“Well, then,” Caleb said, long-striding toward the pup tent, “I’ll go see if I can find it.”
Joe said to Camish, “How long have you been up here?”
Camish looked up and showed a mouthful of stubby yellow teeth that looked like a line of undersized corn kernels. “Is that an official question?”
“An
“Like one I have to answer or you’ll give me a dang ticket or something?”
“I’m just wondering,” Joe said. “It looks like you boys have been up here for a while living off the land. That’s curious. How many deer and elk have you killed and eaten?”
Camish shook his head. “If I don’t answer you, it’s not because I’m rude, mister. It’s because I don’t care to incriminate myself in any way. If it ain’t an official question and all.”
“Okay,” Joe said. “It’s an official question.”
“If I don’t agree to see you as an authority, it ain’t official. You know, game warden, this place ain’t called Rampart Mountain for no reason. You know what a rampart is?”
Joe kept silent, knowing Camish would answer his own question.
“A rampart is a protective barrier,” Camish said. “A last stand, kind of.”
Camish shook his half of the Bible at Joe. “I been reading this. I’m not all that impressed, to tell you the truth. I can’t figure out what all the fuss is about. I find it to be an imperfect book.”
Joe didn’t know what to say to that.
“At least the first part has lots of action in it. Lots of murder and killings and sleeping around and such. Battles and things like that. Crazy miracles and folk tales—it keeps you entertained. This part, though, it’s just too soft, you know? You ever read it?”
Joe said, “Some.”
“I’d not recommend it. At least the second half. Instead, I’d read the U.S. Constitution. It’s shorter, better, and up until recently it was pretty easy to find.”
Caleb crawled backward out of the tent, stood up, said, “Damned if I can’t find it, officer. But there’s one other place I need to look.”
“Where’s that?”
Caleb gestured toward the forest behind him. “We got a couple caches back in the trees. I might have put my license in one of ’em.”
Joe said, “I’ll follow you.” Wanting to be rid of Camish and his commentary.
That seemed to surprise Caleb, and again the brothers exchanged a wordless glance that made Joe both scared and angry. They were communicating without words or recognizable cues, leaving Joe in the dark.
“Come on, then,” Caleb said. “But you’ll have to get down. The trees are too thick to ride through. There’s too much downed timber.”
Joe studied the trees behind Caleb. They
Joe looked over. He’d now heard the word twice—once from Farkus, now from Camish Grim. “What about it?”
Again the stubby teeth, but this time in a sort of painful smile. “Just wonderin’,” he said.
Joe waited for more but nothing came.
Then Camish said, “So who owns these fish you’re so worked up about?”
“What do you mean, who owns them?”
“Exactly what I asked. These fish are native cutthroats, mainly, and a few rainbows that were planted years ago, right?”
Joe nodded.
“So who owns them? Do you own them? Is that why you’re so worked up?”
“I work for the Wyoming Game and Fish Department,” Joe said.
“Note that word
Camish rubbed his chin. “So
“Technically . . . no. But we’re charged with managing the resource. Everybody knows this.”
“Maybe,” Camish said. “But I like to get things clear in my mind. What you’re saying is that American citizens and citizens of this state have to go out and buy a piece of paper from the state in order to catch native fish in wild country. So you’re sort of a tax collector for the government, then?”
Joe shook his head, lost in the logic.
“So if you don’t own the fish and you didn’t put them here, what gives you the right to collect a tax on folks like us? Don’t we have any say in this?”
“I guess you can complain to the judge,” Joe said.
“Does the judge get his paycheck from the same place you do? Sounds like a racket to me. You’ve got me
