Eugene Cox sat in his wheelchair in the front room dressed in starched military fatigues. An AK47 rested against the side of the chair. On the collar of his shirt were the eagles of a bird colonel, and on the left sleeve he wore a Catron County Militia unit patch. Freshly shaved, Eugene had combed his hair straight back over his ears.
The room was trashed with newspapers, magazines, military training manuals, maps, and a clutter of old household appliances that would make an antique dealer drool. There was a floor-size Emerson radio against one wall with a Polar Cub oscillating fan on top that pushed warm air around the room, fluttering the piles of newspapers.
Gatewood forced Kerney to sit on the floor and stood behind him. Kerney smiled up at Eugene Cox.
The old man ignored him. Caressing the barrel of the AK-47, he spoke to Omar.
'Where is Phil?'
'He'll be along shortly with Karen,' Gatewood replied.
'We thought it best not to travel together.'
Eugene nodded.
'I'll tell you what I told Phil,' Omar added.
'You'll have to do your own dirty work on this one.'
'Covering your ass, Omar? Or are you just a pantywaist?'
'You figure it out.'
Eugene grunted.
'Sometimes I think you're just another dumbass politician.'
'Think whatever you like,' Omar replied.
'You still have to kill them if you want them dead.'
'Fine.' Eugene shifted his gaze to Kerney.
'Why are you smiling at me like a jackass? What's so damn funny?'
'Was I smiling?' Kerney answered.
Eugene's eyes bored into Kerney.
'Don't be a smartass. Answer the question.'
Kerney considered the man in the wheelchair dressed in combat fatigues with his useless legs dangling to the floor.
'I was admiring your uniform.'
Eugene sneered.
'You like it?'
'Not really. But I'd love to hear about the militia.'
Eugene threw his head back, smiled widely, and showed his stained teeth.
'I bet you would.'
'Why did you go after Jim Stiles?'
'Because he's the enemy, just like you. He's a diehard conservationist who doesn't understand history.'
'What history is that?' Kerney asked.
'The history of revolution. The history of this country. The history of the men who settled the west. Who in the hell do you think preserved the land before the environmentalists began beating the drum? Ranchers.
Ranchers brought the elk back.
Ranchers protected the antelope. Ranchers saved the white-tailed deer.'
'What's your point?'
'Blind, stupid government,' Eugene roared.
'That's my point. When a man can't manage his land as he sees fit, something ain't right. The government forces us to move fences so elk can migrate, tells us to keep our cattle away from streams to protect the fish, orders us to shut down winter pasture that can't be replaced because it's a habitat for some worthless, disease- carrying rodent or an exotic butterfly nobody gives a damn about. It doesn't make a fucking bit of sense.'
Eugene warmed to his speechifying.
'We pay taxes, higher grazing fees, and we still can't use the land the way God intended it to be used. We get shit on, and shit for it.'
'It's a tough life,' Kerney noted with sarcasm.
'Government interference will stop. That's what the militia stands for.
That's what we're all about.'
'Killing people will certainly get the government's attention,' Kerney said, tired of Gene's harangue. He changed the subject.
'Who shot Jim Stiles?'
'Phil,' Eugene said proudly.
'He volunteered. Is there anything else you're dying to know?'
'Tell me what happened between you and Edgar at Elderman Meadows.'
Eugene chuckled.
'It's a good story.'
'I'd love to hear it.'
Eugene thought about it for a minute.
'Why not?'
He grinned.
'But you've gotta promise you won't tell.'
'I promise,' Kerney replied.
Eugene slapped his thigh and chuckled.
'I like a man with a sense of humor. Back when Edgar and I were boys, our daddy sent us to Mangas Mountains to herd Padilla's sheep down to where some trucks were waiting to load them up. Now, Edgar had this real deep moral, do-right streak to him-he still does, far as I can tell-so Daddy told him we were just gonna be helping Padilla move his stock out of the mountains.
'Of course, we were rustling, but Daddy knew Edgar wouldn't stand for that, so he made up a helping-hand story for Edgar to swallow, figuring when it was all over the damage would be done and Edgar would have to put up with it or get the shit kicked out of him. He got the shit kicked out of him a lot back in those days.'
'But not you, I bet,' Kerney proposed.
'Hell, no, not me. My daddy and I thought alike in a lot of ways. He trusted me. Relied on me as I got older.
'We got the herd delivered and were coming back home when snow started falling. When we reached the meadows we heard sheep bleating off on one of those little fingers where the open land snakes into the forest. It sounded like a goodly number, and we were short about twenty-five head on the drive down, so Edgar and I went looking.
'About a quarter mile in from the last stretch of meadow we found them in this crateriike field that was ringed by trees and a rock cliff.
Never would have found it if it hadn't been for the bleating. The tree canopy looks unbroken until you get right under it. You could tell it had been used for a long time as a natural corral. Grass was scant, and there were old campsites all over the place.
'Well, Edgar wanted to take those sheep right to Don Luis, but I knew Daddy wanted every last one of them gone. He got real riled when I started shooting those lambs and ewes. I had to stand him down with my rifle until the job was done.
'When I was finished, we walked out of that crater to our horses. Edgar was crying like a baby. We ran smack into Don Luis, who wanted to know where his sheep were, and what the hell all the shooting was about. I had no choice but to kill him. Just as I pulled the trigger, Edgar shot me in the back with his pistol.'
Eugene threw back his head and laughed bitterly.
'The poor son of a bitch couldn't even kill me.
Being the moral, self-righteous little pussy he is, he carried me home.
My daddy beat him within an inch of his life before the doctor came.'
'Didn't anyone raise a question about the slaughtered sheep?'
