"I don't know what's wrong," said George Jackson in a western drawl, pushing his hat back from his forehead to reveal a sun-toughened face. "I think I got two herds of sheep: the bad ones and the good ones."
"What's wrong with them?" asked the town veterinarian, surveying the field full of sheep that was before them.
"Well, I got one group that seems real scared of the other group," George explained, pointing to the group of sheep closest to them, all huddled close together. "And then I got the group of sheep who seem kinda scared of me. Or, at least, they won't come anywhere near me." He pointed to the sheep on the far end of the field. They stood unnaturally still and stared at the people.
"That is very strange," the vet agreed. "I don't know what to tell you, because that other group wouldn't let me anywhere near them either. The good group is perfectly healthy, just a little stressed. As for the others, I'd pen them separately and see what they do."
"Alright, Doc," George nodded and patted the man on the back. "I'll take your advice. I sure hope that batch wasn't a bad one. I don't remember even buying them separately, but they all have the same brand tags as my sheep. Must be mine."
"Must be," the vet said. The two men turned away from the sheep and went back to the large wooden ranch house that George's father had built from scratch when he was a little boy.
Unbeknownst to George, the other sheep, the ones that wouldn't let the humans near them, were still watching. Then the alpha sheep's tail rose straight into the air, like an antennae, and it began to make a series of clicking and beeping noises. Someone was getting notifications.
? ? ? ? ?
"What do you think of this one, Professor?" asked Ace, standing in front of the Doctor and twirling around for him to see.
"Yes, very nice," he nodded sagely and smiled. Dorothy "Ace" McShane was wearing a soft brown leather jacket with a beaded design on the back in blue, red, black and yellow, the colors of the American Southwest. On her head there was one of the largest hats she had ever seen. She didn't usually take to hats, but it was hard for anyone to look bad in a cowboy hat. She wore simple blue jeans, but they were offset by cowboy boots. The boots, unlike the rest of her outfit which looked earthy and natural, were bright red and shining new. "Just right for the Wild, Wild West," the Doctor said.
"You don't look so bad yourself," Ace told him. The Doctor looked down at his own costume and decided that, yes, he looked rather well. The pattern didn't differ from his normal jacket, shirt and tie, but the jacket was dark brown for this occasion and he had decided not to wear the sweater-vest covered in question marks. His hat and trousers were the same, though Ace had convinced him to wear cowboy boots as well. He didn't like the way they pinched his toes, but they were practical and looked good.
"Now then, Westward Ho!" He went to the TARDIS control panel and pressed a few buttons, sending them whirling out into space and time.
? ? ? ? ?
"I swear, this town is like a tub with a great big hole in the bottom," Martha, the Irish immigrant told her husband one evening as she prepared supper. He was leaning back in a chair, his boots resting on the table. He had just been reading the town news periodical to her as they did every evening when he came home from working at the ranch.
"What do ya mean, Love?" he asked her.
"Well, things just keep disappearing right and left. First it was the new bell for the church steeple, then it was a wagon that had gone missing. And Jenny Piper told me she lost a brand new hat. Woke up one morning and went to look for it in the hatbox, but it was gone. I was inclined to think she was just being forgetful (you know Jenny) but then I started losing things. Remember how I told you that cheese grater went missing? I still haven't found it, and the water bucket is gone too. Now, to top it off, four people are gone. I never would have thought it."
"You're right," her husband agreed. "There does seem to be a lot gone. I couldn't find my backhoe last week. I'm sure I left it in the barn, but it's not there and hasn't turned up."
"I never would have thought a person would just go missing though, did you? Who is it now, did you say?"
The man held up the paper and read it to her again. "'Lars Jarmon was reported missing by his wife Missy Smith-Jarmon two days ago when he didn't return from work. It was reported that he never even made it to work and disappeared sometime in between six and seven A.M.' It also says how to contact them if you've seen anything of him."
"That's terrible. Poor Missy. She just came from back east four months ago. She must be worried. I should go visit her tonight after supper."
"That's a good idea," her husband agreed. Then he noticed something strange in the corner, something he had never seen before. It had a white ball in a cone attached to the end of a curved metal pole the circumference of his finger. At the base of the pole was a circular stand. It was a lamp without the lampshade, but they didn't know what that was.
"Martha, what is that?" he asked, staring at it and trying to figure out what it was. She looked over at it and shrugged.
"I don't know, I never saw it before in my life."
"Well, I didn't bring it home." He got up and went over to it. Curious, he picked it up. It had a long cable hanging off of it that was forked at the end.
"Strange contraption. I don't much like it."
"Oh, I think it looks sort of interesting and different," Martha came over to him and took it. She turned it over a few times, trying to figure out what it did. She set it on the mantelpiece above the fireplace.
"I think it looks neat. Like something fancy from a big city."
"If you say so," her husband sat down again and sniffed the air. "Say, you almost done cooking? I'm starved."
