Shepherd's Crook Read Online Free PDF Page A

well.
    â€œSorry,” I said. “I didn’t mean to interrupt.”
    â€œNo problem,” said Summer. “The problem is between these gentlemen.” She reached both hands behind her head, twisted her long penny-colored braid, and knotted it at her nape. She glared at the deputy, then at Hutch, and said, “You have my number. Call me when you get your act together.” She walked past me toward the stock arena.
    Hutch hunkered down and called Jay, so I dropped the leash and they had a major bonding moment, complete with Hutchinson cooing, “Ooh a good boy, ess ooh are.” It was hard to believe the man had been afraid of dogs when we met a year earlier.
    The deputy watched them blank-faced for a moment, cleared his throat, and nodded at me. “Ma’am.”
    â€œWhat’s going on?”
    â€œLittle matter of jurisdiction,” he said.
    Hutchinson stood up and brushed a pound or so of Aussie fur off his pants. “The city limits line runs right though here.” He indicated an imaginary line transecting the little road at a forty-five degree angle. “So we’re not sure who has jurisdiction.”
    And meanwhile, whoever has the sheep gets farther away . I could see why Summer was upset, but I managed for once to keep my opinion to myself. I asked Hutchinson if he could stick around to watch some of the action, and he said he’d like to if he didn’t get called away. The deputy answered his phone, told the caller to hang on, and looked like he wanted to talk to Hutch, so I picked up Jay’s leash and excused myself.
    As I walked back the way I had come, my eyes skimmed the dusty surface of the road. The sun was at just the right angle to make the footprints stand out. Hundreds of footprints. Or, more to the point, a few prints from boots and shoes, scores from canine paws, hundreds from hooves. I slowed myself until I was taking baby steps, telling Jay to heel to keep him at my knee. The marks in the dirt were, of course, a jumbled mess of partial prints overlaid by others, but still, it was clear that several people and several dogs, and a bunch more sheep, had passed this way recently. There were no tire marks that I could see.
    Tom left the other two men and joined me where I was creeping along the roadway. Tom teaches anthropology at the Indiana University’s Fort Wayne campus, and as a trained observer of human behavior, he knew that I wasn’t just being eccentric. He stayed to the edge of the road and, as he approached, he asked, “Tracks?”
    â€œGazillions of tracks,” I said. “Just what you’d expect—people, dogs, sheep.”
    He stepped in beside me and we crept on, both of us looking at the ground. “Interesting,” Tom said, describing a circle over a section of road with his hand.
    I stepped closer and looked. “What?”
    â€œThe prints travel both directions.”
    â€œWouldn’t you expect that?”
    â€œI’m not sure.” Tom looked at me, then back at the tracks. “The people and dogs, of course, but the sheep? If they moved them in from that direction yesterday,” he said, pointing down the roadway toward the arena, “and if they didn’t officially move any back out this morning, why do the hoof prints go both ways?”
    Good question . I filled Tom in on the jurisdiction issue and said, “I guess we should let them know.”
    Tom agreed. “And soon, before the tracks are obliterated.”
    We turned back toward Hutch and the deputy, inching along the edge of the roadway for ten feet or so. I was just about to pick up the pace when Tom stretched his arm in front of me and said, “That’s from a big dog.” He pointed at a paw print near the edge of the roadway, almost under the bottom fence board, where the jumble of impressions was less confusing. In fact, most of the area was clear of marks. There were a few partial prints, clearly