Wayne could see the worries on his face. It was the same worry he had when he was the only one to deal with all these problems. "Why didn't you come to me sooner, friend?" Wayne replied as he put his arm around his shoulders. "That's what friends are for, to help each other. Now, I say we stop banging our heads and help some folks because they're right, Sheriff. A storm is coming; we need every last one of them," giving a quick nod.
Wayne takes the reins of the wagon and flicks his hand, quickly galloping into Cracken Villa square. He yells at the top of his lungs. "Come all, come all to the square," as Sheriff Whitmore rings the bell for the meeting.
Sheriff Whitmore stands at the podium, waits for everyone, then bangs on the gavel and raises his arms for quiet. "As you folks have heard, there's a storm coming; they're right. Well, we haven't forgotten about you. No, sir, not our friends. We've been building a town just for you, a strong town down the road for those who would like to stay and make a go of it here. "If you don't, that's fine, too; we wish you well and thank you for your hospitality; see you next year for the annual picnic here on the farm. With sadness in our hearts, we are hereby closing this here town. Moving you all to New Downing after the Doc and his nurses have looked at you and signed you in on the rosters Because I'll have jobs for you when you get there," he smiles back at Sheriff Downing. "So start packing because we'll be back."
Everyone shouts in the air, dancing a jig: "They were going home at last and finally had something to do rather than sitting around stewing." Not very smart, if you ask me. Most of them could have gone already if they weren't planning on staying around. They just wanted to party—who wouldn't when the food was free? Both Sheriffs left Cracken with smiles on their faces that day, knowing that one problem was solved, too. Two go.
"Alright, Wayne, spill it. How do you plan to solve my problems?" Sheriff Whitmore asked.
"Teamwork and ingenuity, for one. I own a Lumber Mill, and they need some workers. Second, I also own a Sheep Ranch; they need some workers, too," and grins. "Plus, Aunty M. tells me there are sheep and cattle down here already and 1,000 bales of cotton that need to be worked, and if that isn't enough, I can get more. I think she said something about 15 percent of that, too. I'm not sure; I haven't been there yet. I might send my wife and the girls to see it; they would love the outdoors. Maybe send your wife with them just for fun. She could use a break after being indoors," he replied.
"You got to be joking, right?" He gazes over at Wayne, seeing the amused smile on his face.
"Nope," as he flicks his wrist hard on the reigns as Sheriff Whitmore falls back down on his seat, trying to hold on as they head for New Downing.
The first place they stop is at the newspaper office, post office, and Doc's office. "Good afternoon, Sheriff Downing and Sheriff Whitmore. How can we be of service?" Replies Mr. Grams.
Wayne said. "We were wondering if you could make me say five hundred flyers and add an addition to your paper, Mr. Grams," Wayne asked.
"Sure, not a problem," Mr. Grams, taking his notepad out.
"I want the flyer to say a big winter storm is coming. People down in Downing Villa. Please move down to Cracken Villa or start heading home within the week. Thanks for your hospitality and generosity; see you next year at the farmer's picnic at the farm." Wayne replies. "Now for the addition to the paper: People of New Downing, we'd like to thank you for your hospitality and generosity and ask you to support us in helping our new neighbors from Cracken Villa. Find a place in your homes and your hearts by helping build their own little cottages, as we know you will. There will be a roster to sign up if you'd like to help and one for work that needs to be done. See Sheriff Whitmore and Sheriff Downing; thanks for all you've done. "That should do it, Mr. Grams; I'll send the Deputies over later to pick up the flyers. Thanks."
The Sheriffs walked over to the post office next door. "Good afternoon, Sheriff Downing, and Sheriff Whitmore. How can I be of service?" Mr. Rivers replied.
"Just need to make a phone call, that's all. Send off a telegram," Sheriff Downing said as he pulled out a couple of cards, one with lumber mill numbers, and dialed the number. "Hello, Larry, this is Wayne Downing. Yes, TIMBER!" Wayne laughed. "How's the weather up there? Cold. Yes, I remember. Planning to send you some green trees in that direction," as he laughed. "Should be there in a few days. Could you send me down some more of that special stuff? The woodpeckers seemed to eat it all up down here," as he laughed. "They need it pretty bad before winter sets in. Oh, I would say 40,000 tons or more should do it. Building a house and a town with birdhouses for those woodpeckers," as he laughed. "That should do it; yell Timber for the boys, and see you real soon."
Wayne quickly smiles at Sheriff Whitmore and Mr. Rivers, shaking their heads. "Now then," he writes the telegram, and the address watches his eyes pop out his head. "Sorry, it's not local, Jason. You won't need the boys for this one, just your fingers."
Howdy, Rodger and the boys. Stop.
Bah, bah, black sheep need their wool. Stop.
Nine hundred fleeces would be nice to keep us warm. Stop.
Wayne Downing and the boys are saying howdy and thanks. Stop―End of telegram.
"That should about do it," Wayne said, signing the telegram. "Thanks again, Mr. Rivers," as they wave goodbye, heading towards Doc's office up the street with a whistle and grin on his face.
Doc Whitmore said. "Man, when you solve a person's problem, you solve one in spades, Wayne," he replied as he patted him on the back. "But why are we going to Doc's office when you know I'm a doctor, not just a Sheriff of this town?"
"For a very good reason, friend, you can't do everything alone. I know and have tried it; believe me, I've tried. It takes more than one person to get the job done, or nothing gets done. You spin your wheels trying, knocking yourself out until you give in, friend. Trust me, this needs to be done."
They both walked into Doc's office, seeing him buried in paperwork from head to toe. Sheriff Whitmore laughed and watched. "I see what you mean, Wayne," and Sheriff Whitmore pulled Doc by the arm. "Let's go, Doc Hatfield. Me and you are going to have a talk," he said, turning around the mounds of paperwork in his office. Shaking his head, he walked him right on down to Mary's cottage, knocking on the door.
"May we come in?" Wayne asked, pushing Doc through the door. Doctor to doctor and midwife glared, folding her arms, and staring at Doc Hatfield at the mess he got himself into this time.
"But I was―." Doc Hatfield was about to reply.
"No, you weren't," Mary said, standing in the room as he shrunk back into his chair like a little mouse. Doc Whitmore tells them they are expected to be at Cracken in the morning. She nods.
"Thanks, Doc; he'll be there," she said, getting the door for them and then politely closing it. She stared at Doc Hatfield in the chair and rolled her eyes. Well, Doc, that sounds like me, and you got some work to do, so let's get cracken," she said, holding out her hand.
They both go down to his office, put on a pot of joe, organize the pile, sign the papers, and put them back into the cabinets and files. He sweeps up the room with a smile. "Now it looks like a Doctor's office complete with desk and examining room." She smiled, leaving out the door, arm in arm, for home. He tips his hat. "Thanks, Mary."
"That's what's friends are for, Doc, see ya in the morning." As you walked down the street, there was a soft humming of the paper office and the tapping of the telegram wire. There was a musical sound as the sheriff boys set up the gates again and went door to door. They were checking on supplies for their guests and calling farmers, getting ready for the next day for their new guests to arrive from Cracken on the morrow.
The sun set low in the sky as the boys and Pa returned to their cottage for dinner. EJ is counting the people on the list and worrying about how he and his brothers and friends can pull it off. What about tomorrow? Robert and Will could tell he was worried about how silent he was by the faraway look on his face. They placed their arms around him to try to cheer him up, giving him a little nudge and slight tickle to brighten his face. "EJ, quit worrying. Besides, we won't let you down now. So quit worrying about it; it's just us, not the whole town," Robert replied, finding a feather in the wagon from Mr. Rooster.
The boys pin him down, tickling him till he cries, Uncle, and gives in. "Alright, boys, that's enough," Ma said, smiling at them.
"Yes, Ma," Pa laughed, rubbing his chin as he drove the wagon back to the cottages. Boys will be boys, regardless of whether they are young men. He was glad as he nodded to the men around the corner, watching their place.