Meadowlarks by Thomas Holladay (novels to improve english TXT) 📗

swept cobblestones toward him, that same kind of scratching sound Barnabas made with his claws on the kitchen tile, only louder.

Don’t look at eyes.

So red and angry.

AFTER SHE'D FINALLY gotten off the phone with her mother, Carolyn had remembered that heavy bar and she'd lifted it into place, nice and secure for the night. She'd hoped Willis would have come down today to fix the Baldwin latch but he hadn’t. The weight of the door kept breezes from blowing it open but a strong wind might. If he didn’t come down tomorrow, she’d send John Crow to find out why. If Willis was sick, maybe she could help.

With the house secured for the night, she’d called Mr. Kirby to explain the goings on the night before.

After listening to her explanation, he said, “So, let me get this straight, that racket I heard last night was some kind of animal trying to get into your house because the folks up there are setting livestock out on your property. What, do they think this animal will leave them alone or what?”

“Something like that, yes.” It sounded ridiculous, hearing him say it. She looked into the entry again, making sure, again, that she'd lifted the heavy bar into place to protect them against the night. Why did she need to look at it again and again? She hadn’t forgotten anything. She and Jason had already checked the basement entry through the garage. All their windows had been built too high off the ground. Nothing could get in here now.

Something’s wrong?

She couldn't shake that feeling.

Mr. Kirby said, “And you said they’ve got this business encoded into some kind of a legal document so they can do whatever they want on your land?”

“Exactly. It’s a trust deed. I’ll email it to you. It’s only one page.”

“Look, I’m no lawyer, but I’ll tell you what I know from experience. If something is encoded into a legally binding document, properly signed, notarized, and recorded, you’re better off going into court to have it overturned than to try and take action on your own.”

“What are you saying?”

“Again, I’m no lawyer, but if you hire a lawyer, it could take years to resolve and it'll cost you a fortune. In the meantime, you need to let them continue to do whatever they’ve been doing. If you take action against a legal document and somebody gets hurt . . . Well, you know what I mean.”

That old Teaberry shuffle.

Instead of getting solid advice from her only sensible link to the real world, he’d made her feel defeated, even desperate. “Mr. Kirby, if you could see what happens to these poor baby cows. It’s just awful.”

“Hang on.” He sounded sincerely eager to help. “Let me pull off the road and park.”

She waited, nervously staring into the entry at the door, the bar.

A minute later, he said, “What I don’t understand is this . . . You still there?”

“Yes.”

“Hi.”

“Hi.”

“Okay, what I don’t understand is why doesn’t this thing, or these things, why don’t they just take what they want from the local herds?”

“I don’t know. The sheriff ties them to this big flat rock where it never gets cold.”

“What? The sheriff?”

“Yes.”

“A place where it never gets cold?”

“It’s geothermal radiation or something. It keeps the snow off and feels warm all the time. We’ve got several hot springs around the valley. There are two that I know of right here on my land. Anyway, maybe that’s why it goes there, because it’s warm.”

Good grief, that just sounds ridiculous.

“Interesting.” His tone had changed, maybe no longer taking this seriously. “I need to get up there and take a look for myself.”

“Could you? It really is beautiful here. Maybe you could talk to the sheriff while you’re here.” She'd become desperate, ready to put aside her instinctive distaste for Mr. Kirby.

“Sure. How does Christmas sound? I need a break from this place, anyway.” He sounded too eager.

That feeling of something wet crawling across her shoulders had returned. “But, listen, something else just occurred to me. You might be better off if you hire a professional hunter to track and kill this thing, or things. That way, you won’t need to fool around with lawyers. I was just reading an article about the growing wolf population up there. Guy says you need to shoot, shovel and shut up. I can’t believe they’re still protected by the EPA. Once they go endangered, they never come back.”

A noise in the entry startled her.

Barnabas barked from up in Jason’s room.

“Just a minute.” She set the phone down and stood. Yes, the door had been secured. A cold shiver rushed up her back. She rounded her desk and hurried into the entry.

Barnabas barked and clawed from upstairs. Why didn't he come downstairs?

Yes, something was out there. She heard it.

“Jason?”

“Mommy, Mommy.” He knocked softly on the door.

“Oh, God!” Carolyn lifted the heavy bar down, set it aside and Jason rushed in.

“Hurry, Mommy.” Jason slammed the door and helped lift the heavy bar into its stone cradles.

“What is it, honey?”

“It’s another one. It’s . . .”

“What do you mean, another one?”

“It has all four legs.”

STUPID COMMITTEE. 

Ralston was right. Gilpin should have stayed home and told Whatling to make the deposit.

Nah.

Calling them a bunch of crooks made the trip worthwhile.

Gilpin drove his truck down River Road toward home, listening to the Grateful Dead sing Truckin’ on CD, smiling at himself, proud to be a Gilpin, smarter than all these do-good hicks. He’d put one over for sure. Six weeks earlier, anticipating his need to put up another calf, he'd purchased a bull calf down in Bridgeport, an open range mix. Got it cheap. They’d taken it last month and the committee had just paid him for an Angus.

Morons.

Good thing Nason wasn’t there.

Whatever had happened to the open range calf was anybody’s guess.

John Crow and Willis Donner had probably eaten it already.

Gilpin depressed the cigarette lighter and reached into his shirt pocket for a fat joint. He’d harvested