Land of Wolves (14 page)

“Understandable. I can see how a man like this might have enemies.”

“So, what do you want to do?”

“I want to know if Donnie Lott has been in contact with him and concerning what?”

“In an official capacity?”

“Ours, yep. We’ve got a missing person, and I want to know what this pervert hunter knows.”

She began typing and after a moment sent off a message. “There, but I don’t know when we’ll hear something—if ever. I don’t know what this guy’s relationship is with law enforcement, but I didn’t see any cops in those videos.”

“But he said he contacted authorities to report these predators, right?’

“Right.”

“So, to whom did he report them?”

“I can track the provider that’s used by the website domain, that I imagine is in Denver, and then give the local police a call to see if they’ve ever had any contact with this guy.”

“Tell them we have reason to believe that this Mickey Southern, if that’s his name, has communicated with a missing person and we’re tracking all the leads. Also, Sancho said that this Southern guy had been in touch with him—I’m assuming through email—so you might want to see if it’s the same email as the website.”

She stood there, smiling at me. “You’re getting so tech savvy.”

“Thanks.”

“There’s only one problem.”

“What’s that?”

“It’s seven o’clock at night, and Sancho has gone home.”

“Oh.”

“And we’re going to be late for the wolf meeting.”

I slumped in my chair. “I forgot about that.”

She glanced at the Seth Thomas on my wall. “We’re already two minutes late.”

Gathering myself, I stood and then walked into the main office where Dog was lying at the top of the steps, taking advantage of the cool metal treads that had resided there since 1909. “I think we should take a wolf to the wolf meeting, don’t you?”

She regarded the beast. “He’s not really White Fang—more Buck from
Call of the Wild
.”

I shook my head as I followed her down the steps, turned off the lights, and saluted Andrew Carnegie before locking the door behind me. “Do you have the rock?”

“It’s Sancho’s tonight.”

We piled into my truck and drove to the town bypass, approaching the modern firehouse complex at the edge of town.

“You know the difference between firefighters and Boy Scouts?”

“What?”

“Boy Scouts have adult supervision.” She leaned forward to look at the mammoth amount of parked cars. “Oh shit, there goes the clandestine part of the public meeting.”

Wheeling through the crowded lot alongside one of the quasi bypasses in our tiny town, I spied an opening alongside the dumpster, which was close to the building. “I think maybe we should leave Dog in here, just in case anybody gets the idea of shooting him.”

“Agreed.”

Inside I was confronted by a crowd in the anteroom and what looked to be standing room only in the event area visible through the open doorway. There was a small platform set up at the south end, and I could see Ferris Kaplan standing on it attempting to get people to stop shouting and yelling.

Moving through the logjam at the doorway, I gently shouldered through toward the stage. Ferris looked relieved to see me and gestured for me to step up with the other men from Game and Fish. I gave Vic a hand. She joined us, muttering, “What a clusterfuckectomy.”

Ferris raised his hands and tried to hush the crowd, but he
failed. I was about to raise my own voice when there was an ear-piercing whistle that literally shook the windows of the meeting room. I turned and could see Vic with the pinkies of both hands at the corners of her mouth.

“Thanks.”

“No problem.”

Turning back to the hundreds of people who packed the room, I raised my hands. “Folks, if you don’t let Ferris speak, then we’re not going to know what’s really going on. So, if you would, please leave your comments and questions until he gets done, okay?”

The grumbling died down quickly, and I turned to look at the poor, besieged man from Game and Fish who reclaimed his voice. “Ladies and gentlemen, I know you’re all pretty concerned about this wolf that’s been spotted in the Bighorns, and I just want to assure you that from our knowledge this is a singular wolf that’s split off from one of the Yellowstone packs.” He took a breath. “We’ve got some folks here from Wildlife Services that can answer your questions about the wolf better than I can . . .”

“There’s more than one up there.”

I turned and stared at Les Harris in the bright-orange hunting cap that he always wore, in hopes that he’d pipe down, and he did, which was good because I could feel a pain growing in my side and creeping up into my head.

Vic noticed the look on my face, and her eyes narrowed. “You okay?”

“Yep.”

Ferris continued. “This is Jim Towles from Predator Control and he’s got some facts for you.”

A trim-looking individual wearing the traditional red shirt
and green ballcap, Jim Towles raised a hand and the crowd grew quieter. “There have been a number of questionable reports that there are a large number of wolves in the mountains, but with the information we have it looks to be a singular wolf that was fitted with a smart collar and is being monitored by the Forest Service.” Jim turned toward me. “Walt, you’ve actually seen the wolf, and he was alone, right?”

I nodded, even though my head hurt. “Yep, he’s an adult male, older . . .”

“Why didn’t you shoot him?”

I turned to look at Harris. “Not my job, Les.”

“Not your job to protect the people and property of Absaroka County?”

I stared at him for a moment. “From the number of applicants I’ve received, there appears to be no end of individuals who want to shoot this wolf . . .”

“But not you.”

I continued staring at him. “As you know, Absaroka County and the Bighorn Mountains are predator zones, which means that, like coyotes, anybody can shoot that wolf on sight.”

“But not you.” Emboldened, he glanced at some of his buddies. “Seems to me you’ve been gone from the county so much, you don’t know what your job is anymore.”

I said nothing, but the silence in the oversized room was now palpable.

Towles, sensing that we needed to move on quickly, added, “The wolf may have killed domestic stock and is in the process of being dealt with swiftly, but there are no signs that this is a breeding pair or that there are even any other wolves on the mountain.”

“What about the dead sheepherder?”

I turned back to Les. “I don’t think that the warden is finished.”

“Thank you, Walt.” He shook his head. “It would appear that there’s been a suicide in the mountains, but the two events are unrelated . . .”

Another man in the crowd asked, “Didn’t this wolf eat a guy?”

“No, that appears to have been the result of scavenging and not predation. Analysis shows that the Yellowstone wolves have quite a variety in diet including ungulates, rodents, vegetation—”

“And shepherds,” a voice cried out from the crowd.

There was a roiling of laughter as the poor man continued. “Wolves most often hunt in packs, and since this is a singular wolf, he’s more likely to take advantage of whatever meals might come his way.”

“Like sheep.” A different voice.

There was more laughter as the game warden continued. “And domestic livestock, which is why the animal will be swiftly dealt with.”

“Dealt with in what way?”

I glanced around and finally spotted Keasik Cheechoo.

Jim folded his arms and looked at her. “The wolf will be killed.”

“By whom?”

Jim glanced at me again, but Ferris stepped forward and spoke. “Well, we’ve had a number of applicants, but Absaroka County is somewhat unique in that we don’t rely on state predator board hunters but rather private individuals within the county with whom we have contracts.”

She moved closer. “Why?”

“Well, because it falls to the county commissioners and the predator board to—”

“No, why kill the wolf?”

“Because those are the rules in a predator zone.”

She stepped closer, and you had to admire the hutzpah it took to show up at a meeting like this one. “How do you know this wolf killed the sheep?” She held up a sheet of paper. “I’ve got a report from the wolf conservancy that states the kill was actually by a mountain lion.”

The game warden stepped forward, holding out a hand. “Can I see that?”

“No, you may not. It’s the only copy I have.”

He glanced at Jim and then continued. “Well, I’m not going to respond to an unofficial report that I haven’t seen, but I seriously doubt that it’s going to counter official, scientific results from the state authorities.”

She waved the piece of paper some more. “It also states that the wolf in question is an actual Wyoming wolf and not an Arctic transplant.”

Ferris shook his head and then approached the edge of the stage. “The department’s position on those
irremotus
wolves is that there were possibly a few back in the nineties but that they’ve pretty much gone extinct, especially with the introduction of the larger Canadian species. As far as I know, there’s no data supporting the existence of those animals here in Wyoming.”

She continued to hold the paper up. “And yet, here he is.”

“Look, Ms. Cheechoo . . .”

She shook her head and then pulled the paper down, folding it and stuffing it into her down coat pocket. “Game and Fish tranqued and collared this animal, this innocent animal, and now you people are attempting to drive up a witch hunt . . .”

“Ms. Cheechoo, all we’re attempting to do is discover the facts and appease all parties that are involved.”

“Appease? What about the wolf? What are you doing about his right to live?”

My head was killing me, but I stepped forward. “Jim, in your estimation, how many wolves are in the Bighorn Mountains?”

He glanced around at the packed room for effect. “One, two at the most at any given time.”

“Doesn’t exactly constitute a pack, does it?”

“No, like I said, we’ve seen no denning activity or mated pairs in the Bighorns. The singular wolves we’ve seen are young males that have either been kicked out of their packs or simply moved out in search of a life in a place that no longer exists.” He glanced at me. “But from what Walt has told me, this guy is a pretty big boy and old, which means he probably was challenged by another, younger male and driven off from his pack in Yellowstone.”

“And we’ve got a sheriff who’s too chickenshit to shoot him.” Harris glanced at Vic. “Or maybe he’s got other things on his mind.”

His words hung there in the air for so long I wasn’t even sure he’d said them. Suddenly I was now off the stage and standing in front of him and there were words coming out of my mouth, words I didn’t even recognize. There was emotion in the words even though I felt completely removed, and it was like I was watching someone else’s life unfolding in front of my disinterested eyes.

“Wow.” Vic sat in the truck next to me and readjusted the louvers in the heat vents. “Just, wow . . .”

We sat there quietly until the silence overtook me and I had to ask. “I’m guessing my response was a little over the top?”

“Wow.”

“All right.”

“Wow.” She turned and smiled a wicked little smile. “I have been waiting for that for years.”

“Pretty bad, huh?”

She stared at me, more than a little nonplussed. “You don’t remember any of it?”

“No. Honestly. It was like a fit.”

“It was a fit all right.” She blew air from her mouth like a modified steam whistle and shook her head. “I thought you were going to kill him.”

I glanced down at my lap and felt the heat from my face and the stillness in my hands finally fading. “Did I touch him?”

“No, but your chin was about an eighth of an inch from the bill of his cap.”

“Les is almost as tall as me.”

“He wasn’t by the time you were finished.” She leaned back in her seat. “Granted, he could’ve stepped up onto that pile of shit he let go down one of his pant legs by the time you were done with him.”

“Did anybody else hear it?”

“Oh, yes.” She nodded. “Everybody in the place heard it. By the time you were done, I’m pretty sure everybody in Wyoming heard it.”

“Did I threaten him?”

She started to speak and then turned to give me a priceless look of incredulity. “Oh . . . Oh, yes, you most indeed threatened him.”

Raising a hand to my face, I rubbed some feeling into it, and felt a twinge from the scar that bisected my eye. “So, I guess I need to find him and apologize?”

“I think we’re well beyond the realm of apology.”

“Great.”

“I didn’t even know you knew some of those words.” She studied me. “You really don’t remember any of it, not a word?”

“No.”

She kept her eyes on me for a while more and then quickly changed the subject. “Well, it doesn’t look good for Larry.”

“Who?”

“Larry the wolf.” She reached back and ruffled the hair behind Dog’s ear in species-specific sympathy.

“777M.”

“Whatever.” She turned back. “Who are the contracted county killers?”

“Heck if I know; of all the scat that is hitting the fan, that particular load of feces is not my problem.” Wheeling out of the fireman’s complex, I took a left and started south toward the Extepare place. “Do you want me to drop you off at home, or do you want to go see a sheep ranch?”

She pointed south. “I feel I should know where our victims are coming from.”

“It’s not as exciting as you might think.”

“Neither is soccer.” She studied the road ahead. “You really think ol’ honest Abe has done something drastic to his son-in-law?”

I thought about it. “It’s just odd. I mean why wouldn’t Extepare just wait for Donnie to come out there in the middle of nowhere to do something rather than leaving the car and personal belongings at the motel?”

“Passion strikes at inopportune moments.”

“Yep.”

“And then we have the dead shepherd.”

“Yep.”

“This is all sizing up with Abe as the bad guy.”

“Yep.”

“Is that all you’ve got to say?”