He held up his badge, pulled his SIG-Sauer, and fired a round into the ground. The two men immediately stopped struggling.
“Conservation Officer! Put the knives on the ground, get down on your knees, and put your hands behind your heads. Now!”
“Dog,” one of the men said.
“Fucker of dogs,” the other one hissed back.
Service kicked both knives away. “Shut your mouths.”
The men went silent. “What the hell is going on?”
“It’s not serious,” one of the men said.
“You almost wreck your trucks, jump out with knives, and start hacking at each other.”
“Just his hair,” one of them said.
They both had long hair tied into pigtails.
“We’re pigtailing,” the smaller of the two men said. It was hard to judge age.
“What the hell is pigtailing?”
“He’s Sioux,” the taller man said. “We drove them out of here a long time ago.”
“He’s Ojibwa,” the shorter one said. “And some of us are back.” He glared at the other young man.
“Let’s see some ID,” Service said. “One hand on your head, fish in your pocket with the other.”
“We’d never hurt another person,” the tall one said. “We’re just trying to take each other’s hair. You can’t be a warrior without hair.”
“What if you miss, hit his neck?”
“We know what we’re doing. Our tribal elders approve of this as a way of settling disputes.”
“What dispute?”
“It goes back?”
“How far?”
“Three, four hundred years.”
“You want to scalp each other over something that took place centuries ago?”
“It’s a matter of honor—like the Civil War.”
“Sounds like a matter of stupidity,” Service said.
He was reaching for the first wallet when he heard a thud and breaking glass down the snowmobile trail behind them.
“What the hell?” The two men joined him in staring down the trail.
A man appeared and stumbled forward, caught his foot, and went down on his face.
“That dude’s fucked up,” the Sioux said.
The man lay on the trail, did not move.
“You two stay here,” he said, adding, “Give me your wallets.” He took them, checked to be sure they contained licenses, and stuffed them inside his shirt. You bolt and I will track your asses down and personally shave you as bald as Telly Savalas.”
“Is that some kind of animal?” Sioux asked.
“You people are too stupid to be on Mother Earth,” Ojibwa shot back.
All Service had wanted was some peace and quiet so that he could think.
“Stay,” he ordered the two men.
They both nodded. “We’re cool, officer.”
When he got to the man on the trail he was on his knees and staring, his brow furled.
“You tough?” the man on his knees asked. His face was scraped.
Blood was dribbling down his chin.
“Calm down, sir.”
The man got to his feet, spread out his arms. “Let’s see what you’ve got, big man.”
“Sir!”
The man charged and was quicker than Service anticipated, crashed into his chest and wrapped him with his arms. Service tried to pry the grip loose, but his broken finger shot a pain up his wrist. The man lifted him in the air and Service looked down into eyes that were boiling blue fury. He pulled his head back and snapped it down hard, head-butting the man in the face. They both went sideways and hands were grabbing at him and pushing him away, and when he rolled over, Sioux and Ojibwa were pinning the struggling man to the ground. Service crawled in with them, felt something cut into his knee, and took a hold by the man’s neck until his eyes rolled in their sockets and he stopped struggling. “Roll him over,” he told his helpers. “Get his arms behind him.” He took his cuffs off his belt and did the man’s wrists.
When things were calm, he sat back and fumbled for a cigarette. He offered the pack to his helpers. “Officer, you are like seriously fucked,” Sioux said.
Service felt his face, looked at his hand. Blood.
“You got first aid in your truck?” Ojibwa asked.
Service nodded. The man ran off, his feet crunching against the gravel. The man in cuffs swore, began to scissor-kick his legs. “You got your knife?” Service asked Sioux, raising his voice.
The young man nodded. “This asshole moves again, cut off his balls.”
Sioux grinned. “Can I have his scalp too?”
“Fucking eh,” Service said.
The man rolled up on a shoulder and looked away.
Ojibwa stood by the truck, looking stumped. “It’s locked.” Service opened it, got out the first-aid kit, and handed it to one of the boys, who began trying to dab at Service’s cuts.