Rachel Lee - Undercover In Conard County

“They might have used dogs. Or maybe the animal was sick. I have samples to send to the lab and a carcass in my truck that I need to get into an evidence freezer, but in the meantime...” She put her camera on her desk and turned it around so he could see the screen. With a punch of the button, a slideshow started. “Have a look. Too bad it rained the last two nights.”

“Maybe that’s all that kept the wolves from scenting it sooner.”

She nodded, then settled onto her chair again. “I hate to think of that sheep being driven down the mountain like that. Terrified by bush beaters or dogs...it doesn’t matter. Out of his element, on the run, all so somebody could decorate his wall.” She slapped her palm on the desk. “We only issued twenty-two permits in this area for bighorns this year. We don’t have a big enough population to sustain this kind of hunting.”

That was the struggle for which Wyoming Game and Fish had been created. Back in the 1880s, Wyoming’s streams had become sterile of edible fish. So fisheries were their first step. Then in 1921 Game and Fish had been created and in 1929 had been given the power to limit the harvesting of game and fish both. Since then healthy populations had rebounded, but it was a never-ending battle.

Desi Jenks was right: they couldn’t afford this poaching. Not of bighorns. Some other populations were large enough to withstand some of it, like antelope, but the bighorn? There was a reason they’d permitted only twenty-two to be harvested this year in her area, and that was a larger number than in some areas that were being poached.

“No clues, I suppose?” he finally asked as he scanned her photos of the scene.

“I wish. I pulled another bullet but you know they’re useless without a gun to match them to. Standard round for a thirty-thirty hunting rifle, and you wouldn’t want too big a hole in your sheepskin rug.”

“The skinning was expert,” he remarked. “The decap appears to have been done by some kind of butcher’s saw.” He sat back. “They didn’t want to damage the skin or head. To hell with the rest.”

She nodded and picked up her own coffee, leaning back in her chair. “Experienced.”

“Yeah.” He tried to ignore the loveliness of the woman who sat across from him, just a normal male response that should be ignored, focusing instead on what this piece added to the puzzle. Not much, he decided. It was more of the same.

“What about you?” she asked.

“I’m going into competition with them. See if I can draw them out by threatening their cash stream.”

She frowned. “That could be dangerous.”

“It could, but we’re getting nowhere otherwise. They pop up under different names every season. New phone number every week, then no phone number once they’ve got enough customers. All payments made by cash. Absolutely nothing we’ve been able to trace, including their internet postings. In fact, all that stuff has started diminishing and we suspect they’re getting most of their business by word-of-mouth now. And you know darn well that with only limited bighorn ram permits, they’re not in the market for a permit. They couldn’t promise anyone that they’d get one at the drawing. Same for other big game.”

“And it’s all going out of state?”

“Of course it is. First off, a resident permit isn’t that expensive, even if it’s hard to get one for big game through the drawing. Nonresident permits run in the thousands. Then you’ve got the problem of where you’re going to display that trophy. Desi, you know people around here. How many of them wouldn’t mention the sudden appearance of a trophy head to you?”

She smiled faintly. “A few. There are a few everywhere. But someone, eventually, would run it by me. I have pretty good contacts around here, and despite what some people may think, most of the ranchers have a great respect for the land and the wildlife.”

“Unless it’s wolves,” he said.

She laughed. “Unless it’s wolves,” she agreed. “Unfortunately.”

“I hear you got some here?”

“A pack of maybe seven up on Thunder Mountain. So far there’s been a détente going on, but today...” She shook her head. “Fresh kill on Jake’s ranch. He’ll mend his fence as soon as he finds out where it was damaged, probably by the bighorn on the run...but then he’s got to keep an eye out. Right now his place may be looking like a wolf smorgasbord.”

“I could go out and give him a hand.”

She arched her brows at him. “What was that about undercover?”

“I’ll go out as an outfitter trying to get the lay of the land. I’ll just say I thought I could lend a hand while I learn the area.”

She shook her head, and he realized he wasn’t going to run this show singlehandedly. Oh, well. She knew the area and he had only one purpose: to gather intelligence on a ring of poachers. She spoke. “Jake’s the chief of police. I told you. He’s not stupid. That’ll smell and he won’t like it. One word of advice to you, Kel. Tell Jake what you’re really doing. He might be helpful and he sure knows how to keep a secret.” She paused. “He also knows Thunder Mountain as well as I do.”

“I’ll think about it.”

But then she questioned him again. “Isn’t it a little late to start your masquerade? The season’s already underway for a week now.”

“I’m not doing this solo.” He saw her stiffen, and guessed she was wondering if she was going to be totally shoved to the side in this operation. He hastened to reassure her. “I’m solo out here,” he offered quickly. “But the unit has been making postings for me on the web and social media since late last spring. In the meantime, once the snow was gone, I’ve been hiking all over the terrain to familiarize myself. Anyway, word about me has been out there, just not where I was going to set myself up. A few shills have already indicated their interest in a hunt publicly, so once I surface, I’ll appear to have business already.”

She nodded, leaning forward to rest her elbows on the desk. “What about others who call?”

He half smiled. “Well, now that’s interesting. We sound them out, mentioning they have to have their own license because they can’t hunt under mine, and they usually bail pretty quickly. Then we try like hell to find out where they go next. We’re coordinating with other states, but so far none of these calls have been productive. Apparently, the mere question about licensing makes them too cautious to continue. Two birds, one stone.”

She clearly appreciated that. “But some won’t care if it’s illegal.”

He nodded. “Of course not. But if they’re calling me, they obviously don’t know about this ring yet. If we find that they’ve contacted someone else, we can probably persuade the hunter to deal with us rather than face charges. But the ring is getting hard to find unless you have some kind of contact. Plus, we need evidence for court. Hearsay ain’t gonna do it.”

He stood. “Now, don’t you have a carcass to get out of your truck?” From the photos she’d showed him, he’d guess there were well over a hundred pounds left of a nearly three-hundred-pound sheep.

“Yeah. Help appreciated. I’ll roll around back to the freezer building.”

* * *

Behind the front offices in a steel building about fifty yards away were a series of chest freezers, all of them with serious padlocks. In them they kept evidence until a case was completed, whether dressed meat or an entire carcass. Desi tagged the bighorn in its plastic wrapping, then Kel helped her lift it into the building and put it in an empty freezer. Desi slapped a note on top of it, making it clear this meat was unsafe to eat. From time to time during the year, the wardens donated any good meat they no longer needed as evidence to a soup kitchen, or a church or even to individuals living on the edge who could use it well.