The two Amish men approach the newcomer. Friendlier now. A happy reunion. They talk for a few minutes, laughing and gesturing. Yoder pulls out the flask and presents it to the third man. He tips his head back and takes a long pull. The woman leans against the snowmobile a few yards away, arms crossed, watching them.

After a few minutes, the newcomer approaches her and offers the flask. The woman turns away. Laughter erupts from Smucker and Yoder. The third man stalks to the passenger, grasps her kapp at her nape and yanks her head back. The woman shoves him. The man stumbles back, but he doesn’t let go of her. Holding her head between his hands, he swings her around, takes her to the ground and climbs on top of her. The woman fights him, slapping at his face with both hands, but her efforts are ineffective. Pinning her arms with his knees, he presses his palm against her forehead, upends the flask, and pours into her mouth.

Disgust rises inside me, followed by a dark tide of dread because I know this isn’t going to end well. I’m going to have to intervene, which means I’m not going to be able to maintain my cover.

Is this is what someone wanted me to see?

A few feet away, Yoder circles the people on the ground like some referee, pointing and laughing every time the woman takes a shot at her attacker. Smucker stands near the fire pit, watching.

Pack mentality, I think. It’s not the first time I’ve seen it, especially when it comes to young males and bad behavior. They egg each other on, emboldened by their peers, each taking it one step further.

I have no idea if the woman is here of her own accord or if she was brought against her will. Whatever the case, she’s being assaulted and the situation is getting ugly. I’m well aware that scenarios like this aren’t always as they appear. It never ceases to amaze me the kinds of behavior some women tolerate. How many times have I taken a domestic dispute call only to have the victim defend her abuser and somehow the police become the villains?

The man rises, looks over his shoulder at Smucker, and shouts. Still on the ground, the woman rolls away, scrambles to her feet, and runs. Yoder and the third man go after her. A dozen strides and Yoder tackles her to the ground. The other man falls to his knees beside them. Her scream raises the hair on my arms. The man draws back and punches her in the abdomen.

Never taking my eyes from them, I work pull out my phone and hit the speed dial for Suggs. Simultaneously, I jam my hand beneath my skirt, yank the .22 from its holster.

The sheriff answers with a gruff, “Yeah.”