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Show 1 ii ' ' i in mi i i 1 1 1 1 II ! TT " - ' "John the Revelator has lost a big part of his nock," he began reading. "A total of 20,419 bleating Mormon sheep are no longer in the clutches of the Mormon hierarchy, having been turned over by the Church welfare department to the U.S. Marshal, who said these lambs will never be fleeced again by the Mormon leaders. The sheep were herded in from several valley welfare farms last Thursday and turned over to the U.S. Marshal. "According to Judge Charles Zane, the sheep will be sold at public auction this coming Saturday at 1 p.m. at the Seventh East estray compound. Interested bidders may inspect the sheep in the large pasture just east of the Jordan River where it passes under South Temple. Proceeds from the sale will help defray additional legal and law enforcement costs incurred by the federal government in recent months in its efforts to enforce the Edmunds-Tucker Act. The sheep have already been sheared, and the wool removed from over their eyes, a condition much needed by the rest of the Mormon flock." Ben threw the paper down and walked over to a window. "We can do something about those sheep," he said calmly. "Like scatter them to hell and back," Sam responded. "The article said they would be sold at the Seventh East estray compound day after tomorrow," Moroni said. "Maybe some of them could get lost before then. " At dusk Ben, Sam, Moroni, George and Lobo headed north towards the sheep pasture, staying on the less traveled side roads as much as possible. There were just a couple of dogs with the sheep. The only sign of human life was a light in the window win-dow of a tiny board shack on the east bank of the Jordan River. Knowing they couldn't get away with much sneaking around with dogs about, the men rode right up to the front of the shack and dismounted, guns ready. To their surprise, no one emerged to greet them. Sam knocked. A moment later the door was opened by a thin, hatless cowboy. Immediately the man's eyes locked on Ben, who was grinning broadly as he cocked back the hammer on his pistol. "You know each other?" Sam asked. "Yup," Ben said, as the cowboy slowly raised his hands above his head. "Name's Shank. One of the deputies I set adrift on the Green River. Looks like he made it through the rapids." Sam and Ben pushed their way inside, where Gibson was stretched out on a canvas cot, his eyes closed. "That's the other one," Ben said. "Don't know when I've been so glad to see two men. Thought I'd killed them. Feels good to know I didn't." Ben pulled Gibson's feet off the cot, letting them fall to the floor. Gibson sat up with a start, immediately im-mediately recognizing Ben as he, too, raised his hands high over his head. "Tell us about your Green River float trip," Ben ordered. Gibson and Shank looked at each other. Gibson spoke first. "Got untied the second day, a long way past the Chinamen's huts. Just kept going till we reached Lee's Ferry. By then the raft was all broke up. We was just hanging on to a couple of logs. Nearly starved to death." "Glad you made it through," Ben said, sounding genuinely sincere. ... "What do you want?" Gibson demanded. "The sheep," Moroni said. "We're still deputies," Shank whined. "You'll leave us alone if you know what's good for you." To be continued |