The Quiet End of Dry Creek

The Quiet End of Dry Creek

Part 2: The Silence in Lawson's Yard

Morning came cold and pale. The kind that makes a man question why he ever settled in a place where even the sun seems reluctant.

Cal McCord had been up before dawn, not because he needed to be, but because sleep wouldn’t come. The stranger’s visit gnawed at him like a coyote on a carcass—silent, persistent, and wrong in ways he couldn’t quite name.

He poured coffee into his thermos, grabbed his coat, and told himself he was just heading out to check fence lines. But his truck’s tires found their way toward the Lawson place all the same.

Bill Lawson had been his neighbor, friend, and occasional adversary for near thirty years. They’d branded calves together, buried dogs together, and stood shoulder to shoulder at each other’s losses. Bill talked too much for Cal’s taste, but his heart had always been right.

When Cal turned onto the gravel drive, the sight of Bill’s truck still parked by the barn made his stomach sink. A dog barked once, then went quiet. The yard felt wrong—too still, like sound itself had left.

He stepped out, crunching frost under his boots, and called out. “Bill?”

No answer.

The front door was ajar. Cal hesitated, then pushed it open. The smell hit first—cold coffee, burnt toast, and something else underneath… the stale edge of fear.

Bill’s kitchen was frozen midmorning. Chair pulled back from the table. A coffee cup half-drunk. Radio still murmuring low from the counter—static between country stations.

Cal turned off the radio and stood there listening to nothing.

On the table lay Bill’s worn Bible, open to Psalms. Cal read the verse marked with a folded feed receipt: “He shall cover thee with his feathers, and under his wings shalt thou trust.”

He ran a hand over his jaw. Bill had been struggling lately—talking about selling off part of his herd, worrying about debt, same as half the ranchers left in the county. But walking away from the only thing he’d ever known? No chance.

Outside, a sharp whistle made him turn. Sheriff Tomlin’s SUV pulled in, red dust still trailing.

“Mornin’, Cal,” the sheriff said, climbing out. “Figured I’d find you here.”

“Didn’t like the sound of your call last night.”

Tomlin nodded. “Neither did I. Bill’s wife’s at her sister’s. Says he was supposed to meet her yesterday, never showed. Neighbor down the road said he saw a white truck come through around seven. Out-of-state plates. Couldn’t get the number.”

Cal met his eyes. “Same one that came by my place.”

The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “You sure?”

“Clean white pickup. Man about fifty. Said his name was Dale. Looking for an old Chevy I never said I was selling.”

Tomlin’s gaze drifted past Cal to the yard. “Mind if I take a look around?”

Cal nodded.

They checked the barn first. Tools hung neat, tractor parked, lights off. The only thing that caught Cal’s eye was a small patch of fresh dirt by the old hay stack—like something had been dug up and filled back in.

He crouched beside it, fingers brushing the soil. “This ground was turned last night.”

Tomlin frowned. “You think he buried something?”

“Don’t know.” Cal stood slowly. “But I don’t reckon Bill did it.”

The sheriff sighed, writing in his notebook. “I’ll get a warrant and a crew to dig it up. You head on home, Cal. Let me handle this.”

Cal nodded but didn’t move. His eyes stayed fixed on the dirt, then on the empty horizon.

Finally, he said, “You remember that verse about the shepherd and his lost sheep?”

Tomlin gave a small nod. “Yeah.”

“Well,” Cal said, “seems the wolf might be wearing a clean white truck this time.”

He turned and walked back to his pickup without another word.

As he drove off, the wind kicked up again, carrying with it the faint smell of rain—or maybe something else—something turning over in the ground he’d just left behind.

And though Cal didn’t say it out loud, he knew it deep in his bones: the stranger hadn’t come looking for an old truck. He’d come looking for something that was still out there… and whatever it was, Bill Lawson had found it first.