“Yes, very good, thanks.”
“Put it away in an awful hurry. Out to Larsen’s?”
“No, I was there yesterday. Bred heifers. They held everything back.”
“They’re big on next year. I wonder if it does them any good.”
“Well, they’re still in business, ain’t they? No, I’m headed for Jorgensen’s. Big day.”
Two of the ranchers, done eating, leaned in their chairs, their Stetsons back on their heads while they picked their teeth with the corners of the menus. As Dave pushed his wallet into his back pocket he realized he was being followed to the door. He didn’t turn until halfway across the parking lot. When he did, the gun was in his belly, and his new friend was in his face. “Ray. Where’s your ride?”
“You robbing me?”
“I just need a lift, amigo.”
Ray got in the front seat of Dave’s car, tucked the gun into his pants, and pulled his shirt over it, a blue terry-cloth shirt with a large breast pocket full of ballpoint pens. The top flap of the pocket liner was courtesy of “Powell Savings, Modesto, CA.”
“Nice car. What’re all the files in back?”
“Breeding records, cattle-breeding records.”
“Mind?” Without awaiting an answer, he picked up Dave’s cell phone and began tapping in a number. In a moment, his voice changed to an intimate murmur. “I’m here, or almost here,” he said, covering the mouthpiece as he pointed to the intersection: “Take that one right there.” Dave turned east at the intersection. “I got it wrote down someplace, east two hundred, north thirteen, but give it to me again, my angel. Or I can call you as we get closer … No cell service! Starting where? Never mind, a friend’s giving me a lift”—again he covered the mouthpiece—“your name?”
“David.”
“From?”
“Reed Point.”
“Yeah, great guy, Dave, I knew back in Reed Place.”
“Reed Point.”
“I mean, Reed Point. Left the Quattro for an oil change, and Dave said he was headed this way. Wouldn’t even let me split the gas … So, okay, just leaving Jordan now. How much longer is that gonna be, Morsel?… Two hours! Are you kidding?… Yeah, right, okay, got it, I’m just anxious to see you, baby, not being short with you at all.”
Ray turned away and murmured softly, lovingly, and then lifting his eyes to the empty miles of sagebrush, snapped shut the phone and sighed. “Two fucking hours.” Except for the gun in his pants, Ray could have been any other impatient lovebird. He turned the radio on: Swap Shop was playing: “Broken refrigerator suitable for a smoker.” Babies bawling in the background. He turned it off. Dave was trying to guess if he was a fugitive, someone Dave could bring to justice for a reward or just the fame, which might be good for business. He had tried every other promotional gambit, including refrigerator magnets with his face beside the slogan DON’T GO BUST SHIPPING DRIES.
“Wanna pick up the tempo here? You’re driving like my grandma.”
“This is not a great road. Deer jump out all the time. My cousin had one come through the windshield on him.”
“Fuckin’ pin it or I’ll take the wheel and drive it like I stole it.”
David sped up slightly. This seemed to placate Ray, who slumped against the side window and stared at the passing landscape. An old pickup went by the other way with a dead animal in back, one upright leg trailing an American flag.
“Ray, do you feel like telling me what this is all about?”
“Sure, Dave, it’s all about you doing exactly as you’re told.”
“I see. And I’m taking you somewhere, am I?”
“Uh-huh, and waiting around as needed. Jesus Christ, if this isn’t the ugliest country I ever seen.”
“How did you pick me?”
“I didn’t pick you, I picked your car. You were a throw-in. If I hadn’t a took you along you’d of had to report it stolen. This way you still got it. It’s a win-win. The other lucky thing for you is you’re now my partner.”
The road followed Big Dry Creek, open range with occasional buttes, mostly to the north. “I guess this is the prairie out here, huh, Dave? It’s got a few things going for it: no blood on the ground, no chalk outlines, no police tape. Let’s hear it for the prairie!” Ray gaped around in dismay, then with rising irritation sought something that pleased him on the radio. After nearly two hours, passed mostly in silence, a light tail-dragger aircraft with red-and-white-banded wings overtook them and landed about a quarter of a mile down the road. The pilot climbed out and shuffled their way. Dave rolled down the window to reveal a weathered angular face in a cowboy hat, sweat stained above the brim. “You missed your turn. Mile back turn north on the two-track.” Ray seemed to be trying to convey a greeting that showed all his teeth but was ignored by the pilot. “Nice little Piper J-3 Cub,” Ray said, again ignored.
The pilot strode back to the plane and taxied straight down the road. Once airborne again, he banked sharply over a five-strand barbed-wire fence, startling seven cows and their calves, which ran into the sage scattering clouds of pollen and meadowlarks.
Ray said, “Old fellow back at the hotel said there’s supposed to be a lot of dinosaurs around here.” He gazed at the pale light of a gas well on a far ridge.
“That’s what they say.”
“What d’you suppose one of them is worth, like a whole Tyrannosaurus rex?”
Dave just looked at Ray. They were coming on the two-track. It was barely manageable in an ordinary sedan. Dave couldn’t imagine how it was negotiated in winter or spring, when the way was full of the notorious local gumbo. He’d delivered a Charolais bull somewhere nearby one fall, and it was bad enough then. Plus, the bull tore up his trailer, and he’d lost money on the deal.
“So, Dave, now we’re about to arrive I should tell you what the gun is for. I’m here to meet a girl, but I don’t know how it’s gonna turn out. I may need to bail, and you’re my getaway. The story is, my car is in for maintenance. But you’re staying until we see how this is going, so you can carry me out of here if necessary.”
“Let’s say I understand, but what does this all depend on?”
“It depends on whether I like the girl or not, whether we’re compatible and want to start a family business. I have a lot I’d like to pass on to the next generation. Plus, I got a deal for her that’s even more important than the ro-mance.”
The next bend revealed the house, a two-story ranch building barely hanging on to its last few chips of paint. “He must have landed in that field!” said Dave while Ray gazed at the Montana state flag popping on an iron flagpole.
“Oro y plata.” He chuckled. “Perfect. Now, Davey, I need you to bone up on the situation here. This is Weldon Case’s cattle ranch, and it runs from here for the next forty miles or so of bad road that leads right into the Bakken oil field, which is where all the oro y plata is at the moment. I’m guessing that was Weldon in the airplane. I met his daughter Morsel through a dating service. Well, we haven’t actually met in person, but we’re about to. Morsel thinks she loves me, so we’re just gonna have to see about that. If she decides otherwise, she still may want to do the business deal. All you need to know is that Morsel thinks I’m an Audi dealer from Simi Valley, California. She’s going on one photograph of me standing in front of a flagship Audi. You decide you want to help, you may see more walkin’-around money than you’re used to. If you don’t, well, you’ve already seen how I make my wishes come true.” He patted the bulge of blue terry cloth.
Dave pulled up under the gaze of Weldon Case. Before turning off the engine, he saw Weldon call out over his shoulder to the house. Dave rolled down the windows, and the prairie wind rushed in. Weldon stared at the two visitors, returning their nearly simultaneous greetings with a mere nod. “It’s the cowboy way,” muttered Ray through a forced smile. “Or either he’s retarded. Dave, ask him if he remembers falling from his high chair.”