C. Box - Endangered

Joe nodded like he understood.

She said, “Now, why are you asking about Thursday the thirteenth?”

Joe pointed to the north. “Someone was up there on BLM land causing mischief. I was wondering if you or anyone might have seen a vehicle or heard anything.”

Although Brenda had no reaction to the question, Joe saw Bull’s shoulders relax. He knew that whatever dilemma he might have been facing had passed. Yet Bull clearly felt guilty about something .

“What was I supposed to see?” Brenda asked. “I’m usually in the kitchen at night. The window looks out the front of the house, not the side. So I really can’t say I saw anything. Now, can I ask you a question?”

Joe nodded.

“What’s the real reason you’re here?”

“I just told you,” Joe said. But he was afraid his face might betray him.

“You’re here to see Dallas with your own eyes, aren’t you?” she said. “You still think my Dallas had something to do with what happened to April, even though he was here at home and they caught the man who did it and hauled him to jail.” She sounded both angry and disappointed with Joe. He felt a twinge of remorse.

A woman’s voice from inside the house called out, “Who’s out there, Bull?”

“Damned game warden,” Bull said without turning his head.

“The one who put you out of business? That motherfucker?”

Cora Lee, Joe thought.

“Yep, it’s him,” Bull said.

“Tell him to get the fuck off our property,” she said from inside. “Maybe I ought to let the dogs out to chase him away. He got no right comin’ on private property if we don’t invite him.”

Brenda’s eyes narrowed as she glared at Joe. “Is that true?” she asked.

“It is,” he said. “But I’m not here looking for any trouble. I’m here trying to get some information on an ongoing investigation.”

“An investigation of what?” Brenda asked, suspicious.

“I seen a truck up there,” Eldon said from behind Joe. It surprised him, and he jumped. Eldon had been in the garage working on one of the pumpers, judging by the grease and muck on his bib overalls. The whine of the motor in the garage had covered his approach. There was a long, heavy wrench in his right hand.

Joe said, “How long have you been behind me?”

“Long enough to hear what you asked,” Eldon said.

Joe nodded toward the garage. “Do you suppose you could shut that thing down so we can hear each other?”

“Naw,” Eldon said. “I’m usin’ it. I gotta power-wash them tanks out or they really start to smell rank. Especially now that it’s gettin’ warmer.”

Frustrated, Joe said, “You saw a truck up there last Thursday night?”

“I did,” Eldon said. “I got home in time for supper. I parked my pumper in the garage. As I was walkin’ to the house, I looked up there in the hills and saw it. Then I heard a bunch of shots. I didn’t think much of it at the time. People are always goin’ up there and shootin’ the shit out of things. There ain’t a BLM sign or marker that ain’t shot to shit.”

It was true. Joe asked, “What did the truck look like?”

“White, new. I thought it was one of them fed trucks. I see them all over.” He looked past Joe to Brenda. “Remember when those two federal knuckleheads came here last month asking about sage grouse? A man and a woman?”

“I do remember,” Brenda said. “They wanted to know if we had any sage grouse on our land. It seemed like a dumb question.”

Eldon said, “I told ’em if I did, I would have shot all them prairie chickens by now and roasted them. They didn’t like that one bit.”

Bull laughed at his dad’s humor.

Eldon said, “You can’t even eat the big ones, the bombers. They’re no good for nothin’ but jerky. But the young ones are pretty tender. Right, Brenda?”

“Right, they are,” she said.

Joe had been watching the two of them, back and forth, as if viewing a tennis match. He found it interesting how both of these big men deferred to Brenda at all times.

Joe said to Eldon, “Are you talking about Annie Hatch of the BLM and Revis Wentworth of the Fish and Wildlife Service?”

“That sounds like their names,” Eldon said. “They gave me their cards, but I used them to start a fire in the fireplace.”

Bull snorted again. He thought that was a good one.

In the distance, Joe thought he heard a high-pitched scream from the air compressor.

“Better shut that thing off,” Joe said.

“Why?” Eldon asked.

“Sounds like the bearings are going.”

Eldon shrugged. “It’s always something.”

Joe gave up.

“Are you sure it was their truck you saw?” he asked.

“No,” Eldon said. “I ain’t sure. But that’s what I thought at the time—‘Those sage grouse feds are back.’ But that’s a hell of a long way up there, and I just saw the white truck for a few seconds. Then I heard a bunch of shooting.”

Bull folded his arms over his chest and said to Joe, “There can’t be that many new white pickups in the county, can there?”

Joe was thinking the same thing. He asked Eldon what time he’d seen the white truck.

Eldon shrugged and said, “Six-thirty, maybe?” He looked to Brenda for confirmation.

“That sounds right,” she said. “We usually eat at six forty-five. We try to get done by the time Wheel of Fortune comes on.”

The timing worked, Joe thought. But it didn’t make sense—until he thought back on what Lucy had observed in regard to Hatch and Wentworth. Then it did.

“So,” Brenda said to Joe, “you want to see Dallas?”

The offer took Joe aback. “Yup,” he said.

“Come on in,” she said. “You’ll see that he’s as banged up as I told you he is. Then maybe you’ll finally believe us and leave us alone.”

Bull said, “He can come back, Mom. Just so it’s dark out and there’s no witnesses for when I whup his ass.”

“Damned straight, Bull,” Cora Lee laughed from inside the house.

As Joe mounted the peeling steps of the porch, he glanced over his shoulder to see if Eldon was coming in. The man was lumbering back to the garage, swinging the wrench back and forth at his side.

Joe heard the air compressor whine again. He hoped the bearings would burn out and disable the engine so he could think clearly without the background noise.

Brenda cracked the front door and leaned inside. “Cora Lee, put them dogs out back in their run. We’re comin’ in.”

15

The sound of the compressor muted as Joe stepped inside the house and the door was closed behind him. He removed his hat and held the brim with two hands.

“He’s in the back,” Brenda said.

Cora Lee was sprawled on a couch with one leg cocked over the arm. She was watching television, and she refused to look at Joe. That was okay with him. The show that blared from the flat-screen was something about spring break in Florida. Lots of bikinis and abs.

The house was small, cluttered, and close. It smelled of baked goods from the kitchen. The furnishings were familiar to Joe from so many visits to area homes: a unique combination of hunting memorabilia crossed with Wild West kitsch. An elk mount dominated the wall over a fireplace, and the fabric of the couch and chair was a motif of bucking horses and lariats. The low-hanging chandelier was a reproduction of a wagon wheel, with dusty little bulbs on each spoke. The adjacent wall, which melded into the hallway, was covered with cheaply framed photographs of rodeo action shots. Dallas riding a bull, Dallas on a saddle bronc, Dallas flying his hat like a Frisbee in an outdoor arena after a particularly good ride.

“That one is my favorite,” Brenda said as Joe leaned in to the picture. “It was taken three years ago at Cheyenne Frontier Days when Dallas won it. The ‘Daddy of ’Em All,’” she said.