The Dinosaur Hunter(62)

After the parade, the pickups filled up with folks and headed for the fairground, disgorging ranchers, their ladies, and their kids to swill on hot dogs, soda pop, and popcorn; peruse the horses, calves, pigs, sheep, and rodeo riders getting ready for the competition; and visiting with each other as the movable Fillmore County family reunion  /Independence Day celebration continued, only at a slightly different location.

I spotted the Haxbys or, more accurately, they spotted me and the next thing I knew I was being confronted by Sam, Jack, and Carl, which was a lot of Haxbys to be confronted by. “Heard you took a walk around my place,” Sam said, and by the tone of his deep voice, I knew he was not pleased by my little sojourn on his lease.

I cut my eyes toward Carl, hoping for a twinkle in his eye meaning I was getting teased, but it wasn’t there. I said, “I apologized to Carl for that, Sam, and I’m apologizing to you, here and now. I’m sorry and I mean that. I should have checked with you first.”

“Carl told me all that, Mike,” Sam replied, “but I have to say I’m completely surprised and disappointed in you. I know you’re still new out here but I thought ten years was enough for you to learn a few of our rules. A man could get shot, he wanders where he’s not supposed to go.”

This irritated me. I don’t like to be threatened, especially after I had sincerely apologized for something I didn’t have to apologize for. “If a man could get shot, Sam,” I said, “another man could go to prison for a very long time.”

Sam scowled at that. “Around here, we don’t send people to prison who defend their property from trespassers.”

“I was on BLM, Sam, under a BLM permit.”

“You were on land that we Haxbys have tended to for over a century. How would Jeanette like it if I and my boys started trespassing on her BLM?”

“You’ll have to ask Jeanette,” I said. “But I don’t think she’d shoot you.”

Sam had another gripe. “You got those damn fossil hunters and those damn green wacko brothers out there on the Square C. You tell Jeanette we think she should kick them all out.”

About then, someone came to my defense although it was the last person in the world I wanted on my side. Ted Brescoe. “You don’t own the BLM, Sam Haxby, not one square inch of it,” he said, stepping up after a bout of eavesdropping. “And I’ll tell you something else. I’ve contracted with a surveyor and we’re going to see exactly where your property line runs. I think you’ve been moving your fence twenty to thirty feet every few years, encroaching on the BLM. If I find out you’ve been cheating, your lease won’t be renewed. I’ll have the FBI on you, too, trust me on that, and maybe I’ll have them out to see what you’ve got hidden away on your ranch. Wouldn’t surprise me if you had an atom bomb.”

Ted’s discourse left us all a little breathless, including Ted. To my surprise, Sam actually seemed deflated and didn’t argue back. Maybe it was because the FBI is both respected and feared in these parts and it was at least conceivable a BLM agent could bring his big federal brothers to kick over some cans. “Come on, boys,” Sam said, and he and his two sons went off without another word.

Ted watched them go, a tight smile stretched across his ugly face. “You have trouble with them again, Mike, you come to me.” This was a nice thing to say, which was unlike Ted so he salvaged his reputation by adding, “That surveyor’s gonna also look at the Square C fence. Jeanette’s lease might be canceled, too.”

“Ted, we know the fence is wrong. Your agency put it up wrong so it wouldn’t have to work so hard stringing it across Blackie Butte.”

“Maybe so,” Ted snorted, “but then you tore it down. That’s destruction of government property. You could end up in jail.”

“Have a real nice day, Ted,” I said and got out of his sight. In fact, I decided to get out of all their sights, even Jeanette’s, and enjoy myself a rodeo. I figured I’d earned it.





20




The rodeo began and, for the most part, it was a normal Fillmore County Independence Day Rodeo, which was pretty fine. There was the pig chase, the mutton busting (kids riding sheep, no lie), the calf roping, the barrel race, team roping, and the bull riding and bronc busting. The audience was as knowledgeable as any that ever watched a rodeo, a gathering of ranchers who made their living with cows and horses, and therefore were all the more appreciative at what they were seeing. I didn’t go up in the stands where there was shade, being too dirty and sweaty to sit beside anybody, so I just hung around at the beer garden and sucked down some brews. The garden was up on a berm so I had a pretty good view of the proceedings. I’d seen Laura, Tanya, and Pick come in earlier and they’d gone off somewhere. Then I’d seen Pick by himself, down by the hot dog stand, but I didn’t see where he’d gotten himself off to after that. Anyway, there I was, minding my own business watching the bucking broncs toss off their riders when Ray came running up. “The Haxbys got hold of Pick!” he said and I dropped my beer and went chasing after him to see what was what.