Northern Borders by Howard Frank Mosher

evening. He did not invite me up into the barnyards and dooryards with him or tell me what he said to the men he spoke with. When I asked him who the people were, he said only, “Neighbors.”
    The Farm seemed preternaturally quiet when we arrived around five o’clock. Just knowing that my grandmother wasn’t there made me uneasy as I rounded up the remaining Ayrshires and drove them down through the pasture to the barn to be milked. We headed back to town as soon as chores were over, not bothering to fix supper; we’d snacked on crackers and cheese and soft drinks that afternoon during our long ride up and down the hollows.
    By the time we reached the fairgrounds it was growing dusky. The sky above the grounds was a rich indigo. Beneath it the midway lights gave off an alluring glow in the early fall twilight. I wanted to ask my grandfather if we could go back to the midway, but Kingdom Fair seemed destined to be a place of turmoil for us that day. No sooner had we finished milking the four prize-winning Ayrshires at the cattle barn than my Uncle Rob Roy ran in with alarming news. “Dad, quick!” he shouted. “They’re going to shoot Hannibal!”
    â€œWhat are you talking about?” my grandfather said. “Who’s going to shoot Hannibal?”
    â€œPreston Hill, the old son of a bitch.”
    â€œWhat, did Hermie die?”
    â€œNo, Hermie’s got a fractured leg and arm, maybe a ruptured spleen, they aren’t sure. He’s going to be all right, more’s the pity. But Old Man Hill bulled right ahead and hauled that little moron they call Show up in front of Kip Pierce, and Kip fined him a hundred dollars for not keeping Hannibal properly confined. Show doesn’t have one hundred dollars. Now Kip’s saying the elephant has to be destroyed according to some town ordinance . . . I don’t know, just
hurry.
”
    My grandfather swore savagely. But he headed fast for the infield. Already a good-sized crowd had gathered around the elephant, which was staked out behind the truck again. Sheriff White was there, looking very uneasy. With him were Justice of the Peace Kip Pierce, Mr. Preston T. Hill, and Show. Mr. Hill was toting his deer

rifle, and Show was pleading with Justice Pierce and Sheriff White, begging for just three days to raise the fine money from his elephant rides. Backlighted by the glowing midway, it was a nightmarish scene.
    â€œWhat’s the trouble here?” my grandfather said.
    â€œNothing at all to do with you, Austen,” Justice Pierce said.
    â€œI’ll tell you what the trouble is,” Mr. Hill shouted. “This beast broke one of my boy’s legs and one of his arms and now he’s laid up in the horsepittle. He won’t be able to work for two months, never mind putting me in the poorhouse with doctor’s bills.”
    Mr. Hill was so mad that flecks of saliva were flying out of his mouth. “That animal’s been declared a public menace, Austen Kittredge. I’ve got authorization to destroy it. Right, Kip?”
    â€œThat’s true, Austen,” Justice Kip Pierce said, not happily. “We can’t have an animal like that running loose on the rampage. The law on such matters plainly stipulates a fine not to exceed the value of the damages, which I estimate as no more than one hundred dollars medical bills, or forfeiture of the animal if it’s dangerous to public safety or private property, or both. I told this fella here if he’d pay the fine and clear out of town we wouldn’t destroy his elephant. I was as reasonable about it as I could be. But he says he rolled in flat broke. In view of that I’ve authorized Preston here, as poundkeeper, to shoot it.”
    â€œYou men would shoot an elephant?” my grandfather said in an incredulous voice. “You’d do that? In cold blood?”
    â€œIt’s a what-you-call-it—a rogue,” Sheriff