Land of Wolves by Craig Johnson Page B

back in Durant, but Abe’s pretty shrewd himself and has done nothing but add onto the empire since he took over.”
    I watched the country take shape as other thoughts crowded in.
    “Something wrong?”
    “When I was down in Cheyenne, I had a run-in with Libby Troon about Abe . . .”
    “Who’s Libby Troon?”
    “She owns Liberty Bail Bonds down in Cheyenne.”
    “The biggest one in the state?”
    I nodded. “She said that Abarrane had been taking ‘the boy,’ whom I assume is Liam, on some unscheduled fishing trips.”
    “Do you know what I would pay to pass my kid off on weekends?” He shook his head. “And who would complain about a grandfather taking his grandson fishing?”
    “I don’t know. I never let Libby get that far, but maybe I need to call her up and get the entire story.” Watching the sun loosen itself from the low-flying cloud cover like a yoke from a pan, I pursued an investigation of my own. “Where did you get that toy badge?”
    Santiago pulled out another and handed it to me. “Ruby was complaining that one of the drawers in her counter wasn’tshutting right, so I pulled it and found a crumpled up paper bag full of these.”
    “Dobie County?” I read the fine print. “Tom Mix.”
    “Yeah, I looked ’em up. They’re from the forties—giveaways from a cereal company. Some of them have the whistle and some have a spinning six-shooter decoder.” He jiggled his shirt pocket. “I give ’em to kids when I’m out on patrol.” He chuckled. “That cheap ol’ bastard Lucian must’ve done the same thing back in the day.”
    I raised the tin toy to my lips and blew into it. “Well, he didn’t get to be one of the richest men in the county by being a spendthrift.”
----
    —
    I stared at the suspicious lack of communiqué on the door of my office. “Why are there no Post-its here?”
    Ruby turned on her stool to regard me. “People have been doing your work for you, but you do have an appointment with Nate Laski.”
    “And who, pray tell, is Nate Laski?”
    “The nice young man who is now working for the Durant Courant .”
    “What young man who’s working for the Durant Courant ?” I walked back over to her desk, sat on the edge, and reached a boot over to pet Dog with the Vibram sole. “What’s going on with Ernie ‘Man About Town’ Brown?”
    She pushed back and looked up at me. “He’s approaching a hundred years old, so he’s hired this nice young man to do his legwork.”
    “More likely so that he can play with his train set.” Ernie Brown had an extravagantly marvelous train set cohabitatingin the work area of the small weekly newspaper. “So, what does the cub reporter want?”
    “A statement about the wolves.”
    “Wolf.” I shook my head. “What about it? There’s a wolf in the Bighorn Mountains. I’m not the Game and Fish, Predator Control, or Barnum and/or Bailey.”
    Her phone rang, which was nothing remotely new, and she reached back to pick up the receiver and then listened for a moment. “Yes, yes . . . As a matter of fact, he’s right here.” She hit the Hold button. “Nate Laski, line one. I’m assuming you’d like to take this in your office?”
    Attempting to give off an air of nobility, I limped back with Dog following. Evidently, he could feel my mood, or else he was in on the office pool too.
    Slumping into my seat, I stared at the flashing red light on my phone, my arch nemesis and all-around annoyance, as Dog sat and rested his head on my knee. Sufficiently anchored, I pulled the thing off the hook, held it up to my ear, and punched the button like a lotto ticket. “Yep.”
    “Sheriff?”
    The voice was very young. I repeated myself. “Yep.”
    “This is Nate Laski of the Durant Courant , and I was hoping to get some comments from you about the wolf situation?”
    “Wolf situation .”
    There was a pause. “Yes, sir.”
    “What wolf situation is that?”
    “Well, we have wolves in the Bighorns now.”
    “We have a