Free The Cowboy Poet by Claire Thompson Page A

disappeared?
    Lucky scratched his head, lost in thought. Nope. Can‘t think of a single stranger. It ain‘t like folks just wander in. We‘re not exactly on the beaten path. That‘s the mystery of it.
    Clint nodded, thoughtful. Tyler said, Can you tell us exactly who came and went on the day and maybe the days leading up to when you realized the tanks were gone? He held his pad at the ready. Clint nodded, figuring that was as good a place to start as any.
    Let‘s see, Lucky said, again scratching his bald pate as if this helped to jumpstart his brain. There was Frank Corsair, deliverin‘ the hay. And Hoss Johnson and his boy were by earlier. In fact, that‘s when we figured out we was missin‘ some—Hoss prefers Buffalo Bill‘s seed—cheap but gets the job done.
    He grinned, and then pursed his mouth in concentration. Oh, and Doc Crawford came by for his regular visit. He brought out the big truck for the annual exams. Got all that fancy equipment nowadays. Must have cost him a fortune, but I imagine we‘ll all be payin‘ for it, one way or the other. Don‘t nothin‘ come cheap anymore.
    That sparked something in Clint‘s mind. Now that you mention it, the vet was supposed to be out at our place around the time the tank went missin‘. I was away on ranch business, though, so I can‘t be sure.
    Ah ha! Tyler said, scribbling on his pad. We have a clue. The vet was here and he was at the Ransom Ranch. And didn‘t Seth Blake mention that‘s when he discovered his missing tank? When the vet was out to check on his cow? I think we may have found our connection!
    Lucky laughed, shaking his head. Hank Crawford is the kind of guy you‘d trust with your babies. Or your prize bulls, for that matter.
Clint nodded his agreement. Yeah. Doc Crawford would never stoop to stealin‘ bull semen. Besides, he‘s been a fixture in these parts nigh on twenty years.
They talked about other possible leads, including a group of ruffian teenagers Lucky had noticed in town loitering around the country store, looking like they were up to no good. Sometimes these kids just go on a stealing spree, for no other reason than to show off for each other. They probably didn‘t even know what they were takin‘.
That might hold water if yours was the only incident, Lucky. But we‘ve got at least four places been hit over the past month, and over the whole dang county. And that‘s just the ones we know about. No, it‘s somethin‘ more organized.
Well, it don‘t make sense, Lucky said. Who would buy stolen semen? It‘s all documented. They wouldn‘t be able to sell it for anything like its actual worth. What‘s the point of takin‘ it?
That‘s what I aim to find out, Clint said. I hope once we make the rounds of the other farms and ranches affected, we‘ll get more clues and start puttin‘ the pieces together. Whatever‘s goin‘ on, we got to stop it. We can‘t wait on the local authorities to take their sweet ass time.
Any trace of the thunderstorm the day before was long gone, the air hot and arid, and getting hotter by the minute. A real scorcher today, Lucky noted, wiping his gleaming dome with a kerchief. Summer‘s in full swing, that‘s for sure.
Yeah. I guess we ought to head on. We‘re going to stop by Hoss Johnson‘s place. I‘ll keep you posted if we figure this thing out. Meanwhile, keep those padlocks in place. Can‘t be too careful these days, Clint said.
Amen to that, Lucky agreed.
~*~
The trunk bounced over the rutted road as they headed toward the Johnson farm. Clint tried his cell phone and got a signal. He placed a call to Hoss Johnson, but it went to voicemail. He left a message asking if they could swing by, and to please give him a call at his earliest convenience.
It was hot in the truck and the air conditioner, while doing its best, just wasn‘t up to the task of cooling the hundred degree air that day. He‘d replenished the Dr. Pepper supply, and reached now for a cold one, his hand brushing