Page 48 of High Density

He jabs a finger at me and I have to hold back from grabbing on to it and hurting him. He’s creating enough of a spectacle without me adding onto it.

“What cow?”

For a moment I’m confused. Is he talking about the dead cow? Because I would’ve bet he was the one who took it and burned the carcass.

But then he clarifies, “A cow from that last trailer yesterday is missing. We’re getting them ready for auction and I’m told we’re missing one. My driver says he left you alone on that trailer when you sent him off to find water.”

I might’ve scoffed at him if I wasn’t so worried. Obviously, I didn’t take the cow, but I’m pretty sure what I did take is what really has him pissed off. There’s no way for him to know though. Is there?

“What would I do with a cow? Why would I take a cow? You’re not making any sense,” I tell him. “Besides, didn’t you count heads yesterday when they were unloaded?”

“Everything all right here?”

Phil Jericho walks up behind Mackey, who appears to stiffen at hearing his voice.

I take the opportunity to explain.

“Mackey seems to have lost a cow and is accusing me of taking it.”

Jericho drops a manicured hand on the other man’s shoulder.

“Now, John, what on earth would Doc Richards want with your cow? The animal probably just slipped in with another herd. Let’s go have a look, shall we?”

With a wink for me, and a benevolent smile for a few nosy onlookers, he firmly guides Mackey back to the stockyard.

“What was that all about?” JD asks when he joins me a few minutes later. “I was about to come check it out when Jericho showed up.”

I relay Mackey’s strange accusation as JD slides a bottle of water and the largest fry bread taco I’ve ever seen in front of me. His reaction surprises me.

“Hmm. I bet you I know which cow went missing.”

JD

I’m observant,so it doesn’t take me long to spot him.

He looks like just another middle-aged rancher; dusty Stetson, denim shirt, weathered face, toothpick in his mouth to compensate for the cigarettes he probably cut out for his health. But what makes him stand out is his keen focus on the interactions in the auction arena. He isn’t looking at his program, or chatting with the other ranchers in the stands, but his eyes track everything that goes on below.

He also places just a few bids, early on in the process—probably in an attempt to blend in—but only buys one small lot and doesn’t seem too interested in following through on the others. That is, until one of Mackey’s lots comes up for auction. Now, all of a sudden, he’s all business.

“Tan Stetson, fifties, denim shirt. Second to last row of the stands on the south side,” I mumble into my shirt. “Number three, eight, one,” I read off the placard he’s holding up.

I’ve been to my share of livestock auctions. Horses, not cattle, but the principle is the same. When I mentioned that this morning, when Janey and I were getting miked up, Agent Kramer suggested I take an observing role at this afternoon’s auction. Not only keeping an eye on Doc, who is currently in the arena below, standing near the gate where the animals are led in, but also on the stands. She asked me to report any irregularities or individuals who looked out of place.

This guy would fit that bill.

I watch as he waits out another interested bidder and swoops in at the last moment to drop his higher bid. As cautious as he was on his earlier bidding, he is clearly motivated to buy this load and willing to go as high as he needs to.

By the time the second of Mackey’s lots is led into the arena, a man sidles up to the railing beside me. I’m pretty sure he’s a fed; his attention is fixed on the bidder like mine.

“That him?” he mutters under his breath.

“Uh-huh.”

“Okay, take a walk, I’ve got him from here.”

Probably smart. I was looking at him pretty hard.

I don’t want to venture too far, so I get a bottle of water from the concession stand and find a shady spot from where I can keep an eye on the auction arena, the cattle holding pens, and the numerous cattle trailers behind it.

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