Free The Warrior Sheep Go West by Christopher Russell

exactly?”
    â€œThe Eppingham rare breeds.”
    â€œIs that so?” The sheriff nodded but he didn’t sound as if he believed a word. “Could I ask you to empty that bag, please, ma’am?”
    Gran hesitated, then upended her bag. The contents of the bottomless pit cascaded out on to the ground. The sheriff surveyed the resultant untidy pyramid of bath plugs, head lamps, sticky tape, clothespins, and toilet paper rolls; then he stepped forward and poked it warily with his shotgun.
    â€œYou good people got I.D.?” he inquired.
    â€œI’m Ida White and this is my great-grandson Tod.”
    â€œNot names, ma’am. I.D. Proof.”
    Tod and Gran looked at each other, then at the jumble of bag contents.
    â€œOh dear,” said Gran. “I must have left our passports in Mr. Rhubarb’s car.”
    The sheriff nodded. It was the same style of nod he’d used before.
    â€œMr. Rhubarb’s car…” he repeated thoughtfully. Then he waved the gun at Tod. “Go put that fire out, boy, and come straight back.”
    Tod went quickly into the ranch house.
    â€œYou can restack your bag, ma’am,” continued the sheriff. He watched while she rammed the contents back in, then added, “By the way, you’re under arrest.”
    â€œYou’re arresting the wrong people!” cried Tod, stamping on the remains of the fire. “We’ve been kidnapped and dumped here. He said he wanted to keep us out of the way until B-Day. But we haven’t got a phone to contact the police.”
    The sheriff gave him another disbelieving look. “Then I guess you’ll have to make do with me, son. The name’s Tiny. On account of I ain’t. And I’m the sheriff of Gunslinger City. Can you ride?”
    Tod and Gran nodded and the sheriff looked toward the sagging gate, where a huge white horse and a small brown mule were tethered.
    â€œYou can share the mule,” he said.
    Tod helped Gran onto the mule, then hoisted himself into the saddle behind her. There was just room for both of them. The sheriff looked down at them from the comfort of his own beautifully decorated leather saddle.
    â€œThis is Lightning,” he said, patting the horse’s neck. “You ever been to Gunslinger City?”
    Tod and Gran shook their heads.
    â€œWell then,” said Sheriff Tiny, jerking the mule’s tether free of the gate and leading his captives away. “Your day’s about to get even better.”
    The horse and mule walked steadily through the desert for some time. Nobody spoke. Tod’s mind was racing. Should he try to escape? Should he try to fight? Should he try to explain again about Rhubarb and the sheep? He glanced up at the sheriff’s stern face. And at the gun. He decided to keep quiet for a bit. The mule stopped abruptly to tear at a cactus plant and Tod had to hang on tight to stop himself and Gran falling off. He would wait until they got to Gunslinger. Surely there would be someone there who would believe their story?
    The sun was getting higher and hotter when the sheriff eventually announced, “Here we are, folks. Gunslinger City.”
    â€œIt’s just a ghost town,” said Gran as they jolted down the main street.
    High on his white horse, Sheriff Tiny flinched slightly. What the old lady said was true, but it hurt him to hear it.
    â€œMy great-great-gran’pappy was sheriff here in the Gold Rush,” he said proudly. “There was a lotta gold found hereabouts. Gunslinger was one heck of a place then. Full of miners, traders, saloon girls…”
    â€œThat’s history,” said Gran. “It’s a ghost town.”
    She was still angry at being arrested and didn’t care about the sheriff’s great-great-gran’pappy.
    â€œYou can’t say it don’t look real enough,” said Tiny. He nodded at the general store, the chapel, the hotel, and the saloon as they