She could ignore it but it was not in her genetic makeup to ignore a challenge so direct and so dangerous.The first job on the agenda was to get the creek clear of the biological materials so the water could run free and clear again. One of the worst sins of the open western rangeland was to pollute the fresh water system or to kill wildlife or domestic animals just for the sake of killing and not for food or to protect innocent victims. The excesses of the "buffalo hunting" era was long gone but folks remembered that purge of free and available meat that threatened the existence of the native American tribes that lived their entire lives around the cycle of life of the free-roaming buffalo herds that swept across the prairie like a locust storm on four legs.Now it was time for Dixie and the other deputies to rid their peaceful valley of the hired guns who had no concept of normal behavior and no time for peace-loving people to live their lives in quiet harmony. The chaos of the Wild. She settled.Lack of memory was disorienting. It was like my mind had a physical void spot, a dark empty hole where everything was hiding from me, teasing me, frustrating me. Who was I? Was I a killer? All evidence said yes. But how did that connect to Bianca? Not knowing was almost physically painful.Wait! Stop fretting and think!I was approaching this problem all wrong. My memory might be blank but my mind wasn't useless. I could make some reasonable assumptions. First, how did I get to that farmhouse? Was I driving? If so, where was the car? Did I have help? If so, who helped me? Why didn't I have documentation, identification, money? Everyone had some. Where was mine? Had I left it somewhere? With identification would come knowledge. I could find out where I came from, where I lived, and that could lead to friends and acquaintances who would know me and reveal my life to me.We had to go back. We had to return to that farmhouse. With a plan of action settled, I relaxed. Sleep.
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