Crane and I took Daniel's truck to San Andreas. It's not a very long trip at all. Crane isn't one that listens to the radio when he drives.

He more seems to enjoy the quiet. Or talking during a drive.

I asked him about the pictures that he'd taken of the men herding the Mustangs.

"I don't know how good they are. I thought I'd get them developed at the one-hour photo, and take a look, before

going to the sheriff's office," he told me.

"Oh." I turned so that I was more sideways in the seat, facing him. "Guthrie said something yesterday. About how

they were weeding some of the horses out. Were they?"

"Yeah. They were."

"Why would they do that?" I asked, not understanding. "I mean, if they're planning to sell them to factories, like you think they are,

wouldn't they want them all? So they'd make more money?"

"They were likely holding some of them back. Thinking they have a way to make more on those," Crane said.

"How?" I asked.

"Selling them to individuals, maybe. Or for rodeo stock."

I thought about that for a couple of moments. Crane, too, seemed to retreat into his own thoughts.

"Crane?" I asked, breaking the silence.

"Hmmm?"

"Do you think any way of taking a Mustang is wrong? Even if it's to keep it, to own it?"

"I don't think you can ever really own something that was born free," Crane said, and at that moment, I felt as

though I was a puzzle piece that had found its match.

"That's how I feel, too," I said, thinking how very special of a person that he was.

7

We made a stop at the drugstore in San Andreas, where they have a one-hour photo shop. Crane took in the film, and

dropped it off, and when we came back out onto the sidewalk in the sunshine, he stood there, as though thinking.

"So," he said, "We have at least an hour. What do you want to do?"

I shrugged. "Whatever you want," I said.

"Well. That's easy," he said. "The library. I want to do some research."

Once at the library, which was by far larger than our small one in Murphys, Crane proceeded to walk the

rows of books, until he'd gathered up two large ones. He carried them to a nearby table, and sat down.

I sat down next to him as he began flipping thru the books, which looked to me to be some sort of law books.

"What are you looking for?" I said, low, in a library-appropriate voice.

Crane pushed one of the large brown volumes towards me. "Find anything you can on the 1971 Wild and Free Act," he

said.

"What's that?" I asked, while I began to turn the pages to the back where the index was.

"A federal law that prevents the capture of wild horses," he said, and began to read in his own book.

When I found something about what he'd told me, it was only a scant few paragraphs. I read it, but it only listed

the basics really, such as when the law was put into effect and what the purpose of it was. I leaned over to

read along with him, from the book he had, and the article there was much more detailed concerning the Wild and Free Roaming Horses and Burros Act

of 1971.

When he paused, pushing his glasses up on top of his head, I said, "There was only a few paragraphs in this other book."

"That's alright," he said, tapping the pages he'd been reading, and looking around the library. "I'm going to see

if they can make a copy for me."

He took the book and stood up, going in search of the librarian, after telling me to put the other book away.

As we were leaving the library a few minutes later, Crane was carrying copies in his hand, that told about the 1971 law.

Back in the truck again, Crane drove to the drugstore. While he went inside to check on the pictures that he'd taken, I stayed

in the truck, reading over the copied article.

It was fascinating. So many wild horses were being slaughtered before that, and the law was passed into effect in 1971. The Act

provided specific protection to all unbranded and unclaimed horses and burros on public land of the United States. It made it a crime

for anyone to harass or kill these animals.

I'd read most of it by the time Crane came back out. He got in and opened the package of pictures.

As he looked at each one, he then passed it over to me. With the telephoto lens on his camera, he'd managed to

get what I thought were some good shots. It brought the men into clarity, though it was still not possible to

make out their faces entirely. He'd also gotten some pictures of the helicopter.

"They're good," I said, as he started the engine. I stacked the pictures neatly and put them back into the envelope.

"They're not great," he denied. "But they're better than nothing."

"What now?" I asked.

"I'm going to talk to a deputy."

"They should be able to do something now for sure," I said. "This would explain so much. The trailer tire tracks, and

all of that. So they can finally get off their lazy behinds and do something about this case!"

"Whoa there, tiger," Crane said. "We'll see what they say."

When we'd driven the short distance to the sheriff's office, I had my hand on the door handle, ready to hop out, when

Crane put a hand on my knee.

I paused, looking at him.

"We're going in, and I'm going to talk to Hal, or one of his guys. But we're not going in there to go all 'Rocky Balboa'

on anybody. So no mouth. Understand?"

"Yes," I said. I could tell he meant it.

Once inside, Crane spoke to the dispatcher, or whatever she was, at the front desk, and asked to speak to Hal, the sheriff,

or one of the deputies. He mentioned two names which I assumed were the men who had come out to our house on

the occasions of our cattle being shot, and to measure the tire tracks.

We sat there for what seemed like a really long time. I was growing more impatient by the moment. Crane, however,

showed no such impatience. He was as still, and calm-appearing as could be.

"They shouldn't make people wait like this," I said, in protest. I said it low, and quietly, and I knew the woman

behind the desk didn't hear me. But Crane still frowned at me in disapproval.

"Want to wait outside?" he asked me, and it wasn't really a question of choice, but more of a warning.

I shook my head at him.

"Then quit," he ordered.

So I sat back, and kept my thoughts and observations about the Calavaras County Sheriff's Department to myself. And, of course,

a deputy did finally appear at one of the inside doors, and waved us back into the inner part of the offices. I'd never been

this far inside the department, and I was looking all around, finding it interesting. There were all these small rooms, and I wondered

if those were their "interrogation rooms".

Finally, we were led down a narrow hallway, and into an office. I recognized the sheriff, Hal, as he stood up from behind the desk,

and leaned across to shake Crane's hand.

"How are you doing, Crane?" he said in greeting.

"Doing alright," Crane said in response.

"How are you, Harlie?" he asked me next.

"Fine, thanks," I said politely. I wondered that he could remember my name that way, but then figured it was because

'Harlie' is such an unusual name for a girl, and that makes it stick in people's minds.

"What can I do for you?" Hal asked, waving at Crane and I to take a seat.

Crane laid the packet of pictures on the desk, and sat down, saying, "I wanted you to have a look at these."

I sat down, too, as the sheriff did the same, opening the package, sifting thru the photos. He took his time, giving each

one what seemed to be a careful once-over.

After that he asked where they'd been taken at, and when, and all of that, and he and Crane discussed the specifics.

"Interesting," Hal said, and I felt a flash of irritation.

Interesting? Really? Beautiful wild horses were being chased down by men and helicopters, to be likely turned into glue

or dog food, and he thought it was 'interesting'?

Then he asked some more questions, about the helicopter, and the number of men we'd seen.

"Is it alright that I keep these?" he asked Crane, holding up the stack of pictures.

"Sure. Absolutely," Crane said.

The conversation was basically over by now, with the sheriff saying that the pictures would be helpful, and

they would continue to focus on the investigation, to see if all the bad things that had happened might be connected to

the wild horse roundup.

We walked outside, into the bright sun, and down the concrete steps in front. As I came around to my side of the truck to get in,

I said, "He's not a fan of the Mustangs."

Crane started the engine, and then sat back in the seat a little, not putting the truck in gear.

"The sheriff, I mean," I added, thinking he maybe hadn't heard me. "He doesn't have sympathy for the horses."

"What makes you say that?" Crane asked, turning to look at me.

"Because." I searched for the right words to express what I was feeling. "Because he was-" I hesitated again, "He was

so cavalier about it. He had no compassion."

"That doesn't mean he can't do his job in the right way. He's a professional," Crane said.

I realized Crane hadn't said that he thought I was wrong, about my observation of the sheriff's demeanor. He must feel the same as

I did.

7

It was suppertime by the time we pulled into the driveway at home, and the rest of the family was already assembled at

the table. It was extra crowded, because, besides Kristin being there, squeezed into a chair between Guthrie and my spot, Nancy

was there to eat as well.

There was a lot of talking, and talking over, and I could tell that Kristin was feeling sort of down. Though she became more

animated as the time passed, which is how she usually responds after being around our family for a while.

I asked her, really low, if she was alright, and she nodded, saying only, "We can talk later tonight, right?"

I nodded in agreement, and dived into eating my spaghetti.

I was on dishwashing duty, along with Ford. And Nancy pitched in, too, carrying the dishes over to the sink, and

picking up an extra dishtowel to dry along with me, as Ford washed.

"Where did Evan go?" I asked her.

"I don't know. He's been acting strange every since I got here," Nancy said.

"As in weird strange?" I asked.

When Nancy nodded, Ford said, "How can you tell? That's how he always acts," and then laughed.

I laughed too, but Nancy didn't. She only said, with her forehead all lined in worry, "I hope everything's alright with him. He

wouldn't really say when I asked him about it."

"Oh, he's fine," I said, in a breezy way. I proceeded to tell the two of them how Isaac had chewed Evan's rodeo

magazine earlier in the day. That did make Nancy laugh, and Ford, too. We were still laughing about it when Evan came down

the back stairs. He'd changed to a clean shirt, and, upon closer inspection, I saw that it was actually one of the two shirts

that he keeps for church. And he was wearing his best pair of boots.

Ford, who'd finished washing the dishes, was turned around, drying his hands, and leaning against the counter. He gave

a whistle at Evan's appearance.

"Don't you look pretty," he teased. And then Ford gave an exaggerated sniff. "And you smell real pretty, too."

"Shut up, Ford," Evan said, mildly, with no real malice in his tone.

"You look great," Nancy said, laying her dishtowel down and stepping over to Evan. "What's up?"

"I thought I might take you out somewhere special tonight," Evan said.

I was turned now too, standing beside Ford, and listening to their exchange with interest.

"Like where?" Nancy asked.

"Anywhere you want to go," Evan said recklessly, and Nancy, in her typical blunt manner, said,

"Why? Is it a special occasion that I forgot about, or something?"

"Can't a guy take his girl somewhere nice, without having to have a special reason?" Evan countered.

Nancy eyed him, still looking a little skeptical. "Yes. He can."

"Well, alright then," Evan said, and turned to Ford and I. "Are you two about done with those dishes?"

"We're done," Ford said. "Why?"

But Evan only shook his head, and took Nancy's hand, pulling her toward the living room. Nancy looked back

at Ford and I, lifting her shoulders in a puzzled way, as if she too, wondered what had gotten into Evan.

Ford and I exchanged a glance, and then we both followed along, to the living room. That room was abuzz with

noise, and there was somebody sitting in every spot available.

Evan stopped on the edge of the circle of couches and chairs. "Where's Brian?" he demanded, of nobody in particular.

"He went upstairs for a minute," Clare said.

Evan nodded in response, and stood there, still holding onto Nancy's hand.

"So," Nancy said, "Are we going out? Because if we are, I need to go home and change into something nicer than

my work outfit," and she gestured to her shirt that had the name of the feed store, with her name embroidered

underneath.

"After awhile," Evan said.

"Well, let's sit down then," Nancy told him, pointing to the sofa pillows that had been tossed onto the floor beside

the couch.

"In a minute," Evan said, and Nancy looked at him as though he'd gone crazy.

"What in the world is the matter with you, Evan?" she demanded.

"Hurry up, Brian," Evan said, as Brian came down the stairs, and headed back over to sit beside Clare.

"What do I have to hurry up for?" Brian asked, pausing in his walking.

"Sit down, sit down," Evan said, impatiently, and Brian raised his eyebrows and then sat down.

By now, pretty much everybody in the room was watching Evan, the way he was acting, and all the other conversations had ceased.

"You're as jumpy as a cat on a hot tin roof," Brian accused him.

"Yeah, Ev, what's up?" Guthrie piped up.

Evan gave an eye-sweep around the room, and apparently satisfied that everybody was present, and accounted for, he let go of Nancy's hand,

and then, in front of an entire room full of McFaddens, he got down on one knee.

He pulled a small box from his shirt pocket, and then, followed by hoots and hollers, whistles and cat-calls, from everybody in the room,

he asked Nancy to marry him.

7