“Yes.”
I smiled. “I think I could’ve taken him.”
The Cheyenne Nation did not look particularly impressed.
I kept my voice low. “Find the truck?”
“No, but the tracks continue toward the tree line.”
Tavis broke in from behind me in a loud voice. “There’s a tree line?”
The Bear looked at the patrolman and shushed him. “The buffalo are looking for shelter but must have gotten spooked when the truck drove through the herd.” He glanced around at the hulking shapes. “They are just now settling down and getting their bearings, so be quiet.”
I gestured with my chin. “Let’s get going; I don’t want to lose them.”
Henry turned, and we started off, a little more carefully this time.
After a hundred yards or so, we started to climb, and I could make out a few small trees leading toward larger copses and eventually the tree line that Henry had found.
The Bear stopped, looked at the tracks, and then at what countryside was visible, all twenty feet of it. “This slope leads down into a canyon and I would suppose a creek, whereas the embankment to the right leads up to a ridge. If they are stupid, they went into the canyon, and if they are wise, they stayed with the ridge.”
“If they took the canyon they aren’t going far, so let’s check the ridge.”
He nodded and then frowned. “Unfortunate.”
“Why is that?”
“It appears to be the same choice that the buffalo have made.”
“Misery loves company.” I could see at least a dozen of them in the immediate vicinity as I started after our Indian scout. “How many of these things do you suppose there are out here?”
“From the movement of the herd, I would say a couple hundred at least.” He slowed as one of the bulls, tossing its head and huffing, tracked in front of us. “They are still very uneasy, and I am afraid that any movement or sound could set them off.”
I nodded. “Just that much more of a reason to get to the tree line; if these monsters start charging around, I’d just as soon have a tree or two to put between us.”
The Bear suddenly stopped and whispered, even quieter this time. “I can see the truck.”
Bunching in close to Henry, I slipped my hand under my coat, pulled my .45 from the holster, and trailed it along my leg, watching as Tavis did the same with his Glock.
The Bear looked back at the two of us and shook his head. “Do not fire those weapons, unless it becomes absolutely necessary.” He took a few more steps forward and then stopped again. “As near as I can tell, there is someone standing in the bed of the truck.”
Of course, I couldn’t see anything, but I was used to that in my dealings with the Cheyenne Nation’s uncanny sensory abilities. “Do you think they’ve seen us?”
He watched the invisible landscape for a moment. “No.”
“If I keep moving in this direction, I’ll run into them?”
“Yes. This may take a while with the buffalo, so when you get to the truck, keep him talking.” Without another word, Henry moved off to our left and gradually disappeared like a cipher.
“Where is he?”
I gestured for Tavis to follow. “Stick with me, troop, and don’t fire that weapon until I tell you.”
Another forty feet and even I could see the outline of the blue truck, and indeed, someone standing in the bed. “Look, we don’t know that any of these individuals are dangerous, so let’s just play it slow. Chances are, this guy just thinks a couple of crazies are after his friend and his friend’s girl, and he’s just trying to do the right thing.”
He swallowed. “Is that what your twenty-five years of sheriffing are telling you?”
“Not really, but there’s gotta be a first time, right?” I looked at the kid and thought that I really didn’t want to be shot in the back by the Glock .40 he was carrying. “Don’t shoot anybody, okay? Especially me.”
I turned, took another step, and lifted my voice just loud enough to be heard but hopefully not loud enough to spook the buffalo that surrounded us. “Hey Willie, how are you doing?”
A little distance away, one of the bulls turned to regard us.
The croupier moved toward the tailgate and yelled back at me, “I’ve got a gun!”
“Okay.” I waited a few seconds, just to let the nearest buffalo know that we bore no ill intent. “Do you mind keeping your voice down a little? We’re concerned that these buffalo might spook, and I’m sure that none of us want that.” He didn’t say anything, so I continued. “My name is Walt Longmire, and I’m the sheriff of Absaroka County, Wyoming. I’m working on a missing persons case—”
“Whatta ya want?”
I watched as one of the bulls crossed between us, and I carefully took a few more steps to get a clearer view of the man. I could see that he was holding a rifle. “Well, this doesn’t have much to do with you, but it has a lot to do with the other man and the woman who are with you.”
There was a long pause before he spoke. “I don’t got no woman with me.”
I took a few more steps toward him. “Well then, the woman who was in your truck.”
He gestured with the weapon. “That’s close enough.” He leaned a little forward. “Who’s that with you?”
“Patrolman Tavis Bradley of the Deadwood Police Department.” I held my free hand up. “The woman in the casino who was getting money from the ATM? We believe that she might be Roberta Payne, who went missing from Gillette, Wyoming, three months ago.”
“I don’t know no Roberta Payne.” There was a long pause. “I don’t know if I even believe you’re a sheriff.”
“If you let me get close enough I’ll show you my badge, and Tavis here can show you a whole uniform, if you’d like.”
His head turned as he glanced around. “Where’s that big Indian guy?”
“He’s not with us anymore—maybe he’s with your friends?” An out-and-out lie, but it was all I could think of to say. I took another step and could see that there were two more people sitting in the truck. “Look, we just want to talk to you about the woman—”
“He says that somebody’s after her.”
I took a breath, just to let him know that he’d slipped up. “So, they are with you?”
He gestured with the rifle again. “I’m just telling you what he said before. Now, turn around and head back out of here before I make you sorry you followed me.”
“What’s your friend’s name?”
“Go away.”
I figured I’d put my cards on the table, so to speak. “Willie, you know I can’t do that. I’m trying to find this woman for her mother, who doesn’t know where she is or what happened to her. Now, if she doesn’t want to go back there that’s her business, but I need to speak with her and make sure she’s all right and that there’s nothing illegal going on.”
He didn’t move, not a muscle as near as I could see, and it was as if he were some kind of black cardboard cutout in a cheap community play, until the man in the cab raised the barrel of a pistol and aimed it at Willie and I heard a woman scream, “No!”
10
Willie fell forward, and another round passed through the collar of my sheepskin coat, grazed off my neck like a vengeful hornet, and yanked me sideways. I immediately raised my Colt.
I’m pretty sure that one of the buffalo rammed smack into the truck. Huge, wooly animals were shooting off in every direction as I turned to yell at Tavis to stay with me, but the young patrolman, clutching his side, with the Glock next to him and a lot of blood sprayed across the white hillside, was lying in the snow.
I grabbed him. “C’mon, we’ve got to get out of here.”
“He shot me!” He tried to pull away. “I swear to God, he shot me!”
Pulling the kid up onto my left shoulder, keeping the .45 aimed on the truck, I staggered forward with buffalo galloping around us like cue balls looking for a good strike. One brushed extremely close, and I fell with the kid but scrambled up, dragging him by his arm as he screamed.