sighed, “My son is the one who found my fence cut.”
Officer Barnes and I then looked over to the spot in the fence where Albert Ames was standing. It was clearly cut and bent away, and clearly done by human hands. Barbed wire had been invented for the ranching industry. A barbed wire fence would not deter or stop a full grown cow if it had enough motivation to charge through the fence. From the times Molly and I had talked with Michael York, or with her Uncle or her cousin, we’d even learned that barbed wire fences wouldn’t stop an Elk if it decided to go through the fence. The barbs were only good at pricking the fur and skin of cattle to represent a barrier.
But if something frightened the cattle enough, they could charge through the fence. Doing so would probably cut the first one or two cattle through up something fierce, and the cattle would also end up uprooting or knocking over the fence posts as well. That was clearly not the case here. The barbed wire was cut cleanly halfway between two posts and then bent out, opening a large hole in the fence. No fence posts were damaged. That meant that someone with wire cutters had cut the fence open.
“Do you have any idea who might have done this?” I asked.
“If you had asked me this a year ago, I would have sworn it was Beauregard,” Albert Ames answered, “but now… I can’t say. Not even Beauregard’s buddies would pull something like this. Least I don’t think they would.”
That largely put us at square one. As Officer Barnes and I began to examine the fence area, I noticed something. It looked like a bloodstain in the grass and a piece of cloth hanging from one of the pieces of barbed wire. I came closer and sniffed at the blood stain.
“We think the opening wasn’t wide enough for all the cattle,” one of the two Animal Control officers spoke, “a small trail goes up into the hills beyond us.”
“That may be,” I answered, “but this isn’t one of them. The blood smells like human blood and there’s a piece of cloth here. Like the guy who cut the fence got part of his clothes caught on it and scratched whatever part of his body that was under it.
I felt glad my nose was better then a human’s there. I couldn’t pick out who it would be as an individual, other then that it didn’t match the scent of anyone I had met, but I could tell it was human. Not an ungulate. Which meant that the robber had rapidly learned one of the other uses for barbed wire.
After ranchers seeking to deter cattle from escaping, the world’s militaries rapidly learned it could slow down people from attacking strong or weak points in a line as well. Both the Central Powers and the Allies used barbed wire to fortify positions in World War I, and the Axis and the Allies would do so again in World War II. Barbed wire was still used as an infantry defense weapon. It wouldn’t stop charging soldiers outright, but did slow them down as they either navigated the maze of barbed wire or cut paths through it.
And the robber had learned why soldiers in World War One worked hard to avoid running headlong into barbed wire.
Officer Barnes took a couple of photographs while I managed to get a couple of plastic bags out from packets on my belt. I placed the piece of clothing in one bag and several of the pieces of grass with the human blood on it into the other. It was difficult, as I had to make sure not to claw holes in the bags or get fur in them.
“Hopefully these will lead us to who did this,” I spoke as I handed the bags to Officer Barnes, “provided we don’t catch them red handed with the cattle.”
“You’ll help look?” Albert Ames asked.
“It doesn’t look like the wrestlers could have gotten a trailer here,” I answered, “so we’ll see how far they might have taken them… or if they just let them go.”
“We’d best get going,” the second Animal Control Officer answered, “Mountain Lions, Bears, and Wolves are predominantly nocturnal, but that doesn’t mean they won’t turn down an easy meal if it wanders in to them.”
Officer Barnes and I nodded in agreement. The search for these cattle had only just begun.