“She said she wasn’t crazy.”
Kimama grunted, now working on her string beans. “You know, only crazy white people say that.”
I sipped my beer, a Speed Goat from the microbrewery this side of the Bighorn Mountains in Ten Sleep. “So they tell me.”
Her dark eyes came up. “Do you think she is crazy?”
“Nope.”
She picked up a French fry and dipped it in ketchup. “There are spirits in the canyon, great spirits that one time formed the earth.”
“I’m mostly interested in one in particular.”
She cocked her head at me and chewed, and I could see every muscle in her face. “Maybe you will meet him.”
“Have you?”
“’Ine.”
I sat my glass down. “I assume that means yes?”
She grinned, and you couldn’t help but like the old broad. “You’re learning.”
“Was it a pleasant experience?”
“Helpful.”
I stared at her, trying to convey the importance of the favor we were asking. “Will you come with us tonight?”
“I have a prior engagement. And besides, what you are asking is after my bedtime.” Her eyes dropped, and she carefully cut another bite of steak. “But be careful what you wish for, Bucket.”
? ? ?
We finished our meal, dropped Kimama Bellefeuille off at the Methodist bingo hall, and headed up the road to the Troop G Wyoming Highway Patrol headquarters in Worland, the small brick building looking like a mini fort stranded out in the frontier wilderness with only a lone pine tree outside. “Think she’ll warm up to me?”
“I doubt it.”
“Think we can get her to change her mind?”
“No, but we will give her time, just in case.”
I paused before opening the door. “Do you mind if I ask why it is that she’s so important?”
“It is their canyon.”
“Actually, it belongs to the state of Wyoming.”
“The Shoshone and Arapaho have prior rights, and since she is both Shoshone and Arapaho . . .”
I pushed the door open and shouted, “You decorate that tree out there at Christmas?”
Jim Thomas pushed off his chair and walked over to the counter that separated us. “No, but I put out a bowl of red and green M&Ms. That’s about as festive as I get.”
He was handsome, with a blond crew cut, pale blue eyes, and an easy grin. If the Wyoming Highway Patrol were to have a poster child, he would be it.
“Might appease the Natives.”
He shook hands with the Cheyenne Nation and gestured for us to have a seat in the available office chairs. “I’m not sure anything will do that.” Saying nothing else and leaving the proverbial ball in our court, he sat back in his chair and studied us.
“How are you, Jim?”
“Good. Glad to be off I-80.”
“I bet. Congratulations on the promotion, Captain America.”
He grimaced at the nickname, and I felt like telling him about my just-acquired one. “Thanks.” He glanced at Henry and then back to me. “To what do I owe the pleasure of you being on this side of the mountain?”
“I got a call from one of your troopers last week.”
He rested an elbow on the arm of his chair and palmed his face. “She called you?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“What’d she say?”
“That you were trying to get her in for a psychiatric evaluation.”
His hands dropped to his lap. “Wouldn’t you?”
I glanced up at the wooden rack of mugs on the wall, a few of them blank but most of them adorned with not only the Wyoming Highway Patrol emblem but also the patrolman’s name. “Has this ever happened down there before?”
He sighed and stood, going over to the counter again and leaning on it with his muscled arms folded. “Not that I’m aware of. I called Mike Harlow to try and talk with him, but he hung up on me.”
The Bear looked at him. “Who is Mike Harlow?”
“The trooper who had the Wind River Canyon patrol up until three months ago, when Rosey took it over.”
I chewed the inside of my lip. “And who had it before he did?”
“Bobby Womack.”
We all grew quiet at the mention of the man’s name. “Why do you suppose Harlow won’t speak to you?”
“Probably because he’s sick and tired of talking about Bobby Womack.” Thomas slid a hand along the old Formica. “Mike’s a little sore. I think he was hoping that they’d give him command of G, just as a figurehead for a few months before he retired.” He sighed. “But they brought me up, and I think he got a little pissed off.”
“Do you think it would make a difference if we asked?”
“Maybe.”
“Where is he?”
“He retired and bought a cabin down in the south end of the canyon. You can’t miss it—he’s got a Marine Corps flag on a pole down there.”