Hunter Moon. Jenna Kernan

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СКАЧАТЬ fences were cut,” said Clay.

      “Yeah, I heard that.”

      “I saw that. Don’t know about the lower pasture. I didn’t see anything, but I wasn’t looking.”

      “We’ll check. You didn’t cut them, did you?”

      Clay blinked in astonishment, expecting Kino to laugh or smile or say this was some joke. He didn’t. He just sat there, waiting.

      “No.”

      “I think all our guys are up in the woods,” said Kino. “I’ll ask them to run the fence lines.”

      “They’re going to ruin the scene.”

      “You and I are not the only ones who know how to track, brother.”

      Clay nodded.

      “So you want to do this, or would you prefer one of the other guys handled it?”

      “No. Go on.”

      His kid brother asked the questions, and Clay answered. He’d picked up four truckloads of cattle with Roger Tolino. They’d gotten a second call about cattle on the upper road. He’d sent Roger back with the cattle truck. Clay had found the cut fence after Roger left.

      “Clean cut. All three lines, right by the post.” Clay had searched the ground. “One man was wearing boots, weight about two-fifty, judging from the depth of the tracks and recovery of the grass inside the tread.” He had seen the strays and thought it easier to just steer them back into the pasture. He was just repairing the fences when he’d heard the first shots. “I couldn’t call it in because there’s no cell service up there.” So he’d used his radio. Called Veronica in the office and asked her to call Gabe.

      Getting his statement took a while because Kino had to type his replies. Clay waited as Kino pecked away on the laptop, feeling like a damned fool. Eventually, Kino closed the computer and regarded Clay.

      “You didn’t do anything wrong,” said Kino.

      “That’s what I thought the last time.”

      Kino nodded. “You really didn’t know what they were doing?”

      Clay stared at his kid brother in astonishment and then realized they had never spoken of the crime.

      “Who?” asked Clay, making sure he wasn’t talking about today.

      “Martin and Rubin.”

      “Martin said he wanted some pop. I stopped. They went in. I waited. They came out, and I drove away.”

      “Just like that. Didn’t you see the blood on Martin’s shirt?”

      Kino stared. Clay knew what he was thinking. His older brother was guilty or he was a fool. Clay never liked the choice. He lowered his head. “Are we finished?”

      Kino stood. “Yeah. Sure. So, I’ll see you Saturday?”

      Clay rose. “Saturday?”

      Kino’s voice held impatience. “The wedding?”

      Clay’s mouth dropped open as he realized he’d forgotten. His kid brother was getting married and then honeymooning in the Badlands of South Dakota, so he could pick up the trail of their missing little sister.

      “Yeah, of course. Sorry. My mind is just... Like you said, long day.”

      Kino walked him out.

      “Want to go for a beer after work?” asked Clay.

      Kino rubbed his neck. “Sorry. Can’t. Wedding stuff.”

      “Oh, right. Well, see you Saturday.”

      “Don’t forget the barbecue. Thursday night. Rehearsal and dinner at Salt River on Friday.”

      Clay nodded and left the station, shedding the stale heated atmosphere for the crisp air of a perfect September day. Relief poured down on him with the sunshine. He looked to the west, to Black Mountain. Emerald-green Ponderosa pines that were broken by patches of brilliant yellow aspen ringed the base. Nearer the top, forest gave way to the browning grass. The crown looked as if someone had scraped away all vegetation. This was where the reservation got its name, from the dark of the tallest mountain in Arizona. Eleven thousand two hundred and twenty feet. On this cool day, the crown looked black against the bright blue sky, but soon the snow would cover it again. He’d been to the windy peak. All Apache boys climbed it. There, on the top the Crown Spirits lived. The Gaan, as his people call them, had been sent by the Creator to teach them to live in harmony.

      When Clay told outsiders he was Black Mountain Apache, they assumed he lived in the desert and wore a red head scarf and a long belted shirt. The truth was that he did wear a red kerchief, but about his neck, and his reservation was mountainous with a ski resort in addition to a casino. They had plenty of lakes and some of the best trout fishing and elk hunting anywhere. But mostly what they had was the grassland, and much of it had been broken into permitted grazing areas. Raising cattle was still big business here. Some pastures had been in certain families for generations. Like Isabella Nosie’s grazing rights. It had been her grandfather’s and her father’s—William’s—and now it was hers for as long as she kept filling out the application.

      Some folks thought that system unfair. That they should have a lottery. Clay had no cattle, so he stayed out of the debate.

      He took one final look back at the station. Was she still in there?

      Clay had missed Isabella more than he’d ever admit. She came to him in dreams sometimes, and on a good day he might see her in town. He’d caught her looking back at him once, but she never spoke to him. He didn’t blame her. Lots of folks looked right through him now. Or they hurried the other way as if he was contagious.

      Clay recovered the truck he drove for his job, headed back to the offices and checked in with Dale Donner. Besides managing the communal cattle and horse herds, Donner’s offices collected fines, cared for impounded livestock and sold unclaimed stock at auction. That meant showing up in tribal court and dealing with the tribe’s various livestock associations over disputes. Donner was also on the tribe’s general livestock board, along with Boone Pizzaro, Franklin Soto and two members of the tribal council. Boone Pizarro was the general livestock coordinator, in charge of managing the tribe’s cattle holdings including all grazing permits issued to ranchers on the reservation. Franklin Soto oversaw the health of the herds on the Rez and made sure all Black Mountain cattle complied with regulations with the state’s livestock sanitary board.

      Clay drove the two blocks, parked and entered Donner’s office. He felt as if he had been away for a week.

      Donner did not glance up as Clay came to a stop before the battered wooden desk littered with piles of paper. His boss was a barrel-chested Apache with dark braided hair that framed a face deeply lined and aged by the sun to the color of a well-oiled saddle. He seemed perpetually impatient with the stupidity of both his cattle and his men. Behind him, various clipboards hung on nails beside a calendar featuring a large longhorn steer’s photo. On the lower half of the calendar, Donner had crossed off all the days in the month up to and including today, Monday, September 7.

      His СКАЧАТЬ