Free Fire Part 7

Stunned, he turned to walk away. But to where? How could this be happening?

And to think, three months ago he'd been famous.

Part two

YELLOWSTONE ACT, 1872.

AN ACT TO SET APART A CERTAIN TRACT OF.

LAND LYING NEAR THE HEADWATERS OF THE.

YELLOWSTONE RIVER AS A PUBLIC PARK,.

Approved March 1, 1872 (17 Stat. 32) SEC 2. That said public park shall be under the exclusive controlof the Secretary of the Interior, whose duty it shall be, as soon as practicable, to make and publish such rules and regulationsas he may deem necessary or proper for the care and managementof the same. Such regulations shall provide for the preservation, from injury or spoliation, of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities, or wonders within said park, and their retention in their natural condition. The Secretary may in his discretion, grant leases for building purposes for terms not exceeding ten years, of small parcels of ground, at such places in said park as shall require the erection of buildings for the accommodationof visitors; all of the proceeds of said leases, and all other revenues that may be derived from any source connected with said park, to be expended under his direction in the managementof the same, and the construction of roads and bridle-pathstherein. He shall provide against the wanton destruction of the fish and game found within said park, and against their captureor destruction for the purposes of merchandise or profit. He shall also cause all persons trespa.s.sing upon the same after the pa.s.sage of this act to be removed therefrom, and generally shall be authorized to take all such measures as shall be necessary or proper to fully carry out the objects and purposes of this act. (U.S.C., t.i.tle 16, sec. 22.) That said public park shall be under the exclusive controlof the Secretary of the Interior, whose duty it shall be, as soon as practicable, to make and publish such rules and regulationsas he may deem necessary or proper for the care and managementof the same. Such regulations shall provide for the preservation, from injury or spoliation, of all timber, mineral deposits, natural curiosities, or wonders within said park, and their retention in their natural condition. The Secretary may in his discretion, grant leases for building purposes for terms not exceeding ten years, of small parcels of ground, at such places in said park as shall require the erection of buildings for the accommodationof visitors; all of the proceeds of said leases, and all other revenues that may be derived from any source connected with said park, to be expended under his direction in the managementof the same, and the construction of roads and bridle-pathstherein. He shall provide against the wanton destruction of the fish and game found within said park, and against their captureor destruction for the purposes of merchandise or profit. He shall also cause all persons trespa.s.sing upon the same after the pa.s.sage of this act to be removed therefrom, and generally shall be authorized to take all such measures as shall be necessary or proper to fully carry out the objects and purposes of this act. (U.S.C., t.i.tle 16, sec. 22.)

6.

On the morning joe was to leave for yellowstonehe took the girls to school in the white Yukon the state had a.s.signed him. It was the same one that had delivered Chuck Ward to the ranch. There was a brief flare-up between Sheridan and Lucy regarding who would get the front seat and who would have to cram into the backseat along with his duffel bags of clothes and outdoor gear. Sheridan won the battle with the oldest trick in the book-pointing toward the horizon and saying,"Look!"-thereby distracting Lucy and Joe while she scrambled into the front.

It was a brilliant crisp fall day, no wind, colors in the river bottoms igniting as the sun lit them like lantern mantles. Althoughit wasn't a green pickup with the p.r.o.nghorn antelope Game and Fish logo on the door and a light bar on top, Joe acquaintedhimself with his new vehicle. The Yukon was unabashedlybig, tall, roomy, heavy, and powerful. He felt only slightly guilty about liking it so much. Joe prayed he could returnit in one piece.

From the backseat, Lucy asked, "Does this car waste a lot of gasoline?"

Like sailors on sh.o.r.e leave "waste" beer, Joe thought. But he simply said, "Yes." Joe thought. But he simply said, "Yes."

"Why can't you have something that's better for the environment?"

"Because I'm taking it into some pretty rough country and it's nearly winter, so I might need four-wheel drive."

"Hmmpf."

Sheridan ignored the exchange and picked up a FedEx box near her feet. "Can I look inside?"

"Sure," he said. The box had arrived the previous afternoon from headquarters in Cheyenne. As he had antic.i.p.ated, there was no "Welcome Back, Joe!" note inside from Randy Pope.

But there was a badge, and credentials.

Sheridan looked through the embroidered shoulder patches, a new name tag, newly issued statute booklets, recent memos paper-clipped together, a handheld radio. She opened the plasticbox with the small gold s.h.i.+eld inside.

"Number fifty-four," she said. "Didn't you used to have a lower badge number?"

Joe smiled ruefully, surprised she had paid attention. "I used to have number twenty-one."

There were only fifty-four game wardens in the state, and the higher the seniority, the lower the number. Even though Pope had been ordered to restore his salary and pension, the governor probably hadn't thought of asking to rea.s.sign his number. The high badge number was usually given to trainees fresh out of college, and it sent an obvious message.

"That's so unfair."

"It's all right," he said, thinking, Yes, it was a slap in the face. But not unexpected Yes, it was a slap in the face. But not unexpected.

"I used to look at your badge every morning at breakfast," she said. "That's how I remembered."

Joe felt a sentimental pang. He had no idea.

"We're going to visit you in Yellowstone Park, right?" Lucy asked.

"Yup."

"Mom told me we almost went there once," she said. "Mrs. Hanson says it's a great place but people are ruining it."

"You were a baby," Joe said, choosing not to comment on what her teacher had said.

"You're still still a baby," Sheridan said, getting in a dig when the opportunity presented itself, which was in the job description of being an older sister. a baby," Sheridan said, getting in a dig when the opportunity presented itself, which was in the job description of being an older sister.

"Dad!" Lucy protested.

He admonished, "Sheridan . . ." "Sheridan . . ."

As they neared Saddlestring, Joe said, "Be good for your mom while I'm gone. Help her out."

"We will," they mumbled.

He didn't look at them because he didn't want them to see mist in his eyes. "I'm going to miss you girls."

And he wished, for a moment, that he wasn't so d.a.m.ned thrilled about getting his job back.

Marybeth was still at home when he returned, which was unusual. So was the fire in the seldom-used stone fireplace. Joe noted that the curtains were drawn, and recalled opening them that morning.

When she came down the hall in her robe, Joe understood.

"The girls are gone, Bud and Missy went to town, and I called the office and told them I'd be late," she said. Her blond hair fell on her shoulders, her eyes caught the flames of the fire.

"I was thinking of a proper send-off," she said, smiling. "But I decided on an improper one." She gestured toward a jumble of quilts that were spread out in front of the fireplace. He hadn't noticed when he entered.

"What, again?" he said, instantly regretting his choice of words.

"Mr. Romantic," she said, shaking her head.

"Please ignore what I just said," stepping toward her.

"I already have."

"You make it tough to go."

"Exactly."

As he cleared the timber, mountain meadows opened up and so did the view. Dark folds of timbered slopes stretched in all directions and the pale sky fused into the horizon, giving Joe a once-familiar "top of the world" view that now matched his att.i.tude. The two-lane ribbon that was U.S. Highway 14 was rolled out straight and narrow before him. As he approached Burgess Junction, in the heart of the Bighorn National Forest, he had a decision to make. He could stay on 14 all the way to Yellowstone via Greybull and Cody, or take 14-A, the high-alt.i.tuderoute that included the Medicine Wheel Pa.s.sage. Rememberingthat when he went to Jackson two years before he chose 14-A and bad things followed, he opted to stay on 14 this time. Superst.i.tion.

On top, he got a cell signal again and his phone burred. Chuck Ward was calling from Cheyenne. Joe eased off the highway onto the shoulder and parked.

"We've notified the National Park Service that you want to meet with the investigating rangers," Ward said. "They've a.s.sembledthe princ.i.p.als for a meeting at four this afternoon at their offices. The chief ranger, James Langston, will be there as well. They didn't seem real excited about the prospect of meetingwith you, but they agreed."

"I thought I was going incognito," Joe said, puzzled at the change in strategy.

"The governor had a slight change of mind," Ward said flatly. "He didn't want to risk them finding out about you after the fact and raising h.e.l.l with us. Our relations.h.i.+p with the Feds is bad enough without that. We told them you were up there to write a report about the crime and the investigation for the state attorney general's office. A summary of what's happened."

"You mean there isn't already a report?"

"If there is such an animal," Ward explained, "the Feds have kept it all to themselves, which isn't unprecedented. All we've got is what was in the file the governor gave you. Lots of pieces, but no definitive white paper. The Park Service has agreed to cooperate with you as long as you don't interfere with them."

Joe held the phone away for a moment and looked at it as if it would provide more information. Then: "Won't the Park Servicewonder why the governor isn't sending the AG or one of his lawyers? Why send a game warden?"

"Because," Ward said, changing his voice and cadence to imitate Rulon's rapid-fire speaking style, " 'You're well versed in many facets of outdoor issues including law enforcement and resource management.' "

"I am?"

"I'm quoting, so don't ask."

Joe didn't.

"Also, don't wear your uniform. It might spook 'em. They don't like state interlopers up there in their park. They consider the place their own little private fiefdom."

Joe nodded, although he knew Ward wouldn't know he had.

"And, Joe, nothing about that letter from Rick Hoening should be brought up, understand?"

"Not really," Joe said, feeling as if Ward was already tugging at the rug he was standing on.

"And if they want to make you a 'special policeman,' don't do it," Ward said. "You can't divide your loyalty."

"What's a special policeman?" Joe asked, the image of a helmeted Keystone Kop appearing in his mind.

"Who the h.e.l.l knows? Something the Park Service does for local law enforcement. Like deputizing you, I guess. The guy who set up the meeting, Del Ashby, suggested it. He's your contact.His t.i.tle is supervisory special agent, Branch of Law EnforcementServices, Office of Investigations. How's that for a mouthful?"

"Sounds official," Joe said.

"Just wait," Ward laughed. "They'll need to order bigger business cards up there if their t.i.tles keep getting longer. Anyway,ask for Del Ashby."

"They won't like me second-guessing their investigation," Joe said.

"Nope, they won't."

"Four o'clock," Joe repeated.

"Yes. And remember, nothing about the letter."

Joe found himself frowning. "So, what is it I'm supposed to report?"

"You'll have to figure that out on your own. The governor said to do what you do and try not to create any problems. You'll be there as our representative, but it's federal and they have the right to throw you out anytime."

"I'm confused," Joe said.

He could hear Ward sigh. "So am I," he confessed.

"It seems like you're really hanging me out there."

"We are. Why did you ever think different?"

As Joe started to close the phone, he heard Ward say, "Don't contact me unless it's an emergency. And whatever you do, don't call the governor."

At burgess junction there was a gas station, a restaurant,a gift shop, a sporting goods store, and a saloon all locatedin the same weathered log building. The owners also rented cabins. As Joe pulled into the parking lot, it appeared that the place was busy. Of course it was, he thought, it's huntingseason.

Unshaven men in camo coats and blaze orange hats milled on the wooden porch and around the cabins in back. Four-wheel drive vehicles and ATVs were parked wherever the trees were cleared. The air smelled of wood smoke, gasoline, and tallow. Field-dressed mule deer and elk carca.s.ses hung in the trees, rib cages opened to the air to cool, the view inside the cavities red-white-red like split and flattened barber poles.

"Those yours?" Joe asked one of the hunters on the porch.

"The elk? Got 'em this morning."

"Mind if I take a look?"

"Feel free."

He couldn't help himself; old habits die hard. The first thing he noticed as he inspected the hanging carca.s.ses was that the elk were well taken care of. Hides had been removed, cavities scrubbed clean, tags visible. He searched for entrance and exit wounds and could see that only one of the animals had taken a body shot. The others, apparently, had been killed by bullets to the head or neck. Very clean kills. The hunters knew what they were doing and they took pride in their work. The elk were big and healthy, another good thing. The inch-thick layers of fat along their backbones, white and scalloped, was proof of the excellent habitat and resource management.

"Nice," Joe said to the hunter who had accompanied him from the porch.

"Want to see the antlers?"

"Nah, that's all right."

Joe didn't care about antlers, just that the herd was healthy and the job of harvesting done right.

"Good work," he said, nodding.

"We take it seriously," the hunter said. "If you're going to take an animal's life, you owe it to that elk to take responsibility."