called How the Pricks Deny Me a Living. He also claimed to be the most successful outfitter in the state, with a success ratio exceeding 98 percent.
“This is Smoke’s country,” Trey said ominously. “As well as the headquarters for animalrights activists, wolf lovers, bigshot developers, politicians, movie stars, all kinds of riffraff.”
Joe listened and nodded.
“The thing about the district is how big everything is,”
Trey said. “The elk herds are larger than anything you’ve ever run across in the Bighorns. There are fourteen thousand elk between Yellowstone and Jackson. Instead of the herds of forty or fifty that you’re used to, you may get in the middle of herds up to three hundred. So you’re going to encounter more hunters concentrated along the migration routes than you’ve probably ever seen before. There are also more grizzly bears, wolves, and mountain lions than anywhere else.”
Joe nodded. He could feel his excitement building, as well as his trepidation.
“Remember one thing,” Trey said. “Before you ride into those outfitter camps, stop and retie your packs on your horses. Make sure the hitches are perfect. You know how to tie a diamond hitch?”
Joe said he did.
“That’s one way they measure you right off. If you’ve got good animals, and if the horses are packed tight with beautiful hitches, they’ll think you know what the hell you’re doing, even if you don’t. You’ve got to gain their respect early on.”
Joe was inwardly pleased that he had brought a wellworn copy of Joe Back’s Horses, Hitches and Rocky Trails, the Bible of horse packing.
Trey said, “There’s some new thing going on there too, something called ‘the Good Meat Movement.’ Will laughed about it at first. He thought it was just another Jackson thing.”
“The Good Meat Movement?” Joe asked.
Trey waved his hand to dismiss the notion. “Something about rich people wanting to get back to basics, to be there when their food is raised, killed, and packaged.”
“Really?” Joe said. “That sounds like hunting.”
Trey chuckled. “It’s not hunting, Joe. The way Will described it to me, it’s more like personally getting to know the animal you’re about to slaughter and have ground up into burger. So you can feel his pain, or something. Shit, I don’t know.”
“I told you there was an objection to you going over there to fill in,” Trey said almost casually, while Joe dug into packs in the back of his truck for jerky and granola— their dinner that night.
“From who? The governor?”
Trey smiled. Joe had once arrested the governor for fishing without a license. The governor had never forgotten it, and had been vindictive.
“Two more months,” Trey said, grinning. “Two more months and that guy is out of there.”
Governor Budd was termlimited. He had all but left the state, lobbying for a new job in Washington with the administration. So far, he hadn’t received one. His unpopularity, even within his own party, had apparently preceded him.
“Some people are even predicting that the Democrat will win,” Trey said. “So prepare for hell to freeze over.”
“I’d be lying if I didn’t say I’ll be glad he’s gone,” Joe said. “Or that I didn’t appreciate how you’ve stood by me all these years.”
Trey waved Joe off and leaned against the grille of his green truck, gnawing on a piece of jerky. After he had washed it down with water, he had more to say. “Joe, I want you to find out what happened to Will. Now, you can’t do a fullfledged investigation. The sheriff and the police department are already doing that, or have completed it by now.”
Joe had assumed this was coming. He had hoped it would be.
“But I need to know what happened. What drove him to kill himself.”
“Do you think it was murder?”
Trey shook his head. “Nothing I’ve heard indicates it was anything other than suicide. What I want to know is what was so damned bad that Will felt the only way he could handle it was to shove a gun in his mouth.”
“I’ll find out what I can.”
“Report back to me. Even if you can’t figure anything out. We may never know what was in that man’s head.” Trey sighed. “If we can find out something, maybe I can help the next guy. I don’t know. But when you’ve got a man who seems perfectly suited for the job, with a beautiful wife and great kids, and something like this happens, well . . .”
“It doesn’t make sense,” Joe said.
Joe felt Trey’s eyes on him. He could tell what Trey was thinking. The description of Will Jensen that Trey had laid out could also be used to describe Joe Pickett.
The receiver chirped. Joe and Trey looked at each other. The bear had come back. Trey said they should saddle up his horses and go after it.
The signal was strong as night came, and they camped near a stream. It was strong throughout the night and in the morning. Bear number 304 was working his way back to the cabins. Trey predicted they would be on him by noon. They weren’t.
It was late afternoon when the signal strength on Trey’s portable scanner went “allbars” and both horses began to snort and dance, smelling the bear. The sun had just dropped behind the mountains. The fall colors were
