And we're just back from Arizona, where we had a nice chat with Eugene's wife, Louise. So whatever is going on, we're in on it. Now, I'm going to call and talk to Phil before any of us move down that road."
"What for?"
"Because I've got a bad feeling about this. Was Kevin Kerney with Karen today?"
"I don't know. I haven't seen my daughter since early this morning."
Jim stepped back to the Mustang, grabbed the cellular phone, and dialed the number. Phil's wife, Doris, answered.
"Doris, this is Jim Stiles. Is Phil home?"
"Jim! I was so very sorry to hear what happened to you. Are you up and around now?"
"I'm much better, thanks. Is Phil there?"
"Not yet."
"Do you know where he is?" Jim asked.
"I have no idea."
"Is he with Eugene?"
"No. But Sheriff Gatewood is. His police car is parked outside."
"Is anyone with Omar, Doris?"
"I think so. PJ said he saw a man with him. I don't know who it is."
"Let me talk to PJ."
"He's down at the barn doing chores," Doris said.
"If you miss Phil, I'll let him know you called when he gets home."
"Thanks, Doris." Jim hit the disconnect button.
"Phil and Karen haven't showed up yet, and Omar Gatewood, who was supposed to be in Silver City, is with Gene. He brought somebody with him. I think it may be Kerney.
"I'm going to give you some lawful orders, Edgar, and I expect you to follow them," Jim continued.
"Officer Hamilton and I are going to ride in the back of your truck. If we see anything unusual at all, I'll order you to stop. Do it right away. If not, just before you reach the ranch, there's a slight downgrade as you come around the last hill."
"I grew up here, damn it!"
"Yes, sir. I know that. Stop the truck before the curve and stay in the vehicle until I do a sweep, just to make sure everything is all right."
"Is all this necessary?" Edgar demanded, as he took the truck keys back from Stiles.
Cody looked at Jim with wide, excited eyes. Edgar pulled him away from the open window and sat him down on the seat.
"Just do as I say, Mr. Cox," Jim said in exasperation.
"Understand?"
"I can follow orders."
"Good. Are you carrying any firearms?"
"There's a Colt thirty-eight in the glove box."
"Grab it by the barrel and hand it over."
Edgar gave Jim the pistol, and he handed it to Molly.
"Hold on to this for me."
"This is ridiculous," Edgar said.
"Maybe so, but Padilla Canyon taught me a lesson.
I'm not making any more assumptions about what is safe and what isn't until I check things out."
"You'd better know what you're doing," Edgar warned.
Bouncing along in the back of the truck, Molly sat with the pistol cradled in her hands. She looked at the gun and glanced over at Jim, who was resting against the wheel well.
"Officer Hamilton?" she whispered.
Jim grimaced.
"I didn't want to tell him you were my girl."
"Do you know what you're doing?"
"I think so."
"It turns you on, doesn't it?"
"What turns me on?"
"Cop stuff."
Jim chewed his lip before answering.
"Yeah, sometimes it does. Does that bother you?"
"No. What bothers me is that maybe you'll get hurt again."
Eugene Cox sat in his wheelchair in the front room dressed in starched military fatigues. An AK47 rested against the side of the chair. On the collar of his shirt were the eagles of a bird colonel, and on the left sleeve he wore a Catron County Militia unit patch. Freshly shaved, Eugene had combed his hair straight back over his ears.
The room was trashed with newspapers, magazines, military training manuals, maps, and a clutter of old household appliances that would make an antique dealer drool. There was a floor-size Emerson radio against one wall with a Polar Cub oscillating fan on top that pushed warm air around the room, fluttering the piles of newspapers.
Gatewood forced Kerney to sit on the floor and stood behind him. Kerney smiled up at Eugene Cox.
The old man ignored him. Caressing the barrel of the AK-47, he spoke to Omar.
"Where is Phil?"
"He'll be along shortly with Karen," Gatewood replied.
"We thought it best not to travel together."
Eugene nodded.
"I'll tell you what I told Phil," Omar added.
"You'll have to do your own dirty work on this one."
"Covering your ass, Omar? Or are you just a pantywaist?"
"You figure it out."
Eugene grunted.
"Sometimes I think you're just another dumbass politician."
"Think whatever you like," Omar replied.
"You still have to kill them if you want them dead."
"Fine." Eugene shifted his gaze to Kerney.
"Why are you smiling at me like a jackass? What's so damn funny?"
"Was I smiling?" Kerney answered.
Eugene's eyes bored into Kerney.
"Don't be a smartass. Answer the question."
Kerney considered the man in the wheelchair dressed in combat fatigues with his useless legs dangling to the floor.
"I was admiring your uniform."
Eugene sneered.
"You like it?"
"Not really. But I'd love to hear about the militia."
Eugene threw his head back, smiled widely, and showed his stained teeth.
"I bet you would."
"Why did you go after Jim Stiles?"
"Because he's the enemy, just like you. He's a diehard conservationist who doesn't understand history."
"What history is that?" Kerney asked.
"The history of revolution. The history of this country. The history of the men who settled the west. Who in the hell do you think preserved the land before the environmentalists began beating the drum? Ranchers.
Ranchers brought the elk back.
Ranchers protected the antelope. Ranchers saved the white-tailed deer."
"What's your point?"
"Blind, stupid government," Eugene roared.
"That's my point. When a man can't manage his land as he sees fit, something ain't right. The government forces us to move fences so elk can migrate, tells us to keep our cattle away from streams to protect the fish, orders us to shut down winter pasture that can't be replaced because it's a habitat for some worthless, disease-carrying rodent or an exotic butterfly nobody gives a damn about. It doesn't make a fucking bit of sense."
Eugene warmed to his speechifying.
"We pay taxes, higher grazing fees, and we still can't use the land the way God intended it to be used. We get shit on, and shit for it."
"It's a tough life," Kerney noted with sarcasm.
"Government interference will stop. That's what the militia stands for.
That's what we're all about."
"Killing people will certainly get the government's attention," Kerney said, tired of Gene's harangue. He changed the subject.
"Who shot Jim Stiles?"
"Phil," Eugene said proudly.
"He volunteered. Is there anything else you're dying to know?"
"Tell me what happened between you and Edgar at Elderman Meadows."
Eugene chuckled.
"It's a good story."
"I'd love to hear it."
Eugene thought about it for a minute.
"Why not?"
He grinned.
"But you've gotta promise you won't tell."
"I promise," Kerney replied.
Eugene slapped his thigh and chuckled.
"I like a man with a sense of humor. Back when Edgar and I were boys, our daddy sent us to Mangas Mountains to herd Padilla's sheep down to where some trucks were waiting to load them up. Now, Edgar had this real deep moral, do-right streak to him-he still does, far as I can tell-so Daddy told him we were just gonna be helping Padilla move his stock out of the mountains.
"Of course, we were rustling, but Daddy knew Edgar wouldn't stand for that, so he made up a helping-hand story for Edgar to swallow, figuring when it was all over the damage would be done and Edgar would have to put up with it or get the shit kicked out of him. He got the shit kicked out of him a lot back in those days."