up playing the role of uncle.
The big policeman leaned on the door and grinned at the rancher. "Gorman, you still didn't get that tail pipe fixed.
And worse than that, you're parked in Homer Tonom-picket's spot."
The rancher snorted. "I'll worry about the tail pipe if it falls off, and you can go piss on the game warden."
Moon touched the brim of his hat. "Mornin' Benita. It's a good thing you inherited your momma's sweet disposition." He wanted to add "and her good looks," but the words hung in his throat.
Benita smiled and glanced uncertainly at her grumpy father. Charlie Moon was the best catch on the reservation. Maybe in Colorado. "How's your new house coming along, Charlie?" Maybe he'd ask her to come out and see it.
Moon avoided the old man's suspicious glare; he pushed a gravel pebble with his toe. "Still a lot of work to do." Maybe he should invite her over to have a look at the place. But what if she didn't come? He took a deep breath. "Maybe, sometime when you have some time to kill…"
She was about to accept this unfinished invitation when her father interrupted.
"I got me some trouble."
The policeman backed away as Gorman opened the door and slid to the gravel surface. "What kinda trouble?"
"The bad kind. Something… somebody's killed Big Ouray."
The policeman thought hard and came up with nothing. "Who's Big Ouray?"
"My registered Hereford bull, dammit. And don't tell me I shouldn't give my stock names. They're my cattle and I can damn well do whatever—"
"Now don't lose your water." Moon gestured toward the station door with his cup. "Let's go inside and have some coffee. You can tell me all about it." Gorman lost a beef every year or so, and he always waved his arms and yelled until he was hoarse.
"Don't need more coffee. We just had breakfast at your Aunt Daisy's. That woman pushes greasy food at me every time I stop by; I won't be able to eat nothing again before suppertime. All them eggs and pork is gonna cause me to have," he thumped his chest, "… one of them cor-uh… cor-oll… ahhh… coronations."
"Well now that'd be the day," Moon said earnestly. "I expect the whole tribe and half the town would show up to watch it happen."
Benita clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Gorman cocked his head and blinked curiously at the big policeman. Charlie Moon was supposed to be so damn smart but sometimes he said things that didn't make no sense at all. "What're you gonna do about my dead bull?"
Moon adopted his official tone. "Tell me what happened."
Benita watched them through a sand-blasted windshield. She barely winked at Moon; the big Ute ducked his head shyly.
The old man pushed his hands deep into his overall pockets. "Not much to tell. Big Ouray was dead when I got there just about sunup this morning. Ears and balls gone." Moon felt the hair stand up on his neck. "And," Gorman added quickly, "don't say it was coyotes; it wasn't no coyotes—somebody done it with a knife." He looked glumly toward the place where the sun comes up. "A razor-sharp knife."
"You see any tracks?" Moon knew what the answer would be.
"No tracks." Gorman lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I heard a noise, though, from up on the mesa. Kind of a… a wail." No point in mentioning he'd shot at the sound, that would only bring a stern lecture about gun safety from the big policeman.
Moon nodded. Gorman had probably heard a cougar. Maybe. "How about the rest of your cattle, they all right?"
"Didn't find 'em. Expect they're holed up in them little draws way up the canyon." He scowled at the policeman. "I sure as hell can't afford to lose no more beeves so you better see it don't happen again! In the meantime, I'm gonna go over to Arlo's place and file a claim on the bull. That animal," Gorman sighed with bitter regret, "cost me a fair pile of money."
"Arlo Nightbird carrying the paper on your animals?" Moon's tone was just critical enough to irritate the rancher.
"That's right," Gorman
The big policeman leaned on the door and grinned at the rancher. "Gorman, you still didn't get that tail pipe fixed.
And worse than that, you're parked in Homer Tonom-picket's spot."
The rancher snorted. "I'll worry about the tail pipe if it falls off, and you can go piss on the game warden."
Moon touched the brim of his hat. "Mornin' Benita. It's a good thing you inherited your momma's sweet disposition." He wanted to add "and her good looks," but the words hung in his throat.
Benita smiled and glanced uncertainly at her grumpy father. Charlie Moon was the best catch on the reservation. Maybe in Colorado. "How's your new house coming along, Charlie?" Maybe he'd ask her to come out and see it.
Moon avoided the old man's suspicious glare; he pushed a gravel pebble with his toe. "Still a lot of work to do." Maybe he should invite her over to have a look at the place. But what if she didn't come? He took a deep breath. "Maybe, sometime when you have some time to kill…"
She was about to accept this unfinished invitation when her father interrupted.
"I got me some trouble."
The policeman backed away as Gorman opened the door and slid to the gravel surface. "What kinda trouble?"
"The bad kind. Something… somebody's killed Big Ouray."
The policeman thought hard and came up with nothing. "Who's Big Ouray?"
"My registered Hereford bull, dammit. And don't tell me I shouldn't give my stock names. They're my cattle and I can damn well do whatever—"
"Now don't lose your water." Moon gestured toward the station door with his cup. "Let's go inside and have some coffee. You can tell me all about it." Gorman lost a beef every year or so, and he always waved his arms and yelled until he was hoarse.
"Don't need more coffee. We just had breakfast at your Aunt Daisy's. That woman pushes greasy food at me every time I stop by; I won't be able to eat nothing again before suppertime. All them eggs and pork is gonna cause me to have," he thumped his chest, "… one of them cor-uh… cor-oll… ahhh… coronations."
"Well now that'd be the day," Moon said earnestly. "I expect the whole tribe and half the town would show up to watch it happen."
Benita clamped a hand over her mouth to suppress a giggle. Gorman cocked his head and blinked curiously at the big policeman. Charlie Moon was supposed to be so damn smart but sometimes he said things that didn't make no sense at all. "What're you gonna do about my dead bull?"
Moon adopted his official tone. "Tell me what happened."
Benita watched them through a sand-blasted windshield. She barely winked at Moon; the big Ute ducked his head shyly.
The old man pushed his hands deep into his overall pockets. "Not much to tell. Big Ouray was dead when I got there just about sunup this morning. Ears and balls gone." Moon felt the hair stand up on his neck. "And," Gorman added quickly, "don't say it was coyotes; it wasn't no coyotes—somebody done it with a knife." He looked glumly toward the place where the sun comes up. "A razor-sharp knife."
"You see any tracks?" Moon knew what the answer would be.
"No tracks." Gorman lowered his voice almost to a whisper. "I heard a noise, though, from up on the mesa. Kind of a… a wail." No point in mentioning he'd shot at the sound, that would only bring a stern lecture about gun safety from the big policeman.
Moon nodded. Gorman had probably heard a cougar. Maybe. "How about the rest of your cattle, they all right?"
"Didn't find 'em. Expect they're holed up in them little draws way up the canyon." He scowled at the policeman. "I sure as hell can't afford to lose no more beeves so you better see it don't happen again! In the meantime, I'm gonna go over to Arlo's place and file a claim on the bull. That animal," Gorman sighed with bitter regret, "cost me a fair pile of money."
"Arlo Nightbird carrying the paper on your animals?" Moon's tone was just critical enough to irritate the rancher.
"That's right," Gorman
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