"It means we need to move quickly, but lawfully."
He sent his second officer to contact the local sheriff, then went to the telegraph office to send an urgent message requesting confirmation of the court papers and assistance with the suspected child-trafficking investigation.
I remained with the older woman.
She sat quietly in the wagon.
After a while, she looked toward me.
"Do you think he will take my son away again?"
I didn't answer immediately.
Then I said, "I think that's what he's afraid we're going to stop."
Her eyes filled.
The marshal returned less than an hour later.
His expression was grim.
"We have enough to demand answers, and the local sheriff is cooperating. But the ranch owner has already been warned."
I looked toward the canyon road.
"What now?"
The marshal adjusted his coat.
"We're going to visit him."
The ranch stood beyond a narrow pass, surrounded by tall fences and open grazing land.
The house was built from thick timber and stone, with a wide porch overlooking a pasture where several horses grazed.
We approached shortly after noon.
Two ranch hands met us at the gate.
The marshal introduced himself.
They looked uneasy.
Then one went toward the house.
The other remained beside the gate, watching us.
After several minutes, the ranch owner appeared.
He was a broad man in his late fifties, with iron-gray hair and a neatly trimmed beard. He wore an expensive vest, polished boots, and a heavy silver watch chain.
He looked toward the marshal.
"What is the meaning of this?"
The marshal explained.
The ranch owner's expression hardened immediately.
"That's absurd."
"We have evidence that a child placed here may have been taken from his mother without consent."
"My boy is legally mine."
The marshal remained calm.
"Then you should have no difficulty producing the documents establishing his placement."
The man's face changed.
He looked toward me.
"Who are you?"
"A witness."
His eyes narrowed.
Then he noticed the older woman sitting in the wagon.
For a moment, his expression shifted.
Not surprise.
Recognition.
I saw it.
The marshal saw it too.
The ranch owner looked away.
"This is harassment."
The marshal stepped closer.
"Sir, we're conducting an investigation. We need your cooperation."
The man's jaw tightened.
"I won't have strangers disturbing my child."
The older woman stood.
Her voice was trembling.
"Please."
Everyone turned.
She gripped the wagon rail.
"I am not here to hurt him."
The ranch owner stared at her.
She continued.
"I gave birth to a son. They told me he died."
The man said nothing.
She swallowed.
"I only want to know whether he is alive."