“I never can figure how you get to dat in life—I guess I fought so long for mine dat I can’t think of givin’ it up without a fight, you know?”
“I know.” I waited a moment. “Abe, who saw him on a regular basis?”
“Oh, the camp tender, Jimenez, and my son-in-law, Donnie.”
“And when was the last time they would’ve seen him?”
He thought about it. “Jimenez would’ve seen him last week when he brought him supplies.”
“And Donnie?”
He tried to smile, but it faded. “Oh, dat Donnie would’ve seen him when they move the sheep, but dat’s about all. Him and dat daughter of mine, they don’t want to work the sheep full time—live down in Colorado.”
“And where would I find Jimenez?”
“Up the mountain. I can get you a map or you can check with those Forest Circus guys, they know more about dat stuff than I do.”
I ignored the dig at the Rangers. “Did you know Hernandez very well yourself?”
“Oh, I’m the one dat hired him the better part of a year ago.”
“How?”
“They have dat thing with the federal government dat allowsus to hire folks for jobs the Americans won’t do, dat H2O program. Them labor people in Colorado, they sent me his information, and I met him down there in Greeley where he had some family he was staying with. He was a funny guy, smart . . . book-learning smart, you know? Too smart to be herdin’ the sheep, but he wanted the job and I gave it to him. He done real well, ’cept for that one time.”
“And what was that?”
“Oh, about a month and a half after we hired him, Jimenez went up to drop off supplies and the place look like hell, and Miguel was layin’ there drunk with his arms which was all cut up.”
Santiago lowered his mug. “What had happened to him?”
The old Basquo imitated dragging a blade across his forearms. “He done it himself; cut his arms with dat knife he had.”
Sancho looked at me. “He was cutting himself?”
“Like I said, he was high strung with all dem books and such. I don’t think he ever got used to the mountain and mountain ways; some never do, you know?”
I glanced around the kitchen, a little sorry that I hadn’t known the herder better. “Is there anyone else who might’ve made contact with him?”
Abe twisted the hair in his ear, almost as if he were winding up his brain to answer. “Dat bartender at the Euskadi, he overserved him a couple of times. I come in there, and dat herder, he done drank a good hundred dollars of the money I give him. So, I load him up and get him out of there.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Sometime you don’t do well on your own and then you turn around and don’t do well with people.” His eyes came back to mine. “Then what you gonna do?”
“Anybody else?”
“Nope, not dat I know of.”
“You say he had family down in Greeley?”
“I don’t know ’em, but yep, dat’s what he said.” He nodded and then rested his eyes on me, and for the first time I could see a glimpse of those hard men captured in the black and white, now residing in the son. “You tink someone did this to him?”
“We don’t know, but we’re trying to find out.” I drained my mug and sat it back down. “Abe, have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Keasik Cheechoo?”
He paused for a long moment and then slapped the table, causing Santiago to start. “The wolf woman!”
“So, you’ve met?”
“Dat woman, she crazy!”
Sancho laughed. “In what way?”
“Oh, she got all kind of ideas about how those wolves are people and dat we gotta take care of ’em.”
“Well, they are an endangered species.”
Abe shook his head and pointed a stubby finger in Sancho’s face. “You wanna know who the endangered species is, dat’d be us, dat’s who. I been losin’ my ass in the sheep business my whole life, but nothin’ gets me quite like pullin’ a squirmin’ life out of a half-dead sheep an’ nurturin’ that thing along till it has half a
“I know.” I waited a moment. “Abe, who saw him on a regular basis?”
“Oh, the camp tender, Jimenez, and my son-in-law, Donnie.”
“And when was the last time they would’ve seen him?”
He thought about it. “Jimenez would’ve seen him last week when he brought him supplies.”
“And Donnie?”
He tried to smile, but it faded. “Oh, dat Donnie would’ve seen him when they move the sheep, but dat’s about all. Him and dat daughter of mine, they don’t want to work the sheep full time—live down in Colorado.”
“And where would I find Jimenez?”
“Up the mountain. I can get you a map or you can check with those Forest Circus guys, they know more about dat stuff than I do.”
I ignored the dig at the Rangers. “Did you know Hernandez very well yourself?”
“Oh, I’m the one dat hired him the better part of a year ago.”
“How?”
“They have dat thing with the federal government dat allowsus to hire folks for jobs the Americans won’t do, dat H2O program. Them labor people in Colorado, they sent me his information, and I met him down there in Greeley where he had some family he was staying with. He was a funny guy, smart . . . book-learning smart, you know? Too smart to be herdin’ the sheep, but he wanted the job and I gave it to him. He done real well, ’cept for that one time.”
“And what was that?”
“Oh, about a month and a half after we hired him, Jimenez went up to drop off supplies and the place look like hell, and Miguel was layin’ there drunk with his arms which was all cut up.”
Santiago lowered his mug. “What had happened to him?”
The old Basquo imitated dragging a blade across his forearms. “He done it himself; cut his arms with dat knife he had.”
Sancho looked at me. “He was cutting himself?”
“Like I said, he was high strung with all dem books and such. I don’t think he ever got used to the mountain and mountain ways; some never do, you know?”
I glanced around the kitchen, a little sorry that I hadn’t known the herder better. “Is there anyone else who might’ve made contact with him?”
Abe twisted the hair in his ear, almost as if he were winding up his brain to answer. “Dat bartender at the Euskadi, he overserved him a couple of times. I come in there, and dat herder, he done drank a good hundred dollars of the money I give him. So, I load him up and get him out of there.” He took another sip of his coffee. “Sometime you don’t do well on your own and then you turn around and don’t do well with people.” His eyes came back to mine. “Then what you gonna do?”
“Anybody else?”
“Nope, not dat I know of.”
“You say he had family down in Greeley?”
“I don’t know ’em, but yep, dat’s what he said.” He nodded and then rested his eyes on me, and for the first time I could see a glimpse of those hard men captured in the black and white, now residing in the son. “You tink someone did this to him?”
“We don’t know, but we’re trying to find out.” I drained my mug and sat it back down. “Abe, have you ever heard of a woman by the name of Keasik Cheechoo?”
He paused for a long moment and then slapped the table, causing Santiago to start. “The wolf woman!”
“So, you’ve met?”
“Dat woman, she crazy!”
Sancho laughed. “In what way?”
“Oh, she got all kind of ideas about how those wolves are people and dat we gotta take care of ’em.”
“Well, they are an endangered species.”
Abe shook his head and pointed a stubby finger in Sancho’s face. “You wanna know who the endangered species is, dat’d be us, dat’s who. I been losin’ my ass in the sheep business my whole life, but nothin’ gets me quite like pullin’ a squirmin’ life out of a half-dead sheep an’ nurturin’ that thing along till it has half a
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