'The plane's moving,' Tibbs countered.
The Old Man watched. The airplane was moving too quickly now for Tibbs to keep the binoculars on it. The Cessna built up speed on the runway Both of them knew it still wasn't too late for Emily Betts to notice the leakage and abort the takeoff. The sound of the engine wound up to a high pitch.
The Old Man held his breath and watched the airplane, and saw its shadow form below it as it moved down the runway The shadow began to shrink, and then it shot away into the sagebrush. Emily Betts was airborne. Back at the hangar, the man who had helped Betts push the Cessna stood by the open door, watched the plane with a hand at his brow, and then went inside. The hangar door closed. He had obviously not noticed anything wrong.
They watched the Cessna turn south until it was a shiny white speck above the mountains.
***
THE BIG BLACK FORD was approaching the town of Augusta, Montana, from the north when the Old Man rolled his head over in the seat to address Charlie. The headrest pinched the bow of his dark glasses so that the lenses shifted on his face to the right, making his face look lopsided. He didn't care.
'How many more, Charlie?' He asked. Tibbs didn't respond with his usual glare. He was always in an especially good mood when his plans worked out as intended.
'One,' Tibbs said. 'Just one more.'
The Old Man let his breath whistle out through his teeth. 'Thank God for that,' he said.
'You won't mind this one,' Charlie said. 'This one is a lawyer.'
The Old Man smiled, more at Charlie's rare attempt at levity than the fact that the next target was a lawyer.
Tibbs turned and smiled an awkward smile back at the Old Man. 'We've done good work. We've been losing for thirty years. We've just been sitting back and taking it and taking it and taking it because we think that somewhere, somehow the politicians or judges will wake up and set things right. But we've waited too long and we've been too quiet. We've let them have just about everything they want from us. It's about damn frigging time our side went on the offensive. And you and me are the front line. We are the warriors,' Charlie's voice hissed. 'We've opened a gaping hole in the front line of the environmentalists. All of those bastards with their sandals and little glasses and lawsuits and trust funds don't even know what's hit them yet. Now it's up to our employers to take advantage of that gap in their front line and ram straight the hell through it. This is the first step in reclaiming our land, and our West.' The Old Man was speechless. Since he had met Charlie Tibbs three months before, throughout the training and the traveling, Tibbs had not spoken this much in a single week. Charlie Tibbs was eloquent, determined, and filled with righteous vengeance and passion. He was also, the Old Man reflected, the most terrifying man he had ever met.
16
The next morning, Twelve Sleep County Attorney Robey Hersig looked up from his desk, saw Joe Pickett standing at his door with his hat in hand, and sighed theatrically
'Joe, come on in and please close the door,' Hersig said, pushing his chair back. 'You're not going to like what I'm going to tell you.'
Joe entered and sat down in a worn hardback chair facing Hersig's desk. The office was tiny and claustrophobic. Even with his knees tight up against the desk, Joe could still be hit by the door if someone opened it. Three of the four walls in the office were covered with bookcases of legal volumes. An old beige computer monitor, stained with fingerprints, sat lifeless on the desk. Behind Robey was his framed University of Wyoming Law School diploma and a photo of his young son holding a thirteen-inch brown trout. Hersig was in his first term of office but was well known throughout the county because his father and uncles were third-generation ranchers. Hersig had rodeoed in college until he broke both his pelvis and sternum at the Deadwood rodeo, which was when he decided to get serious about law school. Joe did not know Hersig well on a personal level, but they had gotten along professionally Joe had come to Hersig with two previous cases. Hersig had aggressively prosecuted a local pilot who used a helicopter to herd elk into a clearing so his thirteen-year-old son could shoot them. In the second case, Hersig hadn't had any qualms recommending high fines for a fisherman Joe caught with fifty-seven trout-- fifty-one over the limit.
Hersig was tall and balding, with short salt-and-pepper hair and a close-cropped beard. He liked to wear his large rodeo buckles with his suit in court. He was methodical and persuasive, and the only criticism Joe had heard about him was that he was extra cautious, that he insisted the sheriff bring him only cases that were airtight.
'I was going to call you,' Hersig said.
'I was in the neighborhood and thought I'd see if you were in,' Joe explained. 'I need to ask Sheriff Barnum a couple of things about that Stewie Woods incident.' Barnum's paper-strewn office was down the hall in the county building.
'I hope to hell that's the last exploding cow in my county' Hersig lamented.
'So what is it that I'm not going to like?' Joe asked.
Hersig leaned back in his chair and put his boots up on the desk. He looked squarely at Joe.
'Jim Finotta is an asshole. Everybody knows that.'
Joe nodded.
'But we're not going to take these poaching charges against him any further.'
Joe waited for a punch line. There wasn't one. He felt anger start to well up, but he stayed measured.
'Yes?'
Hersig swung his feet down and leaned forward. 'I went and talked to Matt Sandvick so we could prepare his affidavit. He denies that he ever did any work for Finotta and denies he even talked with you about the man. He no longer has that photo you told me about, and his records from June suddenly can't be found.'
'I can't believe it,' Joe said, stunned.
'You should have kept that picture, Joe,' Hersig said.
Joe looked away Of course he should have. But he had taken Sandvick at his word.
