The impact the industry had made on my life had been relatively negligible. Other than the odd roughneck getting overly self-medicated and needing some downtime in the jail, keeping the ranchers and the drillers from killing each other was about it. I suppose I looked at methane development as a false economy in a boom-and-bust cycle.
When I got to the site, there didn’t seem to be anybody outside, and there was no activity on the rig itself. I don’t know that much about methane drilling, but just about everything shuts down in my part of the world when the temperature closes in past zero. The printing on the truck doors read NORTHERN ROCKIES ENERGY EXPLORATION, an outfit out of Casper. I waited, but no one in the truck was moving very fast to see what I wanted; finally, the man in the driver’s seat tightened the hood of his Carhartt coveralls and climbed out. He walked in front of my truck, opened the door, and climbed in on the passenger side, slamming the door behind him.
He peeled the hood back, pulled the fleece scarf from his face, and revealed a set of pale blue eyes. He was of average height, but was disproportionately large in the shoulders and hands, one of which he had de-gloved and held out to me. Between the glove finger in his mouth and the amount of ferocious red beard he had to talk through, I had to listen carefully to understand him. “Wanna thank you for cumin’ down, but I think we got ’er under control.”
I looked at him. “No problem.” I kept looking at him in hopes that he would say something more on the offhand chance that I might understand it. I took the hand that was almost as large as my own. “Why don’t you just tell me all about it?”
We shook, and he nodded and pulled the hood all the way back to reveal a lot more red hair and a yellow Northern Rockies Energy Exploration hat. “He’s not a bad ol’ boy, he just gets carried away some times.” He looked at his lap. “I’m not gonna lie to you, mighta been some drugs. Shit, he’s so loopy he couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn.” He sniffed. “Just a little ol’ thirtytu.” I looked at Yukon Cornelius and raised an eyebrow. “Ah’m aw right.” He nodded. “Just glanced a rib.” He assisted the last statement by unzipping his jacket and poking a finger through what I assumed was a bullet hole in both the front and rear of his coat. There was a dark stain at his side where the blue plaid flannel was exposed, but he only shrugged and looked at me. “Just a little ol’ thirtytu.” He nodded some more. “Told ’em not to call yuh.”
As far as I knew, they hadn’t. “Well, I like to be informed when people are shooting each other in my county.” I pulled the aluminum form folder from the door pocket, placed it on the center console between us, and pulled my pen from my shirtfront. I clicked it. “What’s his name?”
He took a deep breath. “Cecil Keller.” He looked at me, and I was impressed by the direct and steady quality of his gaze. “Constable, I just don’ want him to get in trouble fer this.”
“You don’t want to lose him?”
He shrugged. “He’s just a dumb kid.”
After a moment, I clicked the pen closed and placed it on the clipboard. “What’s your name?”
He automatically stuck out his hand again. “Jess Aliff, foreman.”
We shook again. “Jess, unless you’re willing to press charges, seeing as how you’re the one that he shot, I can’t do too much about this, but I have to file a report on any gunshot wounds in my jurisdiction.” He nodded some more and pulled at a wayward blondish-red tuft just below his lower lip. “But I don’t suppose you’re planning on going to a hospital?”
He blew out a dismissal puff of air and looked at me. “Naw.”
“Well, then I guess there’s not a lot to do officially.” His mood visibly brightened. “But I don’t like the idea of drug-crazed individuals running around my county with unregistered weapons shooting people.” He nodded and did his best to look serious. “Mister Keller is going to have to come in with the gun and have a little chat with me tomorrow.”
We both nodded. I looked out the windshield at the silent rig and the assembled vehicles idling in the frigid air. “Quite an operation you’ve got going here.”
He followed my gaze. “Not today.”
“Just out of curiosity, what does an outfit like this produce in a day?”
He thought and pulled at the tuft again; I was starting to see a pattern. “Well, we’re on tap with three pods, the biggest on the tail end of the Big George coal seam, 220 heads.”
“High production?”
“Oh, yeah.”
Millions. I looked back out the windshield and let it sink in. “How long have you fellas been in operation here?”
“A little less than a year.”
That was a lot of methane being pulled out of the ground of Four Brothers Ranch. From my quick glance at the mineral rights at the courthouse, I figured the Barojas were making more than a lot of money but, if Mari had died of natural causes, there was no need to search for a motive. I had piqued my own curiosity and was going to have to go back to the courthouse, but it was creeping up on five o’clock. There was always tomorrow. I looked back at the man sitting in my passenger seat. “ ’Bout time for you guys to pack it in, isn’t it?”
He glanced past me to the truck alongside. “They will. I’ll stick aroun’ to see if the weather changes.” Before he climbed out, I reminded him that I wanted to talk to Mr. Keller tomorrow. Mr. Aliff said he’d make sure that the young man would be there first thing, and I had no doubts that he would. Mr. Aliff did not strike me as a trifling individual, bullet holes notwithstanding.
I did some quick figures as I carefully picked my way across the ridge to the county road and back toward the highway. I was tired, but I needed to talk to someone about all of this before I went and talked to Lucian. I figured I’d check in at the office, gas up, stop by the house to check for snowdrifts, and go see Henry Standing Bear.
When I got to the office it was close to six, but I recognized every vehicle, including one that took me a minute. I parked the Bullet and took a deep breath to prepare myself for what was inside.
When I opened the office door, I became instantly aware of a kangaroo court in full session. It was in the air, like the snowflakes. Ruby was seated at her desk, and Vic was leaning against it with her arms folded; Saizarbitoria was standing a little away-he probably didn’t want to get blood on the borrowed uniform. I noticed they were all holding plastic wine glasses, except for Sancho, and there was an open bottle of merlot on Ruby’s desk.
I closed the door behind me and turned to look at all of them. There were a number of Post-its on the doorjamb of my office, but I figured I’d get to those. I was about to say something witty when I caught a pair of very nice legs out of the corner of my eye belonging to someone sitting in one of my visitors’ chairs with a coat and a large dog head on her lap. I leaned forward around the coat rack and met a vivacious set of deep-sea blues, “Hello.”
“Hello.”
“Slow day at the safe-deposit boxes?” I leaned a little farther and took her all in. Dog didn’t move, and I didn’t blame him.
Her hand paused on his head, and she looked down; she was also holding one of the plastic wine glasses. “What’s your dog’s name?”
I felt just a little ashamed. “He doesn’t really have one. I’ve been calling him Dog.” I looked back at her. “I’ve only had him for a couple of weeks now.”
She did a slow nod. “I hope you don’t mind. I thought I’d stop by and deliver a gift of gratitude for last night.” She raised the glass in a slight toast and then used it to gesture toward the pack. “They said it was okay.”
I looked at the assembly. “I bet they did.” I made a great show of pulling out my pocket watch. “Whose got the watch tonight?” Both Ruby and Vic finally looked at something other than Maggie Watson. I looked over at Saizarbitoria, too. “You pulling double duty?”