C. Box - Endangered

—

BRENDA’S STORY about Dallas’s journey home could not be disproved. He’d been thrown from the bull in Houston on Saturday, March 8. Brenda said he’d stayed in Houston most of Sunday as his pain got worse, then hit the road and drove twenty-two straight hours to arrive late Monday night. He was recovering at home and had been there for two days, she claimed, when April was attacked by Tilden Cudmore.

Unfortunately, Dulcie said, the Cateses could produce no credit card receipts for gasoline or food on Dallas’s long ride home. Dallas, like most rodeo cowboys, paid his entry fees in cash and was paid in cash when he won. He rarely used a credit card except for the rare plane ticket or rental car.

No one had come forward to dispute any aspect of Brenda’s explanation, Dulcie said. Until there was evidence otherwise, that line of inquiry was dead.

But Joe still had his doubts about Cudmore, and about Dallas.

—

AS HE TRAILED DAISY through the brush, he stopped and fixed his gaze on the southern horizon. He knew the Cates place was several miles in that direction. The bench he was parked on was flat, but a mile to the south it sloped down into a shallow valley. The BLM land abutted the twelve-acre Cates compound.

He turned slowly and studied the contours of the high bench. There were places, he thought, where the road he’d arrived on might be seen from below due to the high folds of the terrain. The angle might just be such that a vehicle on the road could be glimpsed from below in the valley in visual snapshots.

He called Daisy back and started his pickup and did a three-point turn, then slowly retraced his route.

At three different places along the two-track there were drainages to the south where he could see the valley below. At two of those drainages, he could see the distant cluster of buildings that belonged to the Cateses.

Joe stopped at the second swale, rolled his driver’s-side window down three-quarters of the way, and mounted his Redfield spotting scope to the top of the glass. Because the Cates place was two miles away, he turned off the motor to stop the vibration through his cab so he could focus.

There was no activity on the place. After all, he thought, it was Saturday. He scoped the main house, a double-wide trailer, a barn, and several outbuildings. In the opening of a metal building he could see the chrome snouts of two pump trucks Eldon used to pump out septic systems.

As he watched, he saw the front door of the main house open and Cora Lee, Bull’s wife, come out. She walked across the yard through a couple of old shacks. Her body language was surly, Joe thought, but then it always was. When Joe had arrested Bull for game violations, Cora Lee had called Joe every name in the book. She had a mouth on her.

Cora Lee stopped at what looked like a well, opened some doors, and tossed something down in it. A few minutes later, she pulled up a bucket and dumped it out near the opening. Then she threw the bucket back in, closed the doors, and returned to the house.

Could someone at the Cates place possibly have seen the vehicle of the person or persons who’d wiped out Lek 64? After all, if he could see the compound from where he was, they could see him .

Joe doubted it. Too much distance, and too quick of a look at a vehicle on the road.

But it gave him a pretense to pay them a visit. Director LGD would even approve of it.

Dulcie might be another story.

—

EVEN THOUGH the Cates compound was in plain view in the valley, it took twenty-five minutes for Joe to get there on ancient two-tracks that were barely roads at all. As the place got larger in his windshield and he bounced his tires over ruts and knee-high sagebrush, he thought that the family employed the same kind of defense sage grouse did: they hid in plain sight. The tough part wasn’t finding them. The tough part was getting there.

And it would be impossible to sneak up on them.

He circumnavigated the fence line that defined the Cates property from BLM land and passed under a hand-lettered sign that read:

DULL KNIFE OUTFITTERS

C&C SEWER AND SEPTIC TANK SERVICE

BIRTHPLACE OF PRCA WORLD CHAMPION COWBOY DALLAS CATES

Bull had emerged from inside the house and stood waiting for Joe with his hands on his hips outside the front door.

—

AS JOE SHUT OFF the engine and reached for the door handle, a pack of six big dogs thundered out, howling, from underneath the wooden porch Bull was standing on, and surrounded the pickup. They were mixed-breed short-haired mottled-color brutes with dark muzzles and flashing teeth. Joe guessed they were a mix of Rottweiler and Rhodesian ridgeback, a scary combination. One of them lunged at the passenger window and bounced off with a thump, leaving a smear of goo on the glass. Daisy cowered and backed up into Joe.

Bull whistled and called to them. The pack slunk back to the house. He opened the front door and one by one they went inside.

Joe told Daisy to get on the floor of the cab and stay. He shut off the engine and made a point of folding the seat down as he got out. Behind the seat, as always, was his 12-gauge shotgun.

Because if Bull opened the door and let the dogs out . . .

Bull rocked on the balls of his feet like a fighter in the ring and sneered at Joe.

“Hell of a brave dog you got there,” Bull shouted.

He had to shout because of the din of a loud motor—likely a generator or air compressor—racketing from the garage where the pump trucks were parked. The sound was distracting.

“Daisy loves everybody,” Joe shouted back. “She’s not used to being attacked for no good reason.”

“They got a reason,” Bull said. “They’re protecting their property from the man who dicked me around.”

Joe said, “Then I guess you know why I’m here.”

Bull’s eyelids fluttered. A tell. But of what? Joe wondered. He paused by the grille of his pickup and waited to see if Bull would spill something. There was no doubt in Joe’s mind he had something to hide.

Before Bull could respond, the screen door opened and hit him in the back.

“Move, son,” Brenda Cates said, annoyed. “Let me come out.” Behind her, the dogs barked to be let out.

Bull dropped his hands and stood to the side so his mother could come out on the porch. She squeezed out through the front door so the dogs were still inside.

Brenda emerged, wearing an apron embroidered with flowers, and she was in the process of cleaning her hands with a towel.

“You caught me in the middle of making some pies,” she said to Joe. “So what brings you out here?”

Joe couldn’t hear her well over the noise from the garage, but he could read her lips well enough to get the gist of what she was asking. He knew he’d lost his opportunity to get Bull to blurt something out or to come up with a lie. Brenda had saved her son whether she intended to or not.

“Can we get that racket back there shut off so we can talk?” Joe asked.

“Just say what you came to say,” Bull shouted.

“I was wondering who might have been home a week ago last Thursday, in the evening,” Joe said. “That would have been on March thirteenth.”

Brenda eyed Joe coolly. Her face was hard to read. But she’d stopped wiping off her hands.

Bull turned his head to her as if waiting to follow her lead.

Joe took a few steps forward until he stood directly beneath them on the porch so he could hear them better.

“A week ago Thursday,” she said. “Well, I was here. Dallas was here, of course. Bull and Cora Lee were out on a service call, right, Bull?”

“Yep,” Bull said. “We didn’t get back until late.”

“They take the second pump truck out if Eldon is already on a job,” Brenda said. “Sometimes when people call us, they can’t wait for Eldon to get there. You know, like if it’s a sewage emergency.”