Page 3 of Midnight Ride

“Start just outside the clearing and we’ll circle the camp and widen the search each time we come around so we don’t miss a trick,” said Billy. “You go that way and I’ll go this way.”

“Yep.”

They circled around twice on an ever-widening circle and on the third time around, Virgil came across the reason the hunters had moved on. He gave Billy a shout out. “Dead guy over here, Billy.”

“Keep calling, Virge and I’ll find you.”

Virge kept giving a shout out to Billy and he eventually got to the heavily wooded spot where the riddled body had been dumped.

“This guy is shot full of fuckin holes,” said Virgil. “How many shots did that rancher hear?”

“I think he said seven.”

“Can’t really see the holes to count them,” said Virge.

“One might’ve done the job,” said Billy.

Virgil dropped down next to the body and peered into the dark crimson layer that covered the hunter’s clothes.

“Made a mess of his new orange vest,” said Billy. “Wonder if they left his ID on him.”

Virgil made a face as he stuck his hand into a crusty pocket and felt around for a wallet. “Nothing in that one.” He moved around and tried the other side and came up with a brown leather billfold. “Got it.”

He handed it to Billy and Billy opened it up and read from the driver’s license. “Steven Oliver from Pocatello, Idaho.”

“How old is he? Looks like an old guy.”

Billy chuckled. “He might look old to you, Virge, but he is—was—only forty-eight according to his DL.”

“We gonna call Travis?”

“Yep. We’re gonna call Doc Olsen first, then Travis and we’ll have to wait here until they get here. This is a crime scene, and we can’t leave it now that we found the body.”

“That the rule?”

“Yep. We have to keep the scene secure until all the evidence is processed, or until we turn it over to another branch of law enforcement.”

“How many branches we got in Coyote Creek?”

“One. Just us. We’re on our own.”

Virgil sat down on a fallen tree and lit up a smoke. “Gonna take them a while to get here. We might as well get comfortable.”

“Yep. I’m with you. I can use a smoke.”

Wild Stallion Ranch.

I closed the gate to secure the horses in the corral and we were toting our saddles into the barn to put them away in the tack room when Travis got a call from Billy.

“Hey, Billy, are you calling me from the front porch?” Travis gave a chuckle.

“Hell, no. Wish I was. Got a call, and we got a dead hunter up near Oilmont. Write down the directions.”

“No way. On our day off?”

The phone was on speaker, and I wrote on my American Spirit pack when Travis repeated what Billy was saying. “Got it down.”

“Damn it,” said Tammy. “I’ve got a roast in the oven, and I want to come with y’all.”

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