Blood Trail

“Vern said he went up to the elk camp with Barnum to talk to the hunters. There were five, like she said. The hunters were Wyoming men of some prominence. Vern said he recognized a couple of their names at the time. They said Shenandoah had been willing, even enthusiastic about taking them all on. They told Vern they’d been playing poker in their tent the night before and she invited them to her tent one by one. All of them were embarrassed, and begged Vern and Barnum not to tell their wives or girlfriends. They said Shenandoah must be shaking them down for money or something, because otherwise it made no sense to them that she’d come into town and make an accusation like that. The hunters said that if Shenandoah went public, it would ruin them for no good reason.”

Nate sat back in the seat, said, “I can see where this is headed.”

Joe nodded. “It’s even worse. What they ended up doing, Nate, was arresting her for public intoxication and putting her in the county jail until she realized her charge was going nowhere. That must have made her a very bitter woman.”

“And I don’t blame her,” Nate said.

Joe said, “She went from being seen as a star athlete to an alcoholic loser in the space of just a few years. There was plenty of gossip—probably some of it true—about her camp cook activities. So when she makes an accusation in public against five resident hunters, she gets charged. Whatever dignity she had left at that point must have been flushed away.”

Nate said, “I’m surprised she didn’t take it any further than that, like the Feds or the media.”

Joe agreed. “I asked Vern about that, and he said she didn’t take it any further because she realized she had nothing but her word against theirs. You see, Barnum and Vern ‘lost’ her original complaint. They didn’t order a rape kit done, or send her to the clinic for photos or an examination. By the time she realized all of that—when she was released on bail—any bruises she had were healed and there were at least three well-known city fathers lined up and ready to testify that she had shown up drunk and raving at breakfast. She had no case and an entire valley— whites who resented her for being Indian and Indians who resented her for doing too well—lined up against her.”

They drove in silence for the fifty miles from Lamont to Devils Gate under an unforgiving leaden sky. Joe could tell from the skitterish behavior of the antelope herds that low pressure and moisture were on the way. His stomach roiled and his hands felt cold and damp on the steering wheel. He’d told Nate the story Vern had relayed to him but he hadn’t told Nate everything.

“What were the names of our poker-playing hunters?” Nate asked, finally.

“I think you know,” Joe said. “Except for the fifth one.”

“But I can guess. Randy Pope.”

Joe said, “Yup.”

“Which is the reason he was all over this whole thing from the beginning,” Nate said. “It explains why he unleashed you and me. He thought we’d find and kill the Wolverine before the story got out and ruined his career and reputation. Or if you arrested the Wolverine, Pope would be on-site to shut him up. That’s why Pope is in Saddlestring right now, waiting for us.”

“Yup.”

“It also explains the poker chips. Only the men involved would know the significance of the poker chips.”

Joe nodded. “But that detail wasn’t released to the public. Only Randy Pope knew he was being sent a message.”

“But he wasn’t positive,” Nate said. “He was suspicious, but he wasn’t positive. So he invited his old friend Wally Conway up to the Bighorns with him, to see what would happen. And Wally got whacked.”

“Yup. Unfortunately, Robey was collateral damage.”

Nate shook his head. “Was Wally Conway dense? Didn’t he realize what had happened to his old hunting buddies?”

Joe shrugged. “He might have known. We don’t know what he discussed with Robey that night.”

Joe saw Nate’s hand drop and rest on the .454. “I don’t know who I hate worse,” Nate said, “Vern Dunnegan or Randy Pope.”

“You’re forgetting someone,” Joe said.

“Who?”

“The Wolverine. The killer.”

Nate shrugged. “Him, I can live with.”

“I can’t,” Joe said. His stomach churned. He remembered something Nate had said to him the first time they ever met, and he knew it was the core belief of Nate Romanowski. Nate had said he no longer believed in the legal system but he believed in justice.

It was a leap Joe couldn’t make, although there had been several times he’d stood at the precipice and measured the jump.

“SHENANDOAH FINALLY got herself straightened out,” Nate said, looking out the window, speaking as much to himself as to Joe. “Like always, she did it on her own, without anyone’s help. Eventually, she told her husband about what had happened. She named names. He hated hunters anyway, and now he knew the names of the hunters who had violated his very own wife, the way he’d been violated by his uncle but never told anyone but Shenandoah, who told Alisha, who told me. And Klamath made a plan.”

Joe said nothing, letting Nate go with it, mildly shocked at what Nate had revealed about Moore’s uncle. Finally, the burning flame behind Klamath’s obsession was clear.

“So it’s Klamath Moore after all,” Nate said.

AS THEY shot past Kaycee, Nate said, “To Chris,” and they drank another imaginary good-bye toast.

SOUTH OF BUFFALO, Joe speed-dialed the governor’s office. Again, Stella Ennis answered.

“Am I okay?” Joe asked.