goat meat. Two plus two did not equal goat; two plus two equaled venison. Deer killed out of season, the result of poaching, something that she had high on her agenda to stop.
Natalie called Sheriff Clarence Bliss and asked if he’d like to ride along to the Burman place. She told him she had a hunch Burman might be poaching deer. Both she and Bliss knew that such a visit could be dangerous; a poacher cornered is an unpredictable person. Of course all poachers had weapons, usually powerful ones.
Bliss, in his mid-fifties, bald, and on the plump side, agreed to ride along—“Always agree to ride shotgun for a lady cop,” he said. Bliss didn’t differentiate among police officers, deputy sheriffs, state troopers, or conservation wardens; he called them all cops. He had accompanied Natalie on other arrests, especially when she thought things might become a little dicey. Of course, Natalie served as a backup for the sheriff on occasion as well.
It was about eight in the evening, a moonless night, when Natalie pulled by the sheriff ’s office. On the way out to the Burman farm, she described how she had heard rifle shots the other night, when she was out on patrol,looking for deer poachers. She hadn’t seen anything and had no evidence that Burman might be involved. But she’d heard rumors about the Burman family and how dirt poor they were and how they regularly killed a deer or two to help them through the long Wisconsin winters.
“You ever think about giving old Burman a pass?” the sheriff asked. He knew about the Burmans’ situation, probably better than the warden because he had been in Ames County for twenty years.
“I can’t do that,” Natalie said curtly. “You let one poacher off the hook, and before you know it, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be shooting deer out of season.”
They traveled along the narrow country road in silence for several miles, neither saying anything. Soon, they arrived at the Burman farm and turned in.
“I’ll go up to the door,” Natalie said. “You stay here in the truck until I find out what’s what.”
A skinny farm dog raced out to meet the warden’s truck, barking loudly. The kitchen door opened and a tall, thin man appeared, framed by the light behind him.
“Who is it?” he yelled into the night.
“Conservation warden,” Natalie said. “Natalie Karlsen. Are you Daniel Burman?”
“That’s what folks call me. Whaddya want?”
“Wondering if I could look around a little.”
“What in hell for?”
“Just want to look around a little.”
“In the middle of the night? What in hell you expect to find in the middle of the night?”
“It’s only eight-thirty.”
“Who you got with you in your truck?”
“It’s Sheriff Bliss.”
“The sheriff. What you got him along for?”
“Can we look around a little? Check some things out?”
“Go right ahead. Look till you’re blue in the face.”
“You wanna come along with us?”
“Why the hell for?”
“Just thought you might like to see what’s going on.”
“Gotta put my shoes on. Good God almighty. What’s the world comin’ to?” Burman muttered as he disappeared into the house.
“Keep your eye on him, Sheriff, I don’t want to see him coming through that door carrying a deer rifle,” said Natalie. The sheriff had gotten out of Natalie’s truck, quietly closing the door.
“I’m way ahead of you,” the sheriff said as he stood off to the side, his hand ready to pull out his sidearm.
In a few minutes, Burman appeared wearing his barn coat and dirty cap; both reeked of cow manure. He carried a flashlight.
“Well, you just go look around to yer heart’s content,” Burman said. “What you lookin’ for anyway?”
“I’ll tell you if we find it,” Natalie said. “What building is that?” she asked as she pointed to a little shack-like structure a short walk from the house.
“It’s my woodshed. You wanna look in my woodshed?”
“Might as well,” said Natalie.
Natalie called Sheriff Clarence Bliss and asked if he’d like to ride along to the Burman place. She told him she had a hunch Burman might be poaching deer. Both she and Bliss knew that such a visit could be dangerous; a poacher cornered is an unpredictable person. Of course all poachers had weapons, usually powerful ones.
Bliss, in his mid-fifties, bald, and on the plump side, agreed to ride along—“Always agree to ride shotgun for a lady cop,” he said. Bliss didn’t differentiate among police officers, deputy sheriffs, state troopers, or conservation wardens; he called them all cops. He had accompanied Natalie on other arrests, especially when she thought things might become a little dicey. Of course, Natalie served as a backup for the sheriff on occasion as well.
It was about eight in the evening, a moonless night, when Natalie pulled by the sheriff ’s office. On the way out to the Burman farm, she described how she had heard rifle shots the other night, when she was out on patrol,looking for deer poachers. She hadn’t seen anything and had no evidence that Burman might be involved. But she’d heard rumors about the Burman family and how dirt poor they were and how they regularly killed a deer or two to help them through the long Wisconsin winters.
“You ever think about giving old Burman a pass?” the sheriff asked. He knew about the Burmans’ situation, probably better than the warden because he had been in Ames County for twenty years.
“I can’t do that,” Natalie said curtly. “You let one poacher off the hook, and before you know it, every Tom, Dick, and Harry will be shooting deer out of season.”
They traveled along the narrow country road in silence for several miles, neither saying anything. Soon, they arrived at the Burman farm and turned in.
“I’ll go up to the door,” Natalie said. “You stay here in the truck until I find out what’s what.”
A skinny farm dog raced out to meet the warden’s truck, barking loudly. The kitchen door opened and a tall, thin man appeared, framed by the light behind him.
“Who is it?” he yelled into the night.
“Conservation warden,” Natalie said. “Natalie Karlsen. Are you Daniel Burman?”
“That’s what folks call me. Whaddya want?”
“Wondering if I could look around a little.”
“What in hell for?”
“Just want to look around a little.”
“In the middle of the night? What in hell you expect to find in the middle of the night?”
“It’s only eight-thirty.”
“Who you got with you in your truck?”
“It’s Sheriff Bliss.”
“The sheriff. What you got him along for?”
“Can we look around a little? Check some things out?”
“Go right ahead. Look till you’re blue in the face.”
“You wanna come along with us?”
“Why the hell for?”
“Just thought you might like to see what’s going on.”
“Gotta put my shoes on. Good God almighty. What’s the world comin’ to?” Burman muttered as he disappeared into the house.
“Keep your eye on him, Sheriff, I don’t want to see him coming through that door carrying a deer rifle,” said Natalie. The sheriff had gotten out of Natalie’s truck, quietly closing the door.
“I’m way ahead of you,” the sheriff said as he stood off to the side, his hand ready to pull out his sidearm.
In a few minutes, Burman appeared wearing his barn coat and dirty cap; both reeked of cow manure. He carried a flashlight.
“Well, you just go look around to yer heart’s content,” Burman said. “What you lookin’ for anyway?”
“I’ll tell you if we find it,” Natalie said. “What building is that?” she asked as she pointed to a little shack-like structure a short walk from the house.
“It’s my woodshed. You wanna look in my woodshed?”
“Might as well,” said Natalie.
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