peregrine falcon to the sky. He stood back and watched them search until they found a thermal current, then climbed into the sky in wide circles. It was a clear, cloudless fall afternoon. As the birds rose, he walked away from his home into the field of sagebrush.
He walked noisily, tromping through the brush and occasionally crushing it under his boots. His noise and activity would alarm any hidden prey in the field, and startle them into flight. Nate functioned as a human bird dog for his falcons.
The peregrine released first, and dropped through the cobalt sky like a rock being dropped. He could hear it slice through the air, wings tucked, talons balled into fists. Nate hadn’t seen the cottontail rabbit, but no matter. His bird had. The collision on the ground was a muted thunderclap amid a puff of dust and rabbit fur.
The red tail continued to circle, surveying the ground, while Nate walked. He passed the peregrine, who was cracking the bones of the rabbit and eating it whole. Ten minutes later, there was a flurry in the sagebrush a few feet in front of him, and a fullsized jackrabbit launched into the open and ran toward the far ridge in the direction of the road. He watched it go, marveling, as always, at the long lopey stride of the creature that produced the optical illusion of being three times larger than it actually was. He felt as much as saw the red tail target the jackrabbit and start its stoop. Nate stopped, watched the rabbit streak toward the ridge and go over it out of sight while the hawk shot downward in a perfectly murderous nexus.
Suddenly, the red tail flared, halting its descent, and altered its path. The bird clumsily flapped its wings, climbing again. Had the rabbit escaped? No, Nate decided. Jackrabbits didn’t hide in holes, and it couldn’t have simply disappeared. Something, he thought, had spooked the red tail.
Something on the other side of the ridge.
Or somebody on the other side of the ridge.
Twenty Five
For exsheriff Bud Barnum, the morning started out on a bad note when Stovepipe, the man behind the counter at the city/county building, asked him to walk through the metal detector.
“You’ve got to be shitting me,” Barnum growled.
“I ain’t,” Stovepipe said. “In order to enter the sheriff ’s office you’ve got to go through the machine and get a pass.
The sheriff says no exceptions.”
“Does it even work?” Barnum asked, knowing that the metal detector was often broken when he was the sheriff.
“It does now.”
“This is bullshit.”
Stovepipe shrugged in response.
“I hired you, Stovepipe.”
“And I appreciate that, Bud, I truly do.”
Barnum glared. Stovepipe had always called him “sheriff,” not “Bud.” As he stepped through the machine, the alarm sounded. Shaking his head, Stovepipe motioned for him to step back.
Barnum angrily did so, then emptied his pockets, took off his belt, and dropped his gold pen into a plastic bowl. This time, he made it through.
“I’ll need to keep this stuff until you come back,”
Stovepipe said, handing Barnum a yellow pass.
“You’re kidding.”
“Nope.”
“My pants . . .” Barnum said, feeling his neck get hot.
Stovepipe said, “I got string, if you need it.” Barnum recognized the lengths of twine—they were what they gave prisoners in their cells so they couldn’t hang themselves with their belts.
Stovepipe looked into the plastic bowl. “Hey, I remember chipping in on this pen for you. That’s a nice one, all right. Looks like they ran outa room for the words though, the way they spelled ‘service.’ ”
“Keep your fucking hands off it,” Barnum said, turning toward the hallway and gripping the top of his pants so they wouldn’t fall down around his ankles.
He expected to see Wendy at the reception desk. Instead, a matronly, darkhaired woman looked up.
“May I help you?” “Where’s Wendy?”
“She’s been reassigned. May I help you?”
“Reassigned where? Who are you?” He was surprised he hadn’t heard of the move, and hurt that McLanahan hadn’t bothered to consult him about it.
The receptionist cocked her head in annoyance. “Back to dispatch, I believe. Now, should I know you?”
Deputy Reed had apparently heard the exchange because he poked his head over the top of his cubicle and said, “Donna, this is Sheriff Barnum.”
“Oh,” she said. Barnum caught the shadow of revulsion that passed over her face, and he was shocked by it.
“I’m here to see McLanahan,” Barnum said, unable to bring himself to say Sheriff McLanahan.
Donna quickly looked down at a sheet in front of her for his name.
