Chapter 3 - Four Sheep That Had Already Been SoldGrant stared at the brass tag.
He recognized it immediately.
“Maddox uses these.”
Noah crossed his arms.
“I told you.”
Grant looked ashamed.
Not enough to apologize.
But enough to avoid Noah’s eyes.
Sheriff Briggs arrived an hour later.
He examined the tag.
Boot prints.
Feed.
Tire marks.
“Could be theft.”
Grant laughed bitterly.
“What else?”
“Could also be somebody wanting it to look like Maddox.”
Noah hated that answer.
Sheriffs apparently liked uncertainty.
Briggs asked whether Grant had disputes with Earl.
Grant finally admitted the debt.
Twenty-six thousand dollars.
Not a bank loan.
Feed.
Transport.
Emergency veterinary costs.
Maddox had extended credit through the drought.
The original agreement gave Grant until December.
Then Earl claimed the balance had accelerated because Grant missed a smaller payment.
Grant disagreed.
“How much have you paid?” Briggs asked.
“Eleven thousand.”
“Paperwork?”
Grant looked away.
Noah knew immediately.
Handshake.
Maybe receipts.
Nothing strong.
Earl Maddox arrived before sunset.
Not because anyone invited him.
Because news traveled.
He stepped from a red pickup wearing a clean western shirt.
“Grant.”
Grant remained on the porch.
“You came fast.”
“Sheriff called.”
Briggs frowned.
“I didn’t.”
Earl smiled.
“Small county.”
Noah remembered hearing that phrase before from men who knew too much.
Grant held up the brass tag.
“Recognize it?”
Earl barely looked.
“One of ours.”
“Found beside the gate where my sheep were taken.”
“Then somebody dropped it.”
“You.”
Earl laughed.
“I was home.”
“Prove it.”
“Not my job.”
Noah watched Earl carefully.
No fear.
No surprise.
Then Earl looked at him.
“You were the boy out there?”
Grant immediately stepped between them.
Earl smiled.
“I heard wolves scared him.”
Noah’s stomach tightened.
Nobody had told Earl about the howl.
Sheriff Briggs noticed too.
“Who told you that?”
Earl’s smile weakened.
“People talk.”
“What people?”
“Hell, Sheriff, the whole valley knows wolves are moving down.”
Noah said:
“The wolves didn’t take them.”
Earl looked at him.
“You sure?”
“Yes.”
“How?”
“I watched men lead them through the gate.”
Earl’s eyes changed.
Only for a second.
Then he laughed.
“Boy dreams.”
Grant moved toward him.
Briggs stopped him.
Earl returned to his truck.
Before leaving he said:
“Grant, you owe me money. That doesn’t mean I steal your animals.”
Grant stared.
Earl continued:
“But if you’re looking to sell some, call me.”
He drove away.
Noah whispered:
“He did it.”
Grant nodded.
“Probably.”
“Then why can’t the sheriff arrest him?”
“Probably isn’t enough.”
The following morning Briggs called.
Four white ewes matching the Mercer description had appeared at a livestock auction two counties away.
Seller:
Maddox Livestock Transport.
Grant and Noah drove there.
The animals had already been sold.
But auction photographs remained.
Noah recognized Martha’s daughter, Daisy, by a split left ear.
One of the four missing sheep.
Grant pointed.
“That’s ours.”
The auction manager checked paperwork.
Consignor listed as Mercer Ranch.
Signature:
Grant Mercer.
Grant stared.
“I never signed this.”
The manager frowned.
“It matches the account signature we have.”
Someone had copied Grant’s signature from previous sales.
The theft was more organized than anyone realized.
Noah examined the form.
Date.
Three days before the sheep were actually stolen.
“They planned it early.”
Grant looked at him.
He was right.
The sale had been entered before the animals left the ranch.
Meaning someone inside the auction system or transport company had prepared everything in advance.
Then Noah noticed something else.
The document listed six sheep.
Not four.
“Dad.”
“What?”
“They sold six.”
Grant looked.
Two additional ewe numbers appeared.
Those sheep were not missing.
At least Grant thought they were not.
They returned home and counted.
Three hundred six.
Two more gone.
No broken fence.
No open gate.
No sign of nighttime theft.
They had disappeared before Noah’s watch.
Grant stared across the flock.
“How long?”
Noah understood.
Someone had been stealing animals gradually.
One or two at a time.
The missing lamb that started the entire argument might never have wandered away.
Grant had blamed Noah for months of losses he had failed to notice himself.
Noah looked at his father.
Grant looked back.
The realization was visible.
He had punished his son for a crime someone else committed.
But before he could speak, a truck appeared.
Sheriff Briggs.
He stepped out holding a folder.
“We have another problem.”
Inside were sales records.
Over eight months, seventeen sheep carrying Mercer identification had passed through different auctions.
All supposedly authorized by Grant.
Seventeen.
Grant whispered:
“I never sold them.”
May you like
Briggs nodded.
“Then somebody’s been emptying your ranch one animal at a time.”
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