Savage Run

21

Early on Saturday morning, Joe Pickett finished his monthly report for his area supervisor, Trey Crump. In it, he dutifully explained the status of the situation regarding Jim Finotta. At the conclusion of the report, after a summary of elk herd trend counts and citations issued, he wrote that he had reason to believe that someone impersonating the environmental terrorist Stewie Woods was holed up in a remote cabin somewhere in the Bighorn Mountains. He said he planned to investigate the possibility later that day.

When the report was complete, he attached it to an e-mail and sent it to Crump’s office in Cody.

Joe rolled his chair back and exited his tiny home office. Both Lucy and April had been picked up earlier for a weekend church camp, leaving ten-year-old Sheridan (whose age group would go to the camp in the next week) alone and in front of the television watching morning cartoons and enjoying her solitude.

Marybeth was descending the stairs. Joe stopped and watched her, then whistled. She waved him away. She had already been out to the stables to feed the horses. She had returned, showered, and changed clothes. Her hair was up and she wore a white blouse and pleated khakis. She would be working at the library today until three. She looked concerned.

“Is it still your plan to see if you can find that cabin today?” She didn’t say “Stewie” or “Stewie’s cabin,” Joe noted. She spoke low enough not to be overhead by Sheridan in the other room.

“I’m going to leave as soon as I finish getting ready,” he said.

She met him at the base of the stairs and stopped on the last step. “I don’t like the idea of you going up there alone.”

He reached for her and put his hands on her hips. “Are you afraid I’m going to punch him in the nose? I just might, you know.”

“Joe, I’m not kidding. He’s expecting me and if you show up. well, who knows?”

Joe sized up Marybeth. “You look good today,” he said. “What time do you need to leave for the library?”

“We don’t have time for that.” A look of exasperation came over Marybeth’s face. “I’m not kidding you, Joe. It’s not a good idea for you to go up there without any backup. You know that.”

Joe thought about it for a moment.

“You’re letting your feelings cloud your judgment.” Marybeth said. “That’s not like you.”

Joe had to agree. “I’ll call Sheriff Barnum.”

She nodded. “Good.”

“And I’ll run it by Trey in Cody.”

“Better still.”

He stepped aside so Marybeth could get her purse and sack lunch for her day at the library.

Before she left, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply. It was much more than a morning good-bye kiss.

“I’ve never seen you jealous before, Joe, and don’t get me wrong. it’s flattering,” she said, holding his face inches from hers. “But you have nothing to worry about. You’re my man.” Then she smiled.

Slightly flustered, Joe smiled back.

“I should be back by dark,” he said. “I’ll call as soon as I’m back in cell phone range.”

She fluttered her eyes coquettishly. “I’ll be waiting.”

Sheridan overheard her mother and moaned from the living room.

Marybeth’s car was pulling out onto the Bighorn Road when Trey Crump called Joe on his office telephone. Crump was a game warden with twenty-one years of experience and was known as one of the real good ones. He was tough, fair, independent, and knowledgeable and as area supervisor he had the reputation of standing by the wardens he oversaw. It was rare for him to call, and even rarer for Crump to read Joe’s monthly report the day Joe sent it.

“Before we get to this part about trying to find Stewie Woods,” Crump said gruffly, “what in the hell did you do to piss off this Jim Finotta guy so bad?”

Joe said there was nothing more than what was in the report; he suspected Finotta of poaching and was trying to pursue the case.

“I hear he’s an asshole,” Crump said.

“What you hear is correct.”

“There’s all kinds of heat and light going on at headquarters over this,” Crump sighed. “The director has called me twice in the last week to ask you to cool it. He kind of wanted me to agree that you’re being overzealous and need to be reined in.”

Joe smiled to himself. “But you didn’t call.”

“Hell no, I didn’t call. I don’t raise hell with game wardens for doing their jobs. If a guy shoots an elk out of season, I don’t give a shit how much a guy has contributed to the governor’s campaign or who he knows in Washington.”

“So why are you calling now?”

He could hear Crump shuffling papers. “How much credibility do you give this Stewie Woods thing?”

“I’m not sure,” Joe answered. “Marybeth isn’t sure, either, and she actually knew the guy. I mentioned those phone calls she’s been getting in my report. So I’m going to check it out.”

“It would be a hell of a note if this guy was still alive,” Crump grumbled. “Most everybody I know would look at that as bad news.”

Joe laughed. “That’s how most of the folks think around here, too. But it sure is curious, isn’t it?”

Crump had to agree with that. He asked Joe to call and let him know what he found out.

Sheriff Barnum wasn’t in and neither was Deputy McLanahan. Joe left a message with the dispatcher for either man to call him and left his cell phone number. He was secretly pleased they were both unavailable. The last thing he wanted to do was turn this over to them or to get their assistance.

Joe hooked up the two-horse slant-load trailer, saddled Lizzie, and loaded her in. After starting the engine of his pickup, Joe paused to take inventory. The radio, GPS unit, cell phone, and light-control switchbox mounted to the dashboard were all operational. His Redfield spotting scope was on the console next to his file of maps, as well as his Steiner binoculars. Under his seat was the department-issued M14 carbine, and the short 12 gauge shotgun was mounted upright in back of the passenger seat. A.22 revolver loaded with blanks, for the purpose of scaring game animals out of private pastures or other places they didn’t belong, was in a holster on the floor. The evidence kit, camera and lenses, first-aid kit, rain gear, and flares were packed into the center console. He checked the batteries on the small tape recorder he used for interviews. On his belt were handcuffs, a thin canister of pepper spray, a Leatherman, and his holster with the.357 Magnum Smith and Wesson revolver. Joe’s personal weapon of choice, his Remington Wingmaster 12 gauge shotgun, was behind the seat, secured by Velcro straps. His water bottle and Thermos of coffee were full, and he had packed a lunch of salami, cheddar cheese, and an apple.

From inside the house, Maxine howled a pathetic, mournful wail. She did not like to be left behind. Joe looked up to see Maxine being pulled away from the front window by Sheridan, who waved at him.

“Bye, babe,” Joe waved back at Sheridan.

He unfolded the paper with the directions to the cabin that Marybeth had been given over the telephone.

Then he pulled his hat brim down low, backed the pickup down the driveway to the Bighorn Road, and pointed it toward the mountains.