She heard movement from the children's room and hurried to wipe her eyes before she heard Ada's voice.
"Mama? I'm… not feeling very good."
"Oh, sweetie. I'm sorry. Come here."
Catherine bundled the girl up in her arms and kissed her forehead. She could feel the heat radiating off her. Waiting for November wasn't going to happen.
Ada needed a doctor. Tonight.
Glen had never had business to take a train, and now he hoped he never would have to again. He didn't like the way it jostled one bit. Like it would toss him out the window any time. How Union Pacific managed to make this a preferred form of travel, he would never know.
He stepped off and put his hat back on, brim low to keep the evening sun out of his eyes. The problem of who to ask… if he even should ask anyone for directions, was fore in his mind.
He settled on asking the man behind the ticket counter. At least he'd get an answer that way.
"You know where I can find a Marshal?"
The man scratched his head a minute. "There's an office in town. That-a way. Take a right, then a left, 'n it'll be on the right side of the street."
"Much appreciated."
Glen followed the directions. The thought that the Sheriff had felt like nothing needed doing was a little worrying. It had occurred to him that he might be wasting his time. After all, whatever the Sheriff thought wasn't worth looking into, might well be the case that the Marshal wouldn't, neither.
Or perhaps the man was being bribed to look the other way. The idea wasn't a pleasant one, but it was still more than a little possible. That worried him more, because it meant that the same man responsible for paying off the Sheriff could have just as easily found more money for a Marshal.
Maybe the prices were different, or a Federal Marshal took his job more seriously. Or maybe, they were too far out for Dawson to think that they were worth paying. Maybe he was right.
The place was shuttered up, but he knocked anyways. The door opened obediently to show a lamp-lit room and a thin man in his shirtsleeves.
"How can we help you, sir?"
"You the Marshal?"
"I'm a sworn deputy. You need help with something? Sheriff should have a fella on duty, still. I'm just closing up before I head home for the night."
Glen frowned. "I'm not from around here. I just got off the train from Rawlins, sir."
The man nodded for a moment. "Alright, well… give me a minute."
Glen let him close the door. It reopened a minute later and the man was wearing a jacket that showed a shiny badge with the words 'United States Deputy Marshal' across it.
"What's the problem?"
"My cattle are getting stolen, is the problem. I went to the Sheriff with it, but it seems as if he's not going to do a whole lot. I've heard from others, he hasn't been looking into rustlings for going on four years now. Maybe longer."
"You don't know?" The man had settled into a chair and was leaned back. The man looked gaunt, but he moved well. Glen wouldn't have enjoyed tussling with him, in spite of their size difference.
"I just moved into the area."
"Any reason this hasn't been brought to our attention sooner?"
"I couldn't say. We did some digging, and got ourselves a name from a man who says they tried to sell him the cattle."
"And I take it that you've given that information to Carbon County's Sheriff's office?"
"Of course. But I didn't get a good impression from the man. If you could just come look around, maybe talk to the fella we got the name from and see what your office can do…"
The man pulled a cigarette from his pocket, tried to straighten it