Joe racked a sh.e.l.l into the chamber of his shotgun, then flipped the safety on and slid it muzzle-down onto the floorboards. He narrowed his eyes and gunned the truck up the gravel road.

As he cleared the hill he could see the light pickup Runyan had described. And she was right-it was in the process of pulling a post-and-wire fence down with a chain attached to its b.u.mper. The fence had been erected by the BLM and Forest Service to keep the public off of the management study area.

The truck was about a half-mile from Joe. On his present course, he would soon be on the road beneath it. In his mind, he replayed the scenario Wardell had described to him that night in the hospital: how the truck took off out of sight over a hill while Wardell pursued. Joe wasn't sure of the terrain over the hill, but he a.s.sumed it would be similar.

Despite the cold, Joe rolled down his window so he could hear the other vehicle better as he drove. As his BLM truck bucked and pitched on the frozen gravel road, the light-colored truck dropped in and out of view. Soon, Joe could hear the motor of the light-colored truck grinding in the still morning air. In a minute, Joe would be close enough to look up and see the driver, he thought, or perhaps a license plate.

But the next time the truck came into view, it was speeding away. Joe saw its outline against the deep blue sky as it crested the hill and went over it.

Following Wardell's script, Joe jerked the wheel and left the gravel road, pointing the squat nose of his BLM truck up the hill where he had last seen the other truck. He crashed through two crusty drifts, and nearly lost traction as he approached the top of the hill. His back wheels threw plumes of frozen gray dirt as the pickup fishtailed on dirt and ice, but then they caught solid rock and propelled him up and over the top.

Joe's heart pounded in his chest as he crested the ridge and plunged over it. The tire tracks from the other truck went down the hill and vanished into a wide, tall swath of evergreen brush at the bottom.

Joe reached for the shotgun, which had slid toward the pa.s.senger door during the rough ride up the hill, and pulled it close to him as he descended.

On cue, a light-colored truck emerged from the brush below and started climbing the opposite slope, directly across from him. The truck labored up the hill as well, sliding a little in loose shale and kicking out puffs of dislodged rock. At the rate Joe was flying down the hill and the other pickup was laboring up the opposite slope, he would be on it in seconds.

Joe tapped the brakes to slow his reckless plunge and gripped the wheel tighter. The tracks he drove in would soon be swallowed in the tangle of ancient juniper.

Suddenly, the brush closed over the top of his BLM truck and branches scratched the sides of his doors like fingernails on a chalkboard. A sap-heavy bough slapped the windshield, leaving needles and gray-blue berries smashed against the gla.s.s. He caught a flash of an opening through the branches ahead But then Joe did something Birch Wardell hadn't done. He slammed on his brakes. Then, throwing the pickup into reverse, he floored the accelerator at the same time that he cranked the steering wheel to the right. The engine whined and the tires bit, and the vehicle flew back and to the side through the brush in a cacophony of snapping branches.

BOOM!.

Joe hit something metal and solid so hard that his head jerked back and bounced off the rear-window gla.s.s. He slumped forward over the wheel as bright orange spangles washed across his eyes. Then smoke, or steam, enveloped the cab of the truck in darkness. Trying to shake his head clear, he looked up and smelled the steam. It was bitter and smelled like radiator fluid.

The spangles had shrunk to the size of shooting sparks when he fell out of the door of the pickup and landed on his hands and knees in the dirt and snow. His hat was smashed down hard on his head, and he pushed it up so he could see.

The twisted grille of the light-colored pickup furiously spewed green steam. A pool of radiator fluid smoked on the ground, and was beginning to cut its way through the snow toward him. Standing, Joe retrieved his shotgun from the seat. He walked around the back of the BLM pickup toward the vehicle he had smashed into.

The windshield of the light-colored truck was marred by a single spidery star where a man's head would have hit it. Joe skirted the steam and looked into the cab to see a man slumped over the steering wheel, a cap askew over his face and dark rivulets of blood coursing down from under the cap into the collar of his coat. Joe recognized the coat, and the logo that was painted on the truck's door even though a thick smear of mud had been applied to obscure it.

It was a flying T-Lok shingle with wings.

Joe opened the door, and Rope Latham, the roofer, moaned and rolled his head toward him.

"How bad are you hurt, Rope?" Joe asked.

"Bad, I think," Rope said. "I think I'm blind."

Joe reached into the cab and lifted the baseball cap that had fallen over Rope's eyes. A three-inch cut ran along Latham's eyebrows. The cut looked like it would require st.i.tches, Joe thought, but it didn't look much worse than that.

"I can see!" Rope cried.

"Climb on out of there," Joe ordered, prodding Rope Latham in the ribs with his shotgun. "Turn around and put your hands on the truck and kick your feet out."

Moaning, Latham obeyed.

Joe pulled each of Latham's arms back in turn and snapped handcuffs on his wrists. Then he turned Latham and pushed him back into the truck. Joe saw a Motorola Talkabout hand-held radio on the seat that Rope had obviously used to communicate with the other truck.

"Two trucks," Joe said. "Two identical Bighorn Roofing trucks. One goes down the hill and pulls over at the last second into the brush. Another truck that looks just the same starts up the other side of the hill where it's been parked out of sight. Looks like one truck that crosses the draw and goes on up the other side. Makes the poor BLM guy think he can cross the draw just like that other truck just did. Pretty good trick, even though he didn't die out here like you two intended."

Latham grimaced. Blood was pooling in his eyes as it ran down his face.

"There's a six-foot drop down there once you clear the brush, isn't there?" Joe asked.

"Spud thought of it," Latham said. "But we waited a couple days for that BLM guy to bite. It worked pretty good before."

Joe didn't say that seeing twin antelope fawns had led him to think of how they'd pulled it off.

Keeping Rope Latham in his peripheral vision, Joe stepped back and looked up the opposite slope. Spud Cargill, the other half of Bighorn Roofing, had stopped at the top of the hill and was looking back with binoculars. Joe grabbed the hand-held radio from Spud's pickup and held it up to his mouth.

"We've got you now, you son-of-a-b.i.t.c.h," he said, then tossed the radio back inside. Joe raised his arm and pointed his index finger at Cargill, who was still looking back through binoculars, and pretended to shoot him.

Spud's truck started to move again, and vanished over the top of the hill.

While Joe waited for Jamie Runyan to arrive in his pickup, Rope Latham began to tremble. He hoped Latham's injuries weren't worse than they appeared. Joe waited for Jamie Runyan to arrive in his pickup, Rope Latham began to tremble. He hoped Latham's injuries weren't worse than they appeared.

Joe read Rope his Miranda rights, then turned on the micro-recorder that he hid in his shirt pocket.

"Why were you targeting the BLM boys?" Joe asked. He leaned against a tree with his shotgun pointed vaguely at Rope Latham. The back of his own head had started to throb from the collision.

"They owed us money," Latham said dejectedly. "So did the G.o.dd.a.m.ned Forest Service."

"They owed you money?" Joe was confused. "What?"

"Those b.a.s.t.a.r.ds owed us from last summer. Twelve thousand dollars' worth of work we did for them on their buildings. We replaced all the roofs, and paid for the material in advance. But it's been six months and we still haven't been paid." Latham spat b.l.o.o.d.y saliva into the brush. "Some G.o.dd.a.m.ned problem with the check request the BLM sent to Cheyenne has held it all up, and me and Spud want our money. When it comes to paying their bills, our government is just f.u.c.ked. 'Maybe next month,' they tell us. s.h.i.t, how would those BLM s.h.i.theads feel if their paychecks were even a week late, much less six months?"

Joe pushed himself off the tree. The back of his neck was tingling, and it wasn't from hitting the window.

"These people throw money around like it isn't even real, you know? Just look at this stupid 'joint management' area that cost three million dollars between them just to string some fence and put up some signs."

"What did you say before about the Forest Service?"

Latham's voice suddenly caught in his throat. "Nothing."

"No, you said the Forest Service owed you money as well."

"f.u.c.kers." Latham coughed. "They're the worst of all. They owe us fifteen thousand from work we did last last summer!" summer!"

"This would be Lamar Gardiner," Joe said flatly.

"It was was Lamar Gardiner," Latham said, smiling wickedly. His teeth were pink from a cut in his mouth. "He wouldn't even return our calls about it, and he told Spud that if he didn't stop hara.s.sing him, we'd be off the government bid list for good and he'd press charges!" Lamar Gardiner," Latham said, smiling wickedly. His teeth were pink from a cut in his mouth. "He wouldn't even return our calls about it, and he told Spud that if he didn't stop hara.s.sing him, we'd be off the government bid list for good and he'd press charges!"

"Move aside," Joe ordered, and Latham slid along the truck away from the cab.

Reaching inside, Joe pulled the bench seat forward. A well-used compound bow was wedged between the seat and the cab wall. A narrow quiver of arrows lay next to it.

Joe slid one of the arrows out and held it up.

"Bonebuster," Joe said.

Latham's eyes bulged, and his face drained of color. At the same time, the cut on his forehead started to gush again.

Joe was stunned. "This was about some unpaid bills unpaid bills? You killed a man and tried to kill another because their agencies owed you money?"

Latham nodded, fear in his face because of Joe's tone.

"I ought to shoot you right here and leave you for the coyotes," Joe said icily. "Do you realize what you two idiots almost set in motion?"

Sheriff O. R. "Bud" Barnum sat sh.e.l.l-shocked as Joe Pickett dropped the bow and arrows with a clatter on his desk after he had turned Rope Latham over to Deputy Reed. O. R. "Bud" Barnum sat sh.e.l.l-shocked as Joe Pickett dropped the bow and arrows with a clatter on his desk after he had turned Rope Latham over to Deputy Reed.

"I got one of 'em," Joe said. "Spud Cargill is the other one and he got away. Rope shot the arrows and Spud cut Lamar's throat."

Barnum glared.

"Rope confessed everything on the way into town," Joe said. "I've got it on tape."

"Did you read him his rights?"

"That's on the tape."

"So where's Spud?"

"I don't know," Joe said. "Why don't you find him? You're the sheriff."

Barnum stared at Joe, his eyes darkening.

"I know you're busy with the Sovereigns and Melinda Strickland and 'Phase One' 'Phase One' and all, but Spud's driving a tan pickup with a Bighorn Roofing logo on the door and Wyoming plates. It shouldn't be all that hard to find," Joe said. He put his hands on Barnum's desk and leaned toward him. and all, but Spud's driving a tan pickup with a Bighorn Roofing logo on the door and Wyoming plates. It shouldn't be all that hard to find," Joe said. He put his hands on Barnum's desk and leaned toward him.

"This had nothing to do with any antigovernment movement in the county. It had to do with roofers who didn't get paid when they should have been paid." Joe glared at Barnum. "And it had a lot to do with sloppy police work by the sheriff's department."

Veins in Barnum's temples began to throb. But he said nothing.

"When you release Nate Romanowski, please tell him I'm looking forward to talking with him," Joe said. "That is, if your deputy is through hitting him with a hot shot."

Joe turned and walked out.

That night, in bed, Marybeth shook Joe awake. When he opened his eyes, he found her staring at him. night, in bed, Marybeth shook Joe awake. When he opened his eyes, he found her staring at him.

"I'm sorry about last night and this morning," she said. "You didn't deserve it."

"Yes, I did. You were right," he said, his mood suddenly lifting. "It's okay. The tension level was pretty high around here."

She smiled, but stayed silent.

"What?" he asked, finally.

"Joe, sometimes you amaze me. Two antelope fawns?"

He laughed.

Twenty-three.

In the morning, Joe confirmed Rope Latham's story with Carrie Gardiner. He found her standing in front of her house in a heavy coat, hugging herself with both arms. A big moving truck had backed up to her front door across the yard, and a crew was carrying furniture and boxes up a ramp from her house into the back of the trailer. Joe confirmed Rope Latham's story with Carrie Gardiner. He found her standing in front of her house in a heavy coat, hugging herself with both arms. A big moving truck had backed up to her front door across the yard, and a crew was carrying furniture and boxes up a ramp from her house into the back of the trailer.

"I heard," Joe said, tipping the brim of his hat toward the moving truck. "Where are you going?"

"My parents live in Nebraska." She sighed. "Still on the farm. They've got room for all of us."

"I'm sorry to see you leave."

Her eyes flared briefly. "I'm not," she said.

"You heard about Rope?"

"Yes. The sheriff called this morning. Thank you for arresting him."

"Yup."

"Please tell me what happened," Carrie said.

She listened, staring at her winter boots, while Joe told her everything Rope had said.

When he was done, she nodded.

"I believe it," she said.

"You do?"

She nodded sadly. "I wish it didn't make sense, but it does. The roofers even called our house a couple of times to complain. I spoke with Spud Cargill once, and he told me about it, so I asked Lamar about it when he got home that night.

"Lamar was going through a real tough time last summer. I guess he realized he wasn't going any further in the Forest Service and it was really bothering him. He'd been applying for other districts for the past three years, and jobs at regional headquarters, but he wasn't getting any encouragement. I think he realized that he would always be a midlevel manager, and he didn't take it well at times. It was hard on me, and on the kids."

Joe listened, shifting his gaze occasionally to watch the team of movers emerge from the house with something and disappear into the back of the truck.

"I'm not excusing what Lamar did up there in the mountains," she said. "Shooting all those elk makes me sick to my stomach. But I know that his frustration level was really high. For the first time since we'd been married, he was snapping at me and the kids. He was drinking too much. I was thinking about leaving him just before, well, you know..."

"Carrie, what about the roofers?"

"Oh, yes." She flushed. "From what Lamar told me, he did a standard request for bids in the spring to get all the buildings shingled. Bighorn Roofing-Spud and Rope-had the best bid. Lamar said he gave them a verbal okay to start working, then submitted the paperwork to the regional office in Denver. He said that in the past, submitting the paperwork was just a formality.

"But this time, after a couple of months, the regional office sent him everything back and said he hadn't filled out a couple of the forms properly. Lamar was really angry when they did that, so he resubmitted everything and didn't tell the roofers about it."