IN LATER YEARS, MADDIE OFTEN REFLECTED ON HOW THE smallest event can have the most profound result. Four days had passed since she woke with that blinding, nauseating hangover. Her young, fit body had expelled the poisons she drank on that dreadful night, and now she was back to normal and ready for any activity.
Although she felt physically better, the memory of the hangover persisted, and she vowed never to drink alcohol again.
She had apologized profusely to Will for the way she acted and he nodded silently, accepting her words. But, like him, she knew that they were just words, and words were easy. Deeds were more difficult, and she resolved to show him how true and heartfelt her words of apology were. She applied herself to her training and her lessons with a new diligence.
He noted this, but said nothing. He would wait to see how long this new energy and application would last. It was early days yet.
They were finishing lunch one day when there was a knock at the cabin door. Several minutes before the knock, Tug and Bumper both sounded an alert from the stable as they sensed someone approaching the cabin. Whether it was an enemy or not, they had no idea, so their warning was a neutral one.
On the other hand, Sable was outside in her usual position at the end of the porch, and she had made no sound. That indicated to Will that whoever was approaching posed no danger.
He rose and moved to the door. At the last moment, he twitched his cloak aside to free the hilt of his saxe. Then he seized the latch left-handed and threw the door wide-open. The movement was intentionally sudden, designed
to give him an immediate view of the entire porch area—just in case someone was lurking to one side, out of sight. The animals may have detected no threat, but they were animals. They weren’t infallible.
On this occasion, however, they were proved correct. The person standing outside the door could hardly be described as threatening. He leapt back in surprise as the door flew open, startled by the unexpectedly sudden movement.
He was a small man, shorter than Will and painfully thin. His arms were like sticks, although there was sinewy muscle there. He obviously earned his living by hard labor. He was stoop-shouldered, and his hair was beginning to recede from his forehead. His face was lined. Maddie estimated his age at around sixty, and weathered by years of hard work in the outdoors—in rain, hail or shine. He wore a farmer’s smock—threadbare and patched in many places—and carried a shapeless felt hat in his hands.
“What can I do for you?” Will asked.
The man bobbed his head nervously. He had never been in such close proximity to a Ranger, and he found the experience somewhat unsettling.
“Aah . . . hmmm . . . sorry to trouble you, Ranger. Didn’t mean to disturb you or nothing . . . ,” he said uncertainly.
Will decided not to reply with the obvious— If you didn’t mean to disturb me, why did you knock on my door? He felt that such a reply would confuse the man even further and make him more nervous than he already was.
“Did you need help of some sort?” Will asked.
The farmer considered the question, rotating his hat several times as he did so.
“Name is Arnold, Ranger. Arnold Clum of Split Oak farm.” He gestured over his shoulder with a jerk of his head. “Off to the south there some ten kilometers.”
An impressive name for what was probably an unimpressive farm, judging by the state of Arnold’s clothes and his obviously meager diet. Will realized that Arnold, like most countrymen, was going to take the long way round answering the question.
“Been farming there most of my life,” Arnold Clum continued, confirming Will’s suspicions about roundabout answers. “It’s not a big farm, mind you. Just a small holding. We grows a few vegetables—not too many.
The soil is rocky out there. And we keeps some sheep. Mostly though, we depend on the hens. The wife keeps them.”
Maddie had risen from the table and moved to stand slightly behind Will.
Arnold Clum noticed her and bobbed his head, tugging at a nonexistent hat brim. The hat, after all, was in his other hand.
“Afternoon, miss,” he said politely. He stared at her, confused. She was dressed as a Ranger, but she was a girl. He found the two facts hard to reconcile.
“Maddie is my apprentice,” Will said, by way of explanation. “You can call her ‘Ranger Maddie.’”
“Ah, yes, well . . . afternoon, Ranger Maddie,” Arnold said.
Maddie smiled at him. She decided she liked being referred to as Ranger Maddie. She felt it gave her a certain cachet—although she wasn’t totally sure what cachet might be. It was a term she had heard used once and she thought it might have something to do with prestige.
“We’ve got maybe twenty, thirty hens and one rooster,” Arnold continued, focusing his attention back on Will. “Keeps us in eggs, of course, and from time to time we kill one for the pot. Nice to have a bit of meat from time to time,” he added. Unconsciously, he licked his lips at the thought of a chicken going into the cook pot. His expression was so wistful that Will was willing to bet “from time to time” was no more often than once a month.
“Chickens can be useful that way,” Will said, hoping to move the narrative along a little faster.
Arnold Clum nodded several times. “Aye. Right handy beasts, chickens can be. Raise ’em virtually anywhere, you can.”
“I’ve never tried,” Will said.
Arnold shrugged and looked up at him, his head tilted sideways.
“Aye, well, you should. Dead easy, chickens is. Just need a small patch of ground for them to scratch around in. They like scratching around. Then you can feed them any sort of scraps and—”
“Are you having some problem with your chickens?” Will asked.
Arnold stopped in mid-sentence and stared at him, mouth slightly open.
“How’d you know?”
Will sighed. The man said he needed help and obviously his chickens were the most important creatures in his life. It was a logical guess. And it was a further logical step to assume that the problem was with some kind of predator. After all, if the chickens were sick, he would hardly have come to a Ranger for help. An apothecary was a better bet.
“Something’s taking your chickens?” Will asked.
Arnold’s mouth dropped open a little wider. “You Rangers are uncanny!”
he said. “It’s true what they say. I turn up here asking for help and straightaway you know there’s some critter taking my chickens—and eating my eggs.”
Not quite straightaway, Will thought. But still, the loss of chickens and eggs would be a serious matter for someone like Arnold. Judging by his undernourished frame, he got little enough to eat as it was.
“Seen it a couple of times—usually on dusk,” Arnold said. “About the size of a small dog, it is. And quick as a snake. I’ve got no way of stopping it.
I’ve got an old spear, but I’m no great shakes with that. Comes and goes as it pleases, it does. Not frightened of me one bit. My wife, Aggie, she said to me, Arnold, go fetch the Ranger. He’ll know how to deal with this! ”
“Probably a weasel or a stoat,” Will said thoughtfully. He could imagine the problems Arnold would have, trying to kill a fast-moving creature like that with an old spear and his shaky hands.
“Mebbe so,” Arnold agreed. “But he’s a big ’un. Mind you, so he should be, with the number of my eggs he’s been eating!” He added the last with a little heat.
Will nodded sympathetically. “Well, we’d better see what we can do.
We’ll come out this afternoon. No need for you to lose more eggs. Now, let me know how to get to your farm.”
Arnold gave him directions, then departed. He was riding a raw-boned plow horse with no saddle. The horse looked as ragged and threadbare as his owner.
“Thought I’d let him go ahead of us,” Will said to Maddie. “Farmers love to talk when they meet someone new and I thought we’d spare ourselves that.”
“Is it really worth our while?” Maddie asked. “I mean, riding all that way for just a few eggs?”
“It’s just a few eggs to us. To him it’s a matter of eating or going hungry.
And looking at him, I’d say he’s done plenty of that.”
Maddie pursed her lips thoughtfully. “Oh. I see.”
“This is part of what we do, Maddie,” Will told her. “We help people in trouble. Whether it’s tracking down highwaymen or arresting killers—or saving a farmer’s eggs. Rangers are here to serve the people.”
“I hadn’t thought of it that way,” she said. “So, should we get moving?”
Will shook his head. “Not just yet. I wouldn’t want to catch up to him. I’ll
