A sickle moon hung in the sky, and it flirted with the cloud cover, making the night darker than average. Ralph Dawson stabbed the button to open the window on the passenger’s side. He observed the dozing stock. The mournful cry of an owl rang out, and he shivered. “Are these the right animals?”
The man at the wheel grunted. “They’re stud bulls and worth over ten-thousand dollars a head. We can nab them easily, and I have a buyer farther north who won’t ask questions.”
“Won’t someone notice them grazing among other cattle?”
“That’s the beauty of the plan—it’s a secluded property. The buyer checks his cattle several days a week. If anyone else sees the bulls amidst the herd, my buyer will play dumb. They weren’t there last time I checked my stock. I have no clue where they came from. Mea
