time with us again. I’ll tell you what I told a contingent of ranchers—my deputies and I have enough to do. We don’t need a hullabaloo blowing up over you wildlife guys.”
Wyatt disengaged his hand. “I’ve only been back one day. I stopped at the general store for supplies. While I was inside, someone raked a key to hell and gone across the driver’s side of my government SUV. I came straight here, so I’m guessing it happened between half an hour and forty-five minutes ago.”
The sheriff sank back in his swivel chair. “Dammit all. Were there any eyewitnesses?”
“There were maybe four cars and a couple of pickups in the lot. That pretty much matches the number of shoppers I saw in the store. No one I knew or who acted as if they knew me. The parking lot itself was empty of people except for me.”
Anderson yanked open a drawer and pulled out a pad of preprinted pages. He tore one off and passed it to Wyatt. “This is an official complaint form. While you fill it out, I’ll go take pictures of the damage. Are you parked in front of my office?”
Wyatt nodded. “I’ll fill it out, for all the good it’ll do. No witnesses and probably no fingerprints. That’s the thing about key damage, hard to identify who held the key.” His face turned sour. “If you want my best guess, it’d be Preston Hicks or Jim Haskell.”
The sheriff paused. “Why them? Both have been pillars of this community for decades.”
“Yeah, well, they and a few others deviled my team last year. If you recall, we never were sure who left a dead wolf on the hood of my SUV.”
“We exhausted all our leads on that one.” The sheriff raised an eyebrow. “You working with your team this time?”
“I’m alone this trip. Came to check on our packs—count pups, install radio collars and vaccinate them. I’m renting again at Spiritridge Ranch. This time from Curt Marsh’s daughter. She mentioned taking heat at a cattle and sheep rancher’s meeting. Hicks apparently led a rant against me.”
“This is the first I’ve heard of issues at the meeting. I’ve seen Curt’s daughter and her son around town. If Pres gave her grief, why didn’t she report it to me?”
Wyatt shrugged. “I don’t know. She is ex-army. I don’t think she’s easily intimidated.”
“I remember as a teenager she was a tough competitor in a couple of sports.”
“Doesn’t surprise me. What did she play?”
“Hmm. Maybe softball, and track and field events.”
Wyatt could tell the sheriff was combing his memory. “It doesn’t matter. I don’t want guys who are PO’d at me picking on her or the boy. He’s sort of fearless, too.” It’s remarkable, really, for as young as Scotty is.
The sheriff waved his phone. “I’ll go take those photos while you complete the form as best you can. I know you didn’t see the incident, but an approximate time and place is important if my deputies are out asking casual questions.”
“Speaking of casual questions,” Wyatt called to the man about ready to walk out the door, “have you heard of any wolf dogs in the vicinity?”
“Wolf dogs? What are they?”
“Mostly a shepherd-type dog bred with a wolf. They carry features of both, but the ones I’ve seen in our lecture films are larger and meaner than a domestic dog.”
“Huh. I haven’t heard of anything like that around. I doubt they’d survive long with all our cattle and sheep ranchers. They’d be trapped or shot.”
“Trapped?” Wyatt looked up sharply from the paper he’d started to read. “What kind? Claw traps are outlawed and others require a license.”
“Don’t get all riled up.” Scowling, the sheriff crossed his arms. “I don’t know if anybody’s using traps. Used to be some ranches had trouble with mountain cats. I know someone built and set a box trap near their chicken coop. Caught the cat and called Game and Fish to take him away. That was probably four years ago. If your boss has been over this area that long, he’d likely remember the case.”
“He covers this project and a few others. I have to call him about the SUV. I’ll ask about traps.”
The sheriff went on outside and Wyatt filled out the form.
Sheriff Anderson returned, printed the photo off and clipped it to the report he had Wyatt sign and date. They shook hands and Wyatt left to go order pizzas. He’d spent longer than anticipated with the sheriff. He hoped the side trip wouldn’t make him so late that Tandy would give up on him and cook supper.
The owner of the pizza shop recognized him but didn’t really know who he was. The man mentioned he hadn’t seen Wyatt in a while, when he used to be a regular.
“I’ve been out of town for my job,” he said, not wanting to draw attention to himself lest anyone in the establishment not be happy to see him back.
While his take-and-bake order was in progress he stepped outside to call his boss. He currently headed a five-state wolf repatriation program.
“Is the hostility bad enough you want to be pulled from the area?” his leader asked after hearing Wyatt’s story.
“I wasn’t threatened, Joe. It may have been kids, although I doubt it.” He relayed what had happened to Tandy at the rancher’s meeting. “I want to continue.”
“Good. We have some of our Mesquite pack dead down in the Chiricahua sector. I’ve sent all available biologists down to see if the wolves died from natural causes. We should get you an unmarked vehicle. Any chance you can spare time to drive to Silver City? I know you have a cabin there. If it’s something you can manage, I’ll swap out vehicles and get yours in for repair.”
Wyatt had barely started and would hate to stop now. On the other hand, it might be better to take a few days now rather than after locating the Mission pack. “It’s not my cabin so let me check with my friend who owns it. When I’m not there he sometimes lets other guests use it. Can I get back with you in a day or so?”
“Sure. Just take care. I’m damned tired of fighting ranchers over something they ought to be able to see rights the ecosystem. But telling you is like preaching to the choir. So you know, I’m having flyers printed up on the success of our program with the Fox Mountain pack. They’ve remained on their release range for five years. We have some testimonials from those area residents. I’ll try to have a batch printed that you can take back for distribution.”
“Sounds good, Joe. I’m for anything that helps people understand there’s room on our planet for wild animals and domestic.” He said goodbye and went back inside.
The cook signaled his pizzas were ready. Wyatt paid and carried the boxes out.
He soon left the town behind. He slowed when he approached a corner where he knew there was a cattle crossing. The ranch road to Spiritridge turned off the main road shortly after passing the crossing. It was a good thing he’d cut his speed. Not only was he staring directly into the sinking sun, but a large flock of sheep, not cattle, were moseying across the highway.
Because he heard dogs barking, Wyatt put his
