Authors: Sharon Ihle
River Song (52 page)
Cole tore his gaze from his new enterprise and said, "Ah, yes, they are."
"We'll be pulling out of Yuma in about two hours. Don't you want to feed and water these critters before we head out to Maricopa?"
"Oh, of course."
The official from the railroad craned his neck and shook his head as he studied the bonneted birds. "I'll send some men over to give you a hand."
When the official had left, Cole turned to his wife. "Sunny, I'm not sure what the hell I've gotten us into."
After a long moment and another glance at the herd, Sunny said, "I am not sure either, my husband."
Stunned, the trio stood in front of the boxcar, peering inside, until a railroad worker stepped up to them. "You want to unload these birds in a stockyard, mister?" The kid's mouth dropped open as he followed their gaze.
"Jumping Jehoshaphat."
He wheeled around calling, "Hey, Jimmy, get on over here and
lookie
at this, would you?"
Soon after, Cole had more help than he could have used herding a hundred head of cattle the length of Arizona. By the time the last ostrich lurched down the gangplank and padded into the fenced stockyard, a crowd of curious onlookers had gathered.
"Please stay back," Cole beseeched the excited crowd as they crushed against the railing. "You're making them nervous."
But no one budged, and their delighted voices grew louder.
Nearby, pens of cattle bawled their
terror,
strained against their confines as the scent of something new and frightening reached their nostrils.
Sheep bleated and converged in the center of their corral.
Pigs squealed and frantically dug at the soft earth as they sought escape from the unknown.
Things were getting out of control. Thinking if he could just manage to get the crowd to disperse, all the livestock would relax, Cole climbed to the top rail of the fence to make an announcement.
But it was too late.
An eager bystander reached across the barrier and removed the bonnet from one of the birds.
An enormous pair of dark eyes darted around. The tiny bald head jerked a couple of times. And then, as if it faced nothing more than a small puddle, the ostrich leaped over the six-foot fence.
Great puffs of sand followed the creature as it loped past the boxcars and down the streets of Yuma, scattering women, children, and livestock in all directions. It lurched like a drunk on payday as it lumbered onto Main Street, then stumbled around the corner and disappeared in a cloud of dust.
"What the
hell
?" Cole moaned, watching part of his sixteen-thousand-dollar investment gain its freedom.
"Mother of God," Sunny breathed as the ostrich reappeared, only to crash through the swinging doors of The Bucket.
Patrick jerked a silver whiskey flask from his back pocket and raised it on high.
"Let the party begin."
*
Dear Reader;
As a lifelong San Diegan, I’ve explored the west coast from one end to the other, spent many great camping trips with my family in the mountains of eastern San Diego, and
enjoyed
almost
yearly trips to the Borrego Desert just beyond those mountains. During those trips we would venture into Yuma. At first I was mostly interested in the Yuma Territorial Prison, a nightmare of a place to be incarcerated that gave me goosebumps all over. Then I became interested in the number of Indian tribes that had, and still do, inhabited the area. There were many tribal names that I’d never heard of, but the Quechan Indians captured my interest the most. They are known for their beauty, height, and most of all, gentle natures. Unless crossed, that is. I thoroughly enjoyed creating my very own Quechan heroine and her family, along with a cowboy hero who comes to understand
that prejudice has no place in an honorable society. I hope you enjoy this book as much as I enjoyed the journey of putting it together.
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