They Picketed their horses by the blue light of fluorescent battery lamps and spread out sleeping bags tight against a granite bluff. They were close enough to the elk camp, Wacey said, that a fire was out of the question.
Marybeth had made a half-dozen ham sandwiches, and they ate them in the dark. McLanahan passed around a pint of Jim Beam bourbon, which seemed to improve Hedeman's mood, at least a little.
'I missed my son's football practice tonight,' McLanahan said unexpectantly.
'I'm the defensive line coach.'
'You have a son?' Joe asked. McLanahan was just too young for that, he thought.
'Well, he's not actually my son.' McLanahan sounded a bit sheepish. 'He's the son of my fiancee. We're livin' together. She's been married a couple of times before. She's quite a bit older.'
'Oh.'
Wacey snorted. 'What in the hell does that have to do with the price of milk?'
'First practice I missed,' McLanahan said. 'Twelve Sleep plays Buffalo on Friday. Home opener.'
'The mighty Buffalo Bison, our nemesis,' Hedeman said sarcastically. Then: 'Why don't you go find your radio and tell Barnum where we're at and what we're doin'. All those folks down there will want a report so they can spend the rest of the evening second-guessing us. Let him know we'll move on the elk camp before dawn tomorrow.'
McLanahan nodded and wandered away to dig through his panniers.
'Jesus,' Wacey complained after McLanahan was gone. 'Havin' him on the payroll is like havin' two good men gone.'
'Take it easy on him,' Joe said.
Wacey grunted and chewed his sandwich. 'I'll be interested to find out what was in that cooler Ote had with him.'
'Yup.'
'I suppose it coulda been anything,' Wacey continued. 'Of course it might not mean a goddamn thing in the end, I guess.'
Joe nodded. Then he reeled off the number of ranch houses between Crazy Woman Creek and the Pickett home that Ote Keeley could have gone to for help.
'There was a reason he came to our house,' Joe said. 'I just don't know what it could be.'
'You're gonna send that cooler and those shit pellets to Cheyenne to get it checked out?'
'Yeah.'
'Then we'll know,' Wacey said.
'Then we'll know,' Joe echoed.
'Could be nothin',' Wacey said.
'Could be one of those things we just never know, and the only guy who knows is stupid, dead Ote .'
'Maybe Ote was bringing you a couple of beers,' Deputy McLanahan said from the dark as he approached.
'Maybe that's what was in that cooler. Maybe he thought you guys would pop a couple and forgive each other.'
'Excuse me, McLanahan,' Wacey said. 'Did you get Barnum?'
McLanahan told Joe and Wacey that he had talked with Sheriff Barnum and told him of their status. He said Barnum had located the helicopter and the earliest it could get back up to Saddlestring was tomorrow afternoon. There had been no sightings as yet of the other two outfitters, Kyle Lensegrav or Calvin Mendes.
'Guess who else was down there at command central?' McLanahan asked, the light reflecting off his teeth.
Neither spoke.
'Vern Dunnegan!' McLanahan's voice was a mix of excitement and awe.
Joe noted that Wacey had looked sharply at him to check his reaction. Joe didn't flinch.
'Vern says, 'Be careful, boys. Make me proud.''
'What's Barnum say?' Joe asked.
'Barnum says, 'Don't fuck up and make me look bad.'' McLanahan laughed.
Vern, like Barnum, was a kind of legend--the most popular and influential game warden ever in the area, as well as a force in the community. The kind of guy who had coffee with the city councilmen at 10 each morning in the Alpine Cafe and who was not only tougher than hell on poachers and game violators but was also known to fix a few tickets and let a few locals off the hook. Even though he was primarily a state employee, Vern always like to think of himself as an entrepreneur. He boasted that he had 31 years of business experience. Vern was always involved with something in town, whether it was the local shopper newspaper, a video store, satellite dishes, or a local radio station. Vern always owned a share and had a partner or two. For whatever reasons, the partners always left town and Vern ended up with the enterprise. Then he sold it and moved on to the next venture.
Some said he was a good businessman. Most said he was nakedly greedy, and he systematically looted each company until the partners left out of disgust and fear. Vern Dunnegan had cast a big shadow. So big, Maryberh had said, that Joe had yet to see much sunlight in the Twelve Sheep Valley as far as the community went. Vern had supervised both Wacey and Joe, and he had tutored them both in the ways of the field. No one knew more about the ways and means of poachers and game law violators--or about the vile side of humans out-of-doors--than Vern
