“Mr. Dawson, I understand you’re this spread’s chief?”

“Yes, that is correct.”

Reefer shifts slightly, the farmer’s brown eyes boring holes in his own. They’re late, a bit late, because of the whole mess at West Range, and another family was attacked just this morning, all six of them found dead in their beds, throats cut. “We are terribly sorry for your loss, chief; I understand Mrs. Ganty was your cousin.”

“Hmph.”

“Ah… we have pinpointed two farms as being potential targets; strips eleven and twenty-four?”

“The Maclarens and the Jackluns; my daughter is married to the Jackluns’ eldest son.”

Reefer swallows nervously, scuffing his foot in the dirt, turning slightly to glare at Luke, begging him to pitch in. Luke just looks back with owl eyes, and Reefer snarls at him. “We’ll, uh, do everything we can. Will we have to go over land?”

“This is the only landing spot on the spread.”

“Right… Uh, could we borrow some horses?”

Previous: Scene 4-XII

Scene 4-XIII

Next: Scene 4-XIV