Chris Offutt - The Good Brother

“They’ll use any excuse,” a man said. “They’re rabid dogs with no leash.”

“Stay in radio contact with your neighbor,” Owen said. “If you go to town, or even down the road, tell somebody. Make sure the CB in your vehicle works. Now about weapons. Their law says you can carry in plain sight, so don’t conceal. Put your pistol on the dashboard or on your hip, not in gloveboxes and coat pockets. Keep the big weapons hid, especially your AR-15 and your Mini-14. We can get you back, but not your rifles.”

Owen looked at the crowd. “Any questions? Anything anybody wants to say?”

People glanced at each other and away, as if no one wanted to induce another to speak. A man stepped forward. His hair was short and his bottom lip was swelled by snuff. He looked older than Coop.

“They will take your guns,” he said slowly, “just like they took my ranch four years ago. They will come on your land and steal your property.”

“When New York City went broke,” another man said, “the banks let them slide, but not us.”

“It’s the Jews,” said a man. “They run the banks and they’re trying to run Congress.”

“They want to make the white man weak so the mud people can take over.”

“I’d like to say,” a man said, “the law crossed the double-yellow on this one. Owen’s right. We can’t give them no ways to get at us. They got the law, hut we got the Bill of Rights.”

People nodded to each other. Joe sensed a hardening in the atmosphere, as if a collective will had begun to congeal. He realized that they talked about the same issues over and over, like someone recently saved by the church. He was both, attracted and repulsed by the Bills, similar to the desire he’d felt for the drunken bartender.

Another man spoke.

“What happens if they don’t cut Lucy loose?”

“They will,” Owen said, “They’re trapped by their own laws that way. We raised bail. They’ll let her out.”

“What about Frank?” someone said.

“We’ll notify him as soon as Lucy’s safe.”

“Is there anything else needs doing tonight?” said a man.

“When Lucy gets home,” Owen said, “it might be nice if someone stayed with her.”

A woman stood and slipped on her coat.

“One last thing,” Owen said, “The papers in Missoula and Spokane are going to get all over this, and we don’t need trouble with them. Talk to reporters if you want, but don’t go loco, and don’t let them get anywhere near Coop,”

A few men chuckled. The woman who had been counting money spoke to Owen in a low voice. He nodded and addressed the crowd.

“We got enough to bail Lucy out,” Owen said.

People cheered and clapped their hands.

“All right,” Owen said. “Time to go get her. We can’t have any trouble, so no hotheads are going. No weapons, either. One problem. The vehicle needs to be registered to someone with a driver’s license, or they’ll arrest you, too. Who’s got a government ID card for travel?”

He looked from person to person, his face impassive. A few shook their heads, and Joe sensed the group’s frustration. Owen was staring at him. Other people noticed, and turned to him. Botree looked at the floor. Joe felt the way he had at the Wolf the night he’d gone on his poker rush. The action was his and he stepped forward, as if pulled.

“I’ve got a license,” he said. “And my Jeep is legal.”

He and Owen shared a gaze. Joe regretted having spoken.

“Any objection?” Owen said to the group.

The men and women looked at one another to reassure themselves of the decision. Botree continued to avoid Joe’s eyes.

“All right,” Owen said. “We’re done here. Folks, you’re welcome to stay, but I know you got families to get home to. Botree, we need something to put this money in,”

People began moving to the door. Many looked at Joe as they left, but no one spoke. Coop joined him.

“Well, cowboy,” Coop said. “Good of you to pitch in.”

“You all helped me,” Joe said. He was upset with himself for having volunteered.

“Now you know what we’re all about,” Coop said.

“Not really.”

“Still got questions?”

“Just one, Coop.”

“Fire away.”

“How come you got a horse skull hanging in the dining room?”

“Ever eat horse?” Coop said.

“No.”

“I did. That skull’s to remind me to be thankful I never have to again.”

Coop went to the CB base unit and adjusted the controls. The house was nearly empty. Botree set a duffel bag on the table and began placing the money inside.

“It’s all or nothing,” he said.

“I used to be that way.”

“I didn’t,” Joe said. “It’s new to me.”

“You sure you want to do it?”

“No, but I’m going to anyhow.” He shrugged. “What else am I going to do? Leave? If somebody else shoots me, I might not make it.”

“You probably would,” she said. “Most men I’ve met try to act tougher than they are. With you, it’s different. You don’t know how tough you really are.”

“I never had to be, Botree. I always had somebody do that for me.”

“Who?”

Owen came in the house and Botree gave him the duffel bag. Joe followed him outside. Stars showed in patches of night. At the barn, Owen opened the door of a large feed room to reveal the Jeep. Joe climbed in and inhaled deeply, savoring the musty smell of its interior. He turned the key and nothing happened.

“Let me jump it,” Owen said. “I’ll be right back.”

Wind throbbed inside the barn, a sound like crumpling tin. Joe wondered if it was too late to change his mind. Headlights flashed as Owen drove Botree’s old pickup across the rutted land. He parked, fastened the cables, and after a minute the Jeep’s engine started. While it idled, Owen wired a CB radio under the dashboard.

The Jeep handled rough, as if the metal had stiffened from disuse. Owen kept the duffel bag between his boots.

“What’s Frank wanted on?” Joe said.

“There’s a bunch of little charges,” Owen said. “Refusal to register his car, obstructing justice, possession of illegal firearms. That sort of thing.”

“They ain’t worth hiding out over.”

“No, those are all local. The one that’s got him spooked is federal. Two days after the gun ban passed Congress, he sold four rifles to a man from Lolo. The rifles had bayonet mounts, and the man was an undercover agent for the ATF.”

“This whole thing’s over a bayonet mount?”

“You bet. The Feds tried to make a deal. Said they’d drop the charges if Frank gave them information on some other people.”

“What people?”

“There’s some extremists here, Joe. They don’t recognize the federal government in any shape whatsoever. They believe in the supremacy of local law. They elected their own sheriff and put up reward posters for state cops, lawyers, and judges, dead or alive. They tried them in absentia. They even printed their own money.”

“Did Frank give them up?”

“No. He skipped bail and went to the mountains.”

“What’s he do up there?”

“He writes letters to the government. A few newspapers printed some, but the Feds made them quit. Now he writes directly to the senators, congressmen, and President. He even sent letters to the governor of every state. He writes to the FBI and the CIA, and the ATF, too.”

“What’s in them?” Joe said. “The letters, I mean.”

“His ideas mostly. The economy, freedom, politics. How he’s building an army to protect us. His plans for the future. He’s brilliant, Joe.”

“I don’t know how brilliant it is to tell the government you’re building an army.”

“One gun at a time, he says.”