by Rachel Lee
But those were the routes he had to keep an eye on if he was going to pretend to be a guide, and more important, catch anyone in the act. So it wouldn’t seem at all strange for him to be hiking around.
But he was going to seriously annoy any illegal outfitters. He’d known that when he volunteered, but he was no stranger to threats. In the meantime, while he waited for his hook to set itself, he could do plenty of hiking in those mountains.
He was looking forward to that. He just kind of wished he could do it under better circumstances, and maybe with Desi. She probably mapped a lot of those migrations, probably counted the herds assiduously and judged their health.
It was by going up into those mountains that she’d found most of the trophy kills she had reported. She’d make a great right-hand man if they could work it out.
In the meantime, he knew those bighorn were unlikely to come down to below five thousand feet at this time of year. Most would probably be up closer to eight thousand. So what the hell was that sheep doing on a ranch?
* * *
Driving the ten miles to Alex Thornton’s place, Desi prepared for the worst and tried not to think about Kel Westin. Her immediate female reaction to him almost soured her. She’d put that aside when she’d decided to live without men and there was no place for it on the job.
She was also worried about this plan of his. They clearly had an active poaching operation in this area. The better the herds thrived, the more big game she found had been killed for trophies. Apparently, her mapped migration corridors were providing plenty of opportunities for the poachers. Enough to sicken her.
At the same time, she understood hunting. She had no problem with the people who wanted meat to get them through the winter. If they were hunting for food, fine. Some culling of the herds was necessary, hence the harvest limits the service worked up every year.
If she hadn’t been dealing with these issues for years, she’d have been overwhelmed by the system.
Now there was Kel, a big question mark. His credentials were valid, but this whole idea sounded dangerous to her. Men who were willing to risk huge fines, forfeiting their guns and their right to hunt, all to make a little money by taking a trophy? And now such a crime was a felony, so prison, not just a slap on the wrist and a fine. Men like that might be willing to kill anyone who appeared to get in the way of their money stream.
She just had to trust WIU knew what they were doing. She couldn’t deny that putting a halt to this trophy hunting was a good thing. And sure as she was sitting here in her truck, she was willing to bet no one showed up in the next thirteen days with horns attached to the skull plate of that sheep. Or even just the horns. Nope. Not when they’d left everything behind but the skin.
Lex Thornton was waiting for her in a turnout beside his fence line along the county road. As she pulled up, she could see he’d cut the top of the barbed wire. Maybe a hundred feet away, an antelope hunkered down.
“Got her loose, Desi,” Lex said as she climbed out of her truck. “Think her hind leg is broken from fighting against the wire. Cut all the way to the bone, she is.”
This was the worst part of the job for Desi. She never got used to it. She pulled out her rifle and loaded a few bullets. Alex didn’t say another thing, just swung open a ramshackle gate and let her through.
He was probably right about the broken leg, or that antelope wouldn’t still be here.
When they got closer, she could see the mess of the antelope’s back leg.
“They usually get over,” Lex said.
“I know. How many dozens have we had to chase off your grazing land?”
“A few. Elk, too.”
The antelope tried to pull itself through the grass as they approached. Then it shoved itself up on three legs, no weight on the fourth. It didn’t get very far before collapsing again.
“She’s worn out,” Desi said. God, she hated this. That animal could not survive, however, and leaving it to suffer was the worst option. It had to be in pain and terrified, and as it became weaker and less able to move, it might be tormented by hawks and other predators. No.
So she raised her rifle and did what was necessary.
She turned to Lex, keeping her expression businesslike. Knowing it had been necessary didn’t make it easy, though. “You want the meat?”
“Always.”
She nodded. “I’ll fill out the forms and give you what you need.”
Lex stood looking at the antelope for a few seconds. “Damn shame,” he said finally, then turned to follow her back to her truck. “Thanks for coming so fast, Desi. I have no idea how long she’d been stuck in that wire, but when I cut her loose...well, it was too long I guess.”
After Desi filled out the paperwork and gave him the slip that granted him legal ownership of the meat, she headed back toward town, thinking that some days being a warden was absolutely no fun at all. Days like today, it sometimes got hard to remember why she’d wanted to do this job.
But there were much better days, she reminded herself. Lots of them. And now there was Kel Westin who, one way or another, was going to provide a change of pace. They needed to talk more, she decided. Somehow they were going to have to coordinate. And he had said he’d need her assistance.
Ah, cut it out. Her thoughts were running along the lines of a smitten kid. By now she should have outgrown it. But the simple fact was, it was easier to think about Kel than about the rest of her day. Maybe too easy.
Chapter 2
Three days later, just after dark, Desi returned to the station exhausted. She threw her paperwork and citation book on the desk in the office, locked up her pistol, then sagged in exhaustion. Paperwork could wait, she decided. There was enough in her summons book and other notes for now.
She climbed her outside stairs to her apartment over the station. Nothing grandiose about it. Once upon a time it had been a bunkhouse for wardens, but as wardens settled in this area and bought homes and raised families, it had become a leftover from another era. So part of it had been transformed into an efficiency apartment. The rest...well, it was still kind of a bunkhouse, but one with only two mattresses on cots. Once in a while, one of her fellow wardens would camp out there for a night. At least they’d given the apartment its own bathroom.
She hopped into the shower, cleaning the day off herself, then dressed in jeans and a green sweater. If she got called out for any reason, she was halfway ready to go.
There was no time of year when her life was totally quiet, but things heated up during hunting season. All kinds of people out there, even with licenses and permits, still shaded their way around the law. Easy enough, usually, when they were blending in with so many other hunters.
Three long days, she thought, but at least no blatant trophy kills. Hunting season seemed to bring the not-entirely-lawful out of the woodwork, apparently thinking they’d pass unnoticed when hunters were everywhere.
Uh, no, she thought as she toweled her hair a little more then headed for her kitchenette. It got to be ridiculous sometimes. She’d had to escort four hunters off posted property. She’d come up on more than one group where people were firing from the road. In those cases, when they killed game, she not only had to cite them for the infraction, she had to recover the carcass. Lots of heavy work, not always aided by hunters who were angry with her because they had to pay a fine and had lost the meat, license or no license.
A tip had kept her out later last night, and sure enough, after hunting hours closed for the night, two hunters were busy ignoring the time. At least they hadn’t gotten nasty about it.
On the other hand, she’d talked to a lot of nice folks, some of whom she knew. And Jos Webber, another warden assigned to this area, had agreed they ought to team up even if it expanded their usual patrol areas. Something about this hunting season seemed off and she and
Jos agreed a little extra caution wouldn’t hurt.
The phone rang while she was reheating some leftover stew, and she answered it. “Game and Fish, Warden Jenks here.”
“Hey, Desi,” said the familiar voice of Craig Stone. He was a lawman and biologist for the US Forest Service, and sometimes their jobs overlapped. “I hear you lost a bighorn.”
“That’s putting it mildly, Craig. Have you been seeing any poaching?” His forest abutted her area, and reached further back into some of the mountains.
“Not yet. We decided to close ourselves to hunting this year, though. You must have gotten the memo.”
“Yeah. And all I could think was, great, it’s going to be my problem.”
Craig laughed. “Look at it this way. We find any hunters on our land, they’ll go immediately to jail. Maybe that’ll help you.”
“Jail for how long?” she snorted. “Trespass doesn’t put anyone away for long.”
He didn’t laugh this time. “I know. And I know how thinly spread you all are. So basically I’m saying, if you need help, call. I realize I can’t legally do much on your land, but I can help.”
“Thanks, Craig. It’s appreciated.” Then she thought of Kel. “I have someone I’d like you to meet.” As soon as she said it, she winced. She was supposed to be protecting the guy’s cover, not bandying it about.
“Sure. When?”
“I’ll let you know.” And maybe that would get her off the hook. She could just let it drop. She asked after his wife, Sky, and their toddler, then said good-night to Craig, realizing this day had managed to sap her. She’d barely eaten, she was tired and she probably wasn’t at her best mentally, to judge by her slipup just now.
“Food,” she said aloud. “Then rest.” With the phone right beside her head. Such a glamorous job.
A laugh escaped her as she began to scoop hot stew from the pot into a bowl. Really, all she had to do was remind herself of springtime, when she’d be out looking for newborns in the wild populations, when she’d be counting herds and checking to make sure nothing impeded their necessary migrations.
And after that was summertime when the biggest problem she usually dealt with was fishermen who were either unlicensed or who took more than their catch limit. That was rare enough around here because there weren’t a lot of good fishing holes. But there were a few. Conard City hadn’t been built without an eye to a nearby water source. And of course, there was always some game poaching going on.
She sat with her feet up on a battered coffee table, trying to decide if she wanted to watch television or just enjoy the peace and quiet when there was a knock on her door.
Aw, man, she thought, putting her hot stew aside and going to answer it. There, in the dark of early autumn, stood Kel Westin.
She blinked at him as he said, “Hi.”
“What are you doing here?” she asked. “This is hardly undercover.”
“No one saw me. No one who matters anyway. I walked and you’re a little outside town.”
“A little.” Slowly she stepped back. “Well, I guess you’re more interesting than TV. Come in.”
He grinned. “Better than TV? I don’t know whether that’s a compliment or not.”
“Keep wondering,” she retorted as she closed the door behind him. “Want me to heat you some stew? I was just about to eat.”
“I ate at the diner. Go ahead and dig in.”
So she returned to the battered sofa and picked up her bowl and spoon. She watched as he wandered around familiarizing himself with the layout.
Something about the way he was looking, moving...she’d seen it before. “Military background?” she asked.
He faced her, hands in his pockets. “Yeah. Rangers.”
“It shows. When you’ve got the place memorized, have a seat.”
He looked almost rueful. “That obvious?”
“Only to someone who’s seen it other times. We have a lot of vets in this county, a lot of special-ops types. So yeah, I know how they get the lay of the land.”
So she waited while he finished scoping the place. He probably wouldn’t be comfortable until he knew the exits and windows, and whatever else might concern him. But eventually he sat in the armchair across from her.
“To what do I owe this honor?” she prodded.
“We really didn’t get a chance to talk before you got called out.”
She arched a brow, spoonful of stew halfway to her mouth. “There’s more?”
He half smiled. “Isn’t there always? You know the guys with the forest service?”
“Most of them.”
“They’re working with us.”
She nodded slowly. “So that’s why Craig Stone called to remind me they were closing to hunting.”
“The state public land abuts the forest. But you know that. Anyway, we’re hoping by closing that area, we can create a bit of a funnel effect. Nobody wants their hunt blown up on a trespassing charge.”
“Of course not.” She forgot her dinner. “Do you have any idea how much difficulty those rangers have patrolling the forest service land? Talk about porous. Barring hunting there is going to make about as much difference as no poaching is making.”
He shook his head a little. “You know you have to have road access on all public lands. No off-roading. Craig said they even shut down their ATV trails two years ago. Anyway, since you can’t drive willy-nilly over open ground and have to stick with the roads, then you’ve got to ask yourself how far a trek can you manage to get your trophy out of there. Craig’s got enough manpower to close the forestry roads over there. Anybody coming that way with hunting gear is heading for trouble. So they gotta stay on the state land and the public access roads.”
She thought it over as her stomach rumbled and reminded her that she needed to eat. She picked up her bowl again. “I could use a hundred more people at least.”
“Sorry, we don’t have them.”
“I know.” Far too few wardens for the land area they needed to cover. And when you got up into those mountains, it wasn’t like there were houses scattered around with people who were willing to call and complain about suspected poaching. There was nothing up there except a couple of park service shacks, and most of them would be closed for the winter.
She glanced at Kel again, liking the lean toughness of his face. Liking his lead-gray eyes. Ah well. Finally she acknowledged there was only one way to go at this, much as she didn’t like it. “Your idea is probably the best.”
“To get the outfitters ring? Yeah. Won’t stop any other poaching, though.”
“I know, but since we can’t staple a warden to every animal or herd, let’s get the most egregious offenders. I can’t tell you how angry it makes me, Kel. Furious to think that people are profiting this way off these animals. Poach to feed your family? I get that. But these guys, dangling bait in the water and charging lots of money for guiding someone who only wants a trophy and doesn’t care if it’s illegal? There’s something about that...”
She trailed off and tried to continue eating. She couldn’t really explain the difference in so many words.
“I get what you’re saying,” he said while she ate some more stew. “It’s in no way excusable. Charging thousands to bring in people from out of state and lead them illegally to an animal when all they want is a trophy? I can understand the hunters better than I can understand the outfitters.”
“I can’t,” she admitted after she swallowed. “I hate trophy hunting above all. The guys helping are after the money. Greed is a motivator for a lot of people. But the hunters? All they want is bragging rights hanging on their walls.”
He nodded. “And we’ve got a little quirk in Wyoming law that hinders us finding these guys.”
She swallowed some more stew and looked at him. “You mean
that anyone can guide two other licensed people with him on a hunt as long as he doesn’t get paid? Yeah. Hard to prove the no pay part.”
“Regardless, the licensed professional outfitters are working with us. They’re no more happy about the poaching than we are.”
“Cuts into their business?”
He nodded. “When the illicit guys offer the hunts for a lower price because they’re not licensed and because their clients don’t have to get through a drawing to get one and pay for it...they have an advantage, moneywise. Plus, they’re reducing the number of trophy animals available. The pros are out there all year scouting.”
“No kidding.” She finished her stew and carried her bowl to the sink to rinse it out. Then she got them both some fresh coffee. “I run into some of the nearer outfitters when I’m out tracking the herds. I have to admit, they help by sharing information.”
He looked at her over his mug. “But you don’t like them.”
She flushed faintly. “I don’t dislike them, but I was raised to hunt for myself. My dad went out every year to bring home venison for the family larder, usually with a buddy or two because packing that animal out required more than one pair of shoulders. But it wasn’t the clambake method with a bunch of guides, cooks, tents, horses...”
“I get it,” he said when she trailed off. “You don’t like lazy hunting.”
“It’s not really sporting, to my way of thinking. What animal stands a chance when it’s been tracked by spotters for months, when there are people there to find it again, help the hunter aim his rifle and take his shot? And the outfitters aren’t supplying hunts to those who need the meat to eat. But...they exist, they’re legal, and my personal opinion can’t matter.”
“I hear you,” he said. “But the law allows it, so...”
“And as long as the hunters have the right permits and don’t break the law, I can’t really complain about their methods, can I? At least baiting big game is illegal.”
He rose from the chair and paced her small apartment slowly. “You’re interesting, Desi. I’m guessing you became a warden for the protection part.”
