Page 36 of Legacy of Lies
“What?”
“Holy industrial machinery, Batman. That looks like an excavator. Everything’s been painted dark gray and brown to blend into the hills. But I can see some patches of yellow they missed. Wow.”
“Okay, that’s interesting. But what about the herd?”
“The herd. Always the herd. Fine. Cows. So, I could swear that’s our cattle, but without checking tags, there’s no way to be sure.”
“Do we need to know for certain?” Garrison asked.
“Probably.” Kerr scanned the valley. “We’ve got a few more hours of light left. Maybe we can work around a bit farther to get a better view.”
They traveled to the part of their ranch that bordered national forest land and then passed through a section of barbed wire fence into open mountain country beyond. Years ago, Garrison’s father considered going all free range grazing like most folks in other parts of Wyoming, but issues like this bullshit with the Brands made Garrison happy for the decision to fence their large tract of land, despite the maintenance headache.
Patches of snow from last night’s squall stippled the ground. More snow was forecast. At least their tracks wouldn’t be as obvious with bare ground today, but that advantage would soon change.
They paralleled the Brand fence line for another fifteen minutes, the creak of leather and clank of bits punctuating the cold silence.
“What the hell are you doing?” A voice shot out of the forest ahead.
Spikes of ice speared Garrison’s neck as he focused on the sound of a gun safety clicking off.
He stared down the barrel of a rifle and then to the man who held it.
Hank Brand.
Glancing behind him, Garrison spied Kerr carefully laying the reins on the pommel and lifting his hands up as another man trained a weapon on him.
Wyatt Brand. One of Hank’s equally nasty brothers.
Son of a bitch. Worst-case scenario.
