“So they know I can,” Joe said, “and so you know I will.”
Smoke shook his head. “We’re not going to have trouble working together, are we?”
“I hope not,” Joe said. “But I’d be lying if I didn’t tell you that there are quite a few notes in Will Jensen’s records about you. He thought you might be salting to bring in all of those big elk for your shooters.”
Smoke’s face darkened. He stepped close to Joe, towering over him.
“Will never proved a goddamned thing and you know it,” he said, his voice low. “D’you think salting is what accounts for my success?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Do you have any fucking idea what you’re saying?”
Smoke growled. “You just got here.”
“Yup,” Joe said, “but I didn’t just fall off the cattle truck.
We’ll get along fine as long as you operate as clean and legal as you say you do.” He glanced down, saw that Smoke’s fists were balled.
“In that case, mister,” Smoke said, “you’ve got nothing to worry about.”
“That’s good,” Joe said, reaching out, waiting for Smoke to unclench his fist and shake his hand, which he did, although with more force than was necessary.
“I’ll be seeing you around,” Joe said pleasantly. “Thank you for the book.”
“Read it, you’ll learn something,” Smoke said. “So when are you headed up?” meaning into the backcountry, where his camp was located.
“Don’t know,” Joe said. “I’ve got a lot of business to attend to here first.”
I like that answer, Smoke seemed to say with his eyes.
His face softened. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help you get oriented to this country. Nobody, and I mean nobody, knows it better than I do. I’ve been over every inch of these mountains, and been in the middle of everything. I know where the bodies are buried, if you know what I mean.”
Joe nodded, smiled.
“Don’t be fooled by all the rich bastards who live here now,” Smoke said. “This is still the wildest fucking place in the Lower Fortyeight.”
“That’s what everyone keeps telling me,” Joe said.
“For once, everybody’s right.”
“Have a good breakfast, Smoke,” Joe said as he tipped his hat and walked away.
At his pickup, Joe thought about what Smoke had asked him. They had just played out a bout of “Where Will the Game Warden Be?” Joe had been sincere regarding his plans. But now that Smoke had tipped his hand, questioning him about when he’d go into the backcountry, seeming pleased to hear it wouldn’t be soon, Joe made up his mind to get himself into the mountains and the elk camps as quickly as he could.
Before going to the office, Joe stopped by his temporary home. He skirted through the bushes at the side of the house, found an old gate, and went into the backyard. The early morning sun had melted the frost, and even the grass, which he hoped would still be trampled, had recovered. There was no longer any hard evidence that someone had stood outside his window at three in the morning, or had run away.
He checked his watch. At home, the girls would be scrambling to finish their breakfast before church. He wondered if Marybeth had made them pancakes like he normally did on Sundays. He wished he were there with them.
...
Joe spent the afternoon driving around his new district with a map on his lap, learning where the main roads were and noting landmarks. He received no calls. As it darkened, he returned to his house with a bag of hamburgers and a sixpack of beer. He called home and was transferred immediately to voice mail. He guessed that either Sheridan or Lucy was online, probably doing homework. He left a message that he was okay, and that he would call tomorrow.
Seventeen
Mary Seels was settling into her reception desk with a cup of coffee when Joe arrived at the office building Monday morning.
“You got some messages over the weekend,” she said, handing him five pink slips. He glanced through them. Don Ennis, Pete Illoway, Marybeth, Don Ennis, Don Ennis.
“Who is Pete Illoway?” Joe asked. “You’ve not heard of him?”
“No.”
“I’ve heard him referred to as the Guru of Good Meat,”
Mary said, her face revealing nothing. “He’s some kind of eating consultant.”
“Eating consultant?”
Mary sighed. “We’ve got pet psychologists. So an eating consultant shouldn’t be that surprising.”
“I guess not,” Joe said. Then: “I didn’t see you at the funeral.”
Mary began to answer, then stopped and simply looked at him.
“I’m sorry . . .” he said.
