“Will I be able to bail him out?” she asked, voice trembling.
“Probably,” Deke said. “But he didn’t bail his sons out. If it were up to me, he’d stay locked up, too.”
Rawley chuckled. “Now, that’s a good question, why didn’t you bail your sons out?”
Winchester’s shoulders rose in a shrug. “I thought it’d look better if I left them there. It wouldn’t look like I was involved.”
“That’s some fucked up shit,” Rawley said, shaking his head.
Deke cracked a grin. “That is fucked up.”
Winchester managed a brittle smirk. “I’ll be out in less than an hour.”
“I don’t care when, or if, you get out. Enjoy it while you can. Hollister’s herd alone is worth thousands. That alone is a hefty sentence.” Rawley ushered Winchester down the porch steps to the waiting truck.
“As soon as the sheriff’s deputies arrive, we’ll hand you over,” Rawley told him, then closed the door behind them.
“After they get him, we’ll head for Walsh’s place.”
Deke dialed the county sheriff on his phone, his back to the house. He gave the deputy the rundown on the arrest, then waited, eyes fixed on the road. He hated the thought of driving to Liberty but he wanted this case over and done with.
Three hours later, they pulled up to a weather-beaten house that had clearly seen better days. Itspaint was peeling, and the windows sagged in their frames, as if weary from holding the structure together for so long. Across the yard, a barn stood precariously, its roof sagging and sides bowed out, as if the slightest gust of wind would send it crashing down.
Deke scanned the surroundings, his eyes narrowed with suspicion. “It looks deserted. If that son of a bitch gave us a fake address, I will go back and beat it out of him.”
Rawley chuckled. “If only we could.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Deke sighed heavily, the weight of the situation pressing on him. “Let’s go to the door.”
Both men stepped out of the truck, their boots crunching on the gravel as they approached the door and knocked. A thin, gaunt man, with balding hair appeared in the doorway, his eyes wary and calculating.
“Yeah?” he asked, his voice sharp and defensive.
“Mr. Walsh?” Deke inquired, his tone firm but polite.
“Who wants to know?” the man replied, his eyes widening when he saw the protective vests with livestock agent embroidered on them.
“I’m Agent Deke Anderson and this is Agent Rawley Bowman, we’re with the Montana Department of Livestock. We’d like to talk with you,” Deke stated, holding the man’s gaze.
“About what?” Walsh replied, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice.
“The theft of some cattle that you and Chet Winchester stole,” Deke declared, his voice steady and unyielding.
Deke kept his eyes fixed on Walsh, sensing the man’s intention to flee. In a swift motion, Walsh slammed the door shut, the sound of the latch clicking into place echoing in the stillness. Deke glanced at Rawley; his expression determined.
“Take the back, I’m kicking this door in.”
“You got it,” Rawley responded, sprinting around the side of the house.
Deke braced himself and kicked the door twice before it gave way, bursting open with a loud crack. He rushed inside, his weapon drawn, moving with cautious precision as he scanned the dimly lit interior, shadows dancing in the corners of the room. As he maneuvered his way toward a back room, the sharp crack of a gunshot shattered the silence.
“Son of a bitch! Rawley?” Deke called out, his voice tinged with urgency, but received no response. He quickly navigated through the cluttered kitchen, bursting out the back door to find Rawley sprawled on the ground. “Shit!” Deke shouted as he ran to him, squatting down and placing a steadying hand on Rawley’s shoulder. “Rawley?”
Rawley groaned, pain etched across his face. “I’m alright. He hit my vest but damn that hurts.”
“No shit. Been there. Can you get up?” Deke asked, concern lacing his words.
“Yeah,” Rawley replied, his voice strained but resolute.
