Free The Warrior Sheep Go West by Christopher Russell Page A

passed.
    â€œThere are no people,” said Gran.
    â€œThere will be. The first bus’ll be arriving in half an hour. We can get upward of five hundred folk a day.”
    This was true as well, but Tiny took no real satisfaction from it. A hundred and fifty years ago, Gunslinger had been on the cattle trail and the gold trail. Now, it was on the tourist trail; it had a café and a gift shop. As sheriff, his time was mostly spent directing people to the washrooms or posing for photographs. Today though, he’d made a genuine arrest. He intended to make the most of it.
    Tiny reined in outside the jailhouse, dismounted, and tethered his horse and the mule to the hitching rail. Tod jumped down and helped Gran. At any other time, he would have been thrilled to be here. It was like being in the actual Wild West.
    As Tod looked around, Gran suddenly made a break for it.
    â€œRun, Tod!” she cried, ducking away, but the sheriff took just one step, stretched out a long arm, and grabbed her.
    â€œThat’s resisting arrest, lady,” he said disapprovingly.
    â€œToo right,” answered Gran, wriggling and kicking.
    To be on the safe side, Tiny grabbed Tod with his other hand and with one squirming prisoner tucked under each arm, stepped onto the boardwalk.
    â€œI want to speak to your boss!” yelled Tod. “The Marshal or the Mayor or someone!”
    The sheriff merely tightened his grip, barged open the door to the jailhouse, and strode inside. Passing through a small office, he kicked open the cell door and dropped Tod and Gran on the floor. Gran swung at him with her bag, but Tiny dodged the blow.
    â€œEasy now…” he warned.
    He clanged the cell door shut. Tod rushed at it and rattled the bars as Tiny turned and removed the key.
    â€œYou can’t do this!” Tod shouted.
    â€œI just did, boy.”
    â€œBut we’re not criminals!”
    â€œOf course not,” agreed Tiny with a disbelieving smile. “You’re friends of Mr. Rhubarb. Now you just let me know when you wanna start talking sense.”
    And he turned away and strolled out, taking the cell key with him.

13
    Snorting Sam
    Fort Wilmot was a big town with an airport, a railway station, and a lot of wide, busy roads. There was no sign of Red Tongue, though, and the warriors weren’t sure what to do next as the helicopter landed outside the hospital.
    When the engine was switched off and the sheep’s ear protectors had been removed, Wills heard the paramedic speak again.
    â€œWhere did you dumb kids think you were going, anyhow?” she asked.
    â€œHere,” said Phoenix, trying to stand up. “Fort Wilmot. D’you think we’ll be able to see the Rams tonight? When they go head to head with Red Tongue?”
    â€œNo way,” said the paramedic.
    â€œBut we’ll be fine by then,” protested Phoenix as Wills shifted closer to listen.
    What rams did they mean, he wondered? Oxo and Links? The paramedic gave Wills a pat.
    â€œYou know,” she said, “I reckon these sheep are brighter than you guys. You get lost in the desert with no water, no phone, no radio. And you get your dates wrong too. Red Tongue slaughtered the Rams here last night. You missed it. They’ve moved on. Las Vegas is next.”
    She gave Wills a smile and another pat as a hospital team arrived to disembark the humans.
    â€œI’ll see if the vet can transplant you an ovine brain cell or two,” she said to the boys. “That is, if your mom doesn’t strangle you first.”
    â€œLook after those sheep,” called Cameron anxiously, to no one in particular, as he was wheeled toward the hospital.
    But Wills didn’t wait to be looked after by anyone. He led the way down the ramp out of the helicopter.
    â€œWe’re too late,” he explained unhappily. “There was a slaughter of rams here last night.”
    â€œOhmygrass…” For once, Jaycey spoke