Savage Run (12 page)

Joe stepped far enough away so that Stan Wilder couldn't do that again.

"How long ago did you see the mountain lion?" Joe asked. He chose not to reciprocate Stan Wilder's banter.

"Must have been about seven this morning."

"Did you see him run off?"

Wilder laughed, throwing his head back showing his teeth again. Joe guessed that he must have been in sales and marketing before he retired and moved west to Elkhorn Ranches.

"Nope, but he saw me run right back into the house! That's when I got my weapon out and called you."

"You didn't take any shots at him, did you?"

Somehow, Joe knew he had. Stan Wilder's face betrayed the answer.

"He was on my property, Warden," Wilder explained. "I popped a couple of caps. But I didn't hit him."

Joe nodded. "You ought to reconsider the next time you want to fire your pistol out here. The highway is just over the hill and there are construction workers framing a house in the next draw You could hit one of them and you could also hit one of Jim Finotta's cows. They graze fairly close to here."

Stan Wilder snorted and rolled his eyes heavenward.

Joe walked over and checked the ground around the aspen trees. Because the trees had been planted just a few days before, the earth around them was still soft. A four-inch-long cat track was obvious and fresh near one of the trees.

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"Big cat," Joe said.

"Damn right," Wilder agreed. "I need him removed."

Joe turned and sighed. "Removed?"

"Damn right. I don't mind the antelope and the deer. I see them all the time. I paid for antelope and deer and access to the trout streams.

Finotta told me that elk sometimes come down this far and I'd like to see a few of them. That'd be added value.

"But I didn't pay for this," he swept his hand toward his new house,

"to have mountain lions stalking me."

Joe said it was unlikely that the lion was stalking him. He told Stan

Wilder that he had never heard of a mountain lion actually stalking and attacking a full-grown man.

"What about those babies in Los Angeles?" Wilder asked aggressively "Didn't a mountain lion come down from the mountains and kill some babies?"

Joe said he thought he remembered something about that story but the predator was a coyote and the circumstances were questionable.

"Well, I remember it being a mountain lion," Stan Wilder said gruffly

"Look, Mr. Wilder, mountain lion sightings are rare. There's no doubt you saw one, but he didn't do any harm. Up until a year ago this was probably his range. These cats cover about two hundred miles. He was likely as surprised to see a big house and a lawn here as you were to see him. I know I was surprised to see this place out here."

Stan Wilder told Joe that he had just heard a perfect load of bureaucratic bullshit.

"If he comes back can I shoot him?" Stan Wilder asked. "I mean legally?"

Joe grudgingly said that yes, if the cat was actually close enough to do real harm, he could shoot him.

"But I would advise against it," Joe cautioned.

"Whose side are you on here, Mr. Game Warden? The cougar's or mine?"

Joe didn't answer that question.

"That mountain lion better watch his step," Stan Wilder cautioned, nodding his head toward the handgun in the garage. "If you catch my drift."

"Like I said, there are cars on the highway workers at other lots, and cows all around."

Wilder snorted again.

"You should be aware, Mr. Wilder, that some of these cows have been known to explode," Joe said soberly

That got Wilder's attention.

"What in the hell are you talking about?" Wilder asked, trying to gauge Joe's demeanor to see if he was being made fun of.

"Don't you read the paper?" Joe asked, then walked back to his pickup.

it BIG GREEN suburban with license plates reading "VBarU-1" turned from the highway onto the ranch road as Joe approached the turnoff. Joe stopped his pickup, and the Suburban slowed until the two driver's-side windows lined up. A dark power window lowered and Jim Finotta, looking patiently put upon, asked Joe if he could be of help.

"Yes, you can." Joe said. "You can help me out with a couple of things."

Finotta raised his eyebrows, but said nothing.

"First, you might want to advise the owners of the starter castles out here that in addition to this being a place where the deer and antelope play, that there might be the occasional bear, badger, skunk, or mountain lion."

Finotta nodded and smiled -with condescension.

"Second, you can let me get that sample of bone or antler from that bull elk mount in your office. I'll send the sample to our lab in Laramie and we should be able to clear this all up in two or three weeks."

Finotta's eyes became hard.

"Did you forget what we talked about?" Finotta asked Joe.

"Nope."

"Then why are you bothering me about this elk again?" Finotta asked in a barely controlled tone. "You can't be that stupid."

"I don't know;" Joe said, "I can be pretty stupid."

Finotta's window began to rise.

"I talked to Matt Sandvick," Joe said quickly

The window stopped just below Finotta's chin. Finotta's lips were now pressed together so tightly that they looked like a thin white scar. He was obviously furious, but fighting it. When he spoke his voice was oddly calm.

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"Just leave it be, Warden."

Joe shrugged. "I'm doing my job It's important for me to check these things out."

Finotta sneered. "Important for who? The Governor won't care and therefore your director won't care. Judge Pennock won't give a shit."

"It's important for me," Joe said, and he meant it.

"And just who in the hell are you?" Finotta asked with such contempt that Joe felt as if he had been kicked in the face.

"I'm the game warden of Twelve Sleep District," Joe said. He was fully aware of how lame that sounded, how weak it had come across.

Finotta glared at him. He began to say something, then thought better of it. The window closed and Jim Finotta drove away leaving Joe sitting in his pickup with a sick feeling in his stomach and the premonition that he was going to be real alone in this.

I hat AFTERNOON, as he drove home, Joe called County Attorney Robey Hersig on his cell phone, only to get Hersig's voice mail Joe outlined what he suspected regarding Jim Finotta's elk and what he had learned from taxidermist Matt Sandvick.

"I'm ready to move on Finotta but need Sandvick's affidavit and your okay," was how he ended his message.

To joe's SURPRISE, Marybeth had both horses in the corral and saddled when he got home. She was bridling her paint, Toby, as he walked up. She looked at him provocatively and said: "Let's go for a ride."

"Sounds real good to me," Joe grinned.

Joe rode his buckskin, Lizz
ie.
" who was happy to follow the gelding, and they wound up the old game trail behind their house through the Sand rock Draw

While they rode, Joe watched his wife and her horse and admired them both. Marybeth had taken an interest in horses in the last year, and he had learned things about them through her. Previously he had always thought of horses the same way he thought about an all-terrain

vehicle. A horse was a tool; a way of getting to places without roads, of accessing rough country In Joe's opinion, a horse would lose in many, if not all, of the straight-up comparisons with an ATv in fact. Although the initial investment was about the same, horses required daily maintenance and care. ATV's could be parked in the garage and forgotten. Hay grain, and vet bills were expensive, and horses were always breaking things in the corral or injuring themselves in ridiculous ways. ATV's just sat there. If a single stray nail flipped into the corral, there was a 100 percent chance that a horse would step on it, eat it, or puncture himself on it while rolling. Horses could be counted on for eating things that would make them sick or not eating enough to keep them healthy They were magnificently proportioned and heavily muscled and all of that bulk was held up by four thin bony legs that could, and did, snap at any time. And despite their size and heft, a horse was a prey animal. In the face of a real threat like a grizzly bear or a perceived threat like a motorcyclist on a side road or even a plastic bag blowing in the wind, a horse could bolt and take off like a rocket. Most of the injured hunters Joe encountered in the mountains had been injured by horses. He couldn't even guess the number of times that horses simply ran off from camps or makeshift corrals. Lizzie had once trotted miles away after Joe dismounted to look through his binoculars, and he spent the rest of the day chasing her on foot. In comparison, ATV's sometimes ran out of gas or broke down, although not very often.

But through Marybeth.Joe was starting to think about horses differently She was firm with them, but nurturing. She brought out their personalities. Toby had been an impetuous youth. He was never mean or dangerous, but he preferred his own company and was loath to do anything he didn't want to do--and what he wanted to do, primarily was eat and rest. But she worked with him for months. Unlike old time horsemen who were quick to reach for a whip or a two-by-four, Marybeth "asked" the horse to do things and he eventually did them. It was amazing that a woman Marybeth's size could gain the trust and

respect of a big lazy gelding like Toby who weighed 1,100 pounds. It was as if she had convinced him--connected with something somewhere in his cloudy, preconditioned, herd-instinctive brain--that she was bigger and more dominant than he was.

All these years, Joe had simply been using Lizzie, not enjoying her. She was a good horse, trouble at times, but generally docile. He had been lucky she was so easy to manage because he was no horseman. Through watching and admiring Marybeth he was coming to appreciate true horsemen and horsewomen. And horses.

And there was something to be said for the feeling he got when he was riding a horse. That feeling--Marybeth called it "equine communication" or "being one with the horse"--could not be replicated in an ATV

They cleared the Sandrock Draw and emerged on a grassy bench strewn with glacial boulders. The Bighorn Mountains, as well as the distant encroaching foothills furred with early summer grass were in the distance in front of them and the view was awe-inspiring. A fading jet trail cut across the sky, calling attention to the lack of clouds. Joe urged Lizzie forward so he could ride side-by-side with Marybeth.

That's -when she told him about Stewie Woods and Hayden Powell and the reporter who kept calling.

Joe listened, asking only a few questions, steering away from the one he really wanted to ask.

"I slept with him once. Only once," Marybeth said, wincing, anticipating Joe. On cue, Joe moaned and slumped in his saddle as if hit by a rifle bullet.

"Aaugh," he groaned. "Yuck. Yipes."

She stifled a smile.

She told him that she had read in the library that Hayden had died recently as well; killed just a week ago in a fire in his home. Joe said he had learned of the fact from two anti-globalist drifters.

"So were you an ecoterrorist?" Joe asked, still wounded. This was a disquieting circumstance to be in, asking his wife about things he had never known about her.

"No, I never was," Marybeth answered. "But I was with them a few times when they did things like pull up survey stakes and pour sugar in gas tanks. I never did any of those things, but I was there. And I never told on them."

Joe nodded.

"This reporter," he asked. "Has he called back?"

"Twice," Marybeth said.

"Do you want me to talk to him? Would that help?"

She waved her hand. "Hell go away I'm not worried about that."

Joe fell behind because they had to thread through two boulders, then caught up again.

"So why didn't you ever tell me any of this? Stewie Woods was a pretty famous guy in his way"

Marybeth thought for a moment. "It just didn't seem necessary How could it have mattered?"

"It might just have been good to know "Joe said, unsure of whether or not that was true.

"Why?"

Joe shrugged. Like most men, he had a tough time believing that his wife had had any kind of interesting life before she met him. Which was ridiculous on its face.

"The good part of my life started when I met Joe Pickett," Marybeth said, looking deeply into his eyes. Joe felt his face go red. He knew what that look meant. He had just never seen it on horseback before.

"I brought a blanket," she said, in a tone so low he hoped he had heard her correctly

I hey approached the CORRAL as the school bus stopped and the door opened and the girls ran out. Lucy and April ran into the house to dry their hair from swimming. Sheridan, with her towel and sack of clothes in her arms, walked up to meet them, her thongs snapping on her bare feet.

"Hi, darlm'," Joe greeted her, leading Lizzie into the corral.

Sheridan just looked at him. Her gaze moved from Joe's face to her mother's. Joe noted that Marybeth's face glowed and she looked very pleased with herself, although she now sternly returned Sheridan's gaze.

"What?" Joe asked.

Sheridan slowly shook her head. It was the same gesture Marybeth used when she couldn't believe what her children had just done.

"You still have grass in your hair," Sheridan told her mother, her voice deadpan.

Marybeth gently scolded Sheridan. "You should be happy that your mom and dad like each other so much that they go on a ride together." While she talked she self-consciously brushed through her hair with her fingers to remove the grass.

Then Joe got it. For the second time in an hour, he flushed red.

From the house, Lucy yelled out that there was a telephone call for Marybeth,

"Go ahead," Joe said. "I'll un tack Sheridan, why don't you go with her?"

He didn't want Sheridan staring at him anymore. She was getting too old, and too wise. She huffed and went into the house, making sure to stay several feet away from her mother.