Page 6 of Hell and Gone
Everett stared.
Braddock chuckled. “Just stories, son. Can I get you a coffee?”
“No, sir, thank you. I’m fine.”
“Donut?”
“No, sir, thank you. I’m fine.”
Braddock peered at him. “Youarefresh from the military, huh? Ag usually hires up old cowboys to be their stock detectives, but Dan Howell’s been barkin’ at his lawyers and his boys in Helena to hire up some real tough ones. Said they was needin’ to get some young ones. Ag thought the military was where we’d find what they wanted, I suppose. Some brilliance brought to the area.”
“I was in the Army, sir. Military Police.”
“And from the big ole Army, you found yourself all the way out here in the Crazies?” Braddock’s eyebrows arched, and he waited, watching Everett. “What brought you to Montana?”
Silence lingered in the small office. Everett clenched his jaw. Braddock’s expression slowly shifted into a frown as his mustache twitched.
“Well, you’re here now.” Braddock smiled wide, moving past the silence. “And we need you. I’ve got five ranchers in the Crazies who are about ready to blow. Endless Sky, Howell’s ranch? That’s the biggest. He’s got nearly the entire range, but the Rocking H and the Flying Joker have land on the eastern slopes. Heart’s Rafter butts up against Endless Sky on the north slope at the head of canyon country, but they’ve had a river of troubles, and Bill Warner’s pulled out. Then there’s Lawrence’s ranch, the Lazy Twenty-Two. Covers the high pastures and triangles Crazy Peak along with Endless Sky and Heart’s Rafter.
“Somethin’s going on in the Crazies. Stock—cattle—been disappearin’ off everyone’s ranches. Stock disappearin’ usually means rustlin’, and rustlin’ always means trouble. Modern rustlers, they like to grab stock and shove them in trailers, get them as far as fast as they can. They rework the brand and slide on up to a backwater auction where they can offload the stolen beef. One stolen head can bring as much as five grand at one of them black-market auctions.”
Everett nodded. He’d had a crash course in range law enforcement from his supervisor at the Department of Agriculture in Helena. He’d shadowed Buck for three weeks, trying to soak up everything he could in this new world he’d blown into. It was a whirlwind, a tornado of information. He was still getting his arms around everything.
“Now, the Crazies ain’t like the open range. Rustlin’ out on the front, or on the eastern prairie, is easy. It’s flat land, and thousands of miles of it. You drive onto some unlucky bastard’s pasture, you rustle up a few head, you light a shuck and you’re gone. Millions of dollars are lost out there every year. That’s where you fine folk at Ag have been tryin’ to make a stand.” Braddock’s lips pursed. “Up here in the mountains, though, there’s only so many ways in and out. Most of the land is privately owned ranch land split between those five ranches. There are mighty few public trails up into those hills, and of those, they’re difficult to maneuver through. Unmaintained, mostly.”
“You think trespassers, then? Thieves coming in from the public lands?”
“The ranchers do. Howell’s been up my ass about keeping more men watchin’ the trailheads and watchin’ every boot that collects dust from the Crazies. Trouble is, I’ve got two thousand square miles of land to protect and only one little department of six deputies. I can’t devote my entire force to watchin’ trails.” Braddock pulled out a manila envelope and passed it across the desk. “I did send a few boys up several days ago. See for yourself what they found.”
A stack of enlarged photos showed tracks through a muddy patch of rough backcountry. Tracks left by a heavy horse with thick shoes. The remains of a primitive camp. Trash lay strewn and cluttered at the base of thick tree trunks. A scorched circle in the dirt revealed an old campfire.
Evidence of drug activity, too. Repacking. Plastic gallon-size bags lined with white powder were half burned under the blackened dirt and white ash.
“Meth is Montana’s biggest problem. Whenever you got poverty and unemployment, you find meth. Boredom’s easiest—and worst—solution. People lookin’ for an escape from their lives. It’s also cheap to make, and it’s an easy business to get into if you don’t blow yourself up, that is. Industry has a way of weedin’ out the ones who can’t make it. It’s comin’ up from Arizona, Colorado, Wyoming. Ain’t nobody here that’s able to make it, that’s for sure. But them Wyoming nutjobs—” Braddock’s eyes went wide as he shook his head. “They push it north across our border. Whenever we think we get a hold on where the meth is comin’ from, five more supply chains pop up. It’s a tide we can’t seem to stop. Eighty-six percent of all drug busts in this state are meth.”
“You think there’s a new smuggling route through the Crazies into Montana.”
“That’s my theory.” Braddock nodded. “The pieces seem to fit, at least roughly, for now. Think they’re movin’ drugs up from Wyoming and across from Idaho. It’d be a rough passage, but it’s a route we’d have a damn hard time bustin’. Someone goin’ through the Crazies is smart. They know how hard it is to navigate, but theyalsoknow how hard it is to bust ‘em.”
“To be successful and with that level of knowledge, it would have to be locals doing the smuggling. Someone who knows how to move through the mountains.”
“I’m concerned ‘boutexactlythat. Good to know we’re gettin’ what we’re payin’ for in that big ole military brain.” He winked, smiling kindly at Everett.
“Look, son, if this is drug runners moving through our mountains and they’d just stuck to shippin’ their meth, we probably never woulda found them. I haven’t sent a deputy up those trails in almost fifteen years. But whoever it is, they musta got greedy. Started stealin’ stock. And stealin’ stock, nowthat’sa crime in Montana that will get you noticed. And they got the attention of the biggest ranch in town.”
“Why would drug runners and meth dealers want to steal cattle off the ranches?”
“For eatin’ on the trail, maybe?” Braddock shrugged. “Or for sellin’ at the black-market auctions for some quick cash. Meth sells, sure. So does stock. I’ve realized most criminals diversify in their efforts.” He leaned forward, pursing his lips as he studied Everett. “Speakin’ of. Just this mornin’, Lawrence Jackson, man who runs the Lazy Twenty-Two, dropped a corpse off on my front desk. Fellow named Carson Riley, an associate of his, was found dead on his range.”
Everett’s eyebrows rose. “How did he die?”
“Looks like a suicide, and there’s reason enough to suspect he decided killin’ himself was the way to get out of the trouble he found himself in. There’s history behind that corpse, lots of it, and I can’t say I was surprised to see him dead with rope burns on his neck. But, be that as it may, I’m having him examined by the coroner. Coroner’s out of state right now, but he’ll be back soon. We’ll find out what happened.”
“You think there’s a possibility of foul play?”
Braddock sighed. There was an exhaustion deep in his eyes, but he managed a small smile for Everett. “Son, I’m not sure what I think right now ‘bout that corpse. That’s why I’m sendin’ you in.”
Everett, if possible, straightened further. His spine cracked. “What are my orders?”
