Sowing on the Mountain

≈ 35 ≈

Slim got up at six and found her sitting in the wicker chair with a mug of coffee. He stepped out to pee off the deck, put on his clothes, and poured himself a mug before saying anything.

"Feeling better?"

"Yeah. Didn't sleep much. I'll have to take a good, long nap."

"You do that. I have to get in and check for messages. Fish and Wildlife is sending someone to Jackson, an agent. The Refuge people aren't really up to this sort of work. Mary. . ."

"Yes?"

"If you want to talk. . "

"I know. I appreciate it, seriously. I just need to process it or something. To many awful things in too short a time."

"It's not your fault."

"I know that."

"Nothing to do with you except being in the wrong place at the time. Cops get a kind of combat fatigue, dealing with wrecks and murders and robberies and disasters, day after day. If you ever feel like talking to someone— besides me— there's a shrink in town who people go to. She's good, I hear."

"Probably expensive."

"You're working and I've got a good job now. Actual money in the bank."

"Thanks. I'll keep that in mind. While I was not sleeping I had a thought."

"What's that?"

"I think Trapper poisoned his dogs— not on purpose. He was scrounging meat to feed them in the woods. I saw him leave the cabin with a rifle and a backpack."

"I was thinking the same thing," Slim said. "Should have the results on the meat from the pan and the icechest tomorrow."

"What was in the chest?"

"Looked like liver."

"But if he shot that deer, how would it be poisoned? Deer don't eat meat."

"Maybe it wasn't from the deer. Which way did he go?"

"He crossed Driveway Creek, then over the ridge to the west. That's where they spread the poison."

"Don't think he'd be dumb enough to scavenge a poisoned critter: what with the vomit and staring eyes and arched back and all. You could tell those dogs died badly."

Mary sat silent, thinking, putting pieces together. "Maybe it ate the poison but didn't show the symptoms yet. I looked it up. It can take a few hours for a large critter to go down."

"Large, like. . .a bear? Didn't Jet say they were having trouble with a bear killing sheep over that way."

"That fits. The bear eats poison, starts to get woozy and stumbles across Trapper's path. He shoots it and cuts off some meat and packs it home. 1080 affects dogs really fast. He probably fed some to the dogs. They started thrashing around and he got scared, maybe having symptoms himself at that point. He jumps in his rig and roars off and loses it on the first curve."

"Wow! I've gotta get to a phone."

"You can call Dispatch from here."

"Right." He flipped the radio on and keyed the mic. "Teton County Dispatch, Tamblin. Urgent."

"Tamblin, we copy. Please proceed."

"Could you please phone Chester Headley at the Game and Fish Department in Pinedale? The number is 367-4899. Copy?"

"10-4. What's the message?"

"Ask him to call the coroner and hold up the shipment of the body— Arvin Talbott— to Missouri. We need a second autopsy for stomach contents. Whoever does it should take precautions for extremely toxic material. Have him call me at my office at about 8:30. Copy?"

"Roger that, Tamblin. Any other messages?"

"That should do it. Thanks. Tamblin clear."

"Dispatch."

He hung up the mic and looked at Mary. "I don't think they bothered with the stomach—after all, he was missing half his head: obvious cause of death. They ran a blood alcohol: point oh-two or so. One beer."

"But the poison might make him crazy. Besides the cramps and such."

"They're winching the vehicle out today— we need to check it for vomit. I'll bet no one did that. I'll call Pinedale when I get to town. Sheesh! Gotta run."

She hugged him and sent him off with a kiss that she hoped made up for the lonesome night. Then she went back to bed.