EMMETSBURG: Thirteen

Back outside the silvery sun overwhelmed a light breeze off the fields. The breeze was fat with the mineral scent of the previous night’s rain. The Sheriff was doing his best to wave off the fight. He retreated to his car with the farmers in tow.

Ernie Vogel grabbed the door before the Sheriff could close it and held it fast. The argument had devolved terribly for the short spell John was in the store. It had taken on a decidedly bitter tone. Ernie, who was usually a bit on the reserved side, looked at the edge of madness, as if he might attack C.W. at any moment. The others looked the same, like a nest of cottonmouth’s ready to lash out in blind and desperate rage. The two men wrestled slightly a moment with the door.

“I’ll defend my property if that’s what it comes to!” Ernie snapped.

C.W. leaned out, his furled brow painted with beading sweat that ran in dirty cascades down his rough cut face. “Fellas, how are you gonna feel if some poor soul gets sick off bad meat because you don’t trust the test?”

“The test ain’t no good and you know it!”

“What you’re asking will be the ruin of our livelihoods and families,” Jesse Laughten's tone was urgent and almost pleading.

“What I'm saying is that we're all in the same boat,” said C.W. “They could come for my cattle just the same as any of you.”

“Then you ought be on our side,” said Vogel, gripping C.W.'s arm. C.W. grabbed the Ernie's forearm and held it firmly, staring directly into the man's eyes.

“I'm on the side of the law. I expect you fellas will be too.”

“Or what?”

“Or there'll be hell to pay.”

John watched all of this while leaning on the hood of his truck. C.W. Let go of Ernie Vogel's arm and sped away without another word. Avery Lysander, who had been standing off from an observing distance, like a hawk or a skulking coyote, spit and looked up at John. There was murder in Avery's eyes, of a calculated and scheming kind. He'd seen that fire before. It was a fatal determination. It was the look he'd seen in men's eyes as they threw themselves out of trenches into the blazing death of German machine guns. It was in the eyes of a young German soldier charging at John with an upraised trench shovel, knowing full well he stood no chance as John leveled his weapon.

“C.W. sure left in a huff,” said John.

“Says there'll be hell to pay,”

“Figure?”

Both men looked after the billowing cloud of dust rising behind C.W.'s Ford Coupe. As it topped the far hill the automobile appeared like a square little beetle chased by that dust. Avery slapped John on the shoulder and headed for his truck.

“Might find the bill comes due at his own doorstep,” said Avery. The words left John cold and fearful.