Roy's body stiffened. Of course, he knew the Riddle family and the tragedy surrounding them. As far as Roy was concerned, the Riddle farm was vacant and it encompassed too many painful memories for him to go and visit. The war had claimed Mr. Riddle's only son, then sadly, his wife died immediately following and it overwhelmed the man. Beset with grief to the point that he could no longer remain, Mr. Riddle abandoned their homestead and moved to Missouri to live with his brother and sister-in-law. Roy was unaware the Riddle farm had sold to Olof and Sara Johansson in 1918.
"Nope."
"Anyway, they have a young filly for sale. Tom asked me to tell you."
Roy studied the sheriff but kept silent. The sheriff shifted uncomfortably in his chair. Without another word, the sheriff stood and walked past Roy. He worked his way down the steps slowly waiting to see if Roy would continue the conversation. Buddy then headed toward his cart and was interrupted mid-stride.
"Buddy, you didn't come all this way out here to tell me about a horse."
The sheriff stopped and faced Roy. "No sir. I have other matters out here."
Roy shrugged, moving his hands outward slightly as if to say, "and?"
Buddy walked back to the porch and sat down again. He extended his hand toward the canteen and Roy returned it to him. Buddy took another long swig.
"I swear, Roy, you have the best tasting water in the whole world."
"The other matters, Buddy?"
The Sheriff cleared his throat. "Remember Mrs. Whittaker?"
"Yup"
"Well, every Wednesday, just like clockwork, she comes to town."
"Okay."
"You're not much on words, are you Roy?"
Roy blankly stared.
"Today is Saturday, Roy."
"So?"
"Well, some of the ladies in town are worried about her and asked me to check on her."
Roy grunted again.
"The woman lives all alone out here and God only knows what's happened to her."
"Must be tough being sheriff. We don't get much newsworthy these days."
"She's eighty or more and I'm just doing my job!" sounding slightly defensive.
Roy chuckled.
"What's so funny?"
Roy shook his head. "I'm confident Mrs. Whittaker is fine."
"What makes you so sure?"
"For one, you remember that coyote that tried getting to her chickens a few months ago?"
"Of course. She skinned the animal and ate him. Then she tanned the hide and sold it in town. People were amazed a woman her age being so good with a shotgun."
"It just so happens I heard shots a week or so ago, coming from her direction. That evening, two bloodied coyotes came limping by my place with their tails completely blown off. I doubt poor Mrs. Whittaker is in trouble. Probably more the other way around."