She studied him some more. “Your real eye is more green.” She straightened and looked at Saizarbitoria, me, and finally back to DT. “Take it back and have them order up another one.”

Double Tough cleared his throat. “Oh, I think it’s close enough—”

“Go back and have them order up one that matches.” She glanced at us again. “I can’t believe you assholes were going to let him wander around here looking like a fucked-up husky because you two were afraid of hurting his delicate feelings—shame on the both of you.”

As she stalked out, we all stood there in the uncomfortable silence, and then I leaned in and studied the eye again. “Maybe a little greener, but it looks good, troop.”

Sancho nodded. “Really good. A little greener, maybe . . . I mean, you might as well get it right—the insurance is paying for it.”

 • • •

The tribal delegation was waiting for me in my office, sitting in my guest chairs and reading from the plaques and studying the photos on my walls. Brandon thumped a finger on one. “What are all these sheriffs doing in front of this train?”

I turned the corner and sat at my desk across from Cheyenne chief Lonnie Little Bird and Tribal Police chief Lolo Long as Vic lingered near the doorway. “The old sheriff, Lucian—that was the last run of the Western Star back in ’72.”

Lolo was the first to ask, “The Western Star?”

“The Wyoming Sheriff’s Association had this yearly junket that they used to do, a train by the name of the Western Star that ran from Cheyenne to Evanston and back—twenty-four drunk sheriffs shooting sporting clays off a flatbed.”

Chief Long pulled a handful of blue-black hair back from her face, revealing the sickle-shaped scar at her temple and the dark, dark eyes. Out of uniform, she was wearing jeans, a black T-shirt, and a weathered leather jacket—all of which seemed to fit in remarkable ways. “Sounds like fun.”

She wanted to continue the interrogation, but I cut her off and gestured around the room. “The few plaques are his, but he didn’t want them, and I never got around to taking them down.”

“What do you have time for these days?”

I smiled at my reservation comrade in arms. “The job, Chief Long, the job.” I took my hat off and set it on my desk, crown down, and introduced Vic to the group.

“We’ve met.”

Lolo’s head lifted, and she spoke. “Undersheriff.”

Vic’s voice carried just a little edge to it. “Chief.”

I addressed the rest of the war party. “Chief Little Bird.”

Lonnie laughed. “Too many chiefs and not enough Indians. Mm, hmm. Yes, it is so.”

I glanced at Brandon, who was still standing, and then back at Lonnie. “Is this a formal call?”

“I am afraid so.”

“Danny Lone Elk?”

He nodded and leaned back in his wheelchair. “Just so you are aware, we did not do this.”

“Do what?”

“Call the FBI.”

“Since Wounded Knee II, when the Department of Justice shows up I rarely think that it’s the tribe that has called them.”

Lolo played with the woven horsehair zipper slide on her jacket. “Danny had made commitments with the tribe that upon his death his ranch was to be signed over to the Cheyenne Conservancy, and that is our only concern at this time. I am not sure if the fossil in question is part of that land or an antiquity that is dealt with differently. Danny mentioned that a home for the dinosaur might be made on the reservation in Lame Deer at the Chief Dull Knife College or that there might be a sale of a limited number of replicas of the skeleton or the donation of some of the bones to the tribal headquarters, but that above all, the proceeds from such a sale should go exclusively to his children and grandson.”

“What’s your involvement?”

She leaned forward and smiled a dazzling smile that made my toes tingle. “I’m the director of the Cheyenne Conservancy.”

“So you were in a sort of partnership with Danny.”

“Yes.”

“Has anybody talked to Dave Baumann about this?”

“I don’t know.”

I glanced up at Vic, who rolled her eyes. “Well, it’s going to start getting complicated now that the feds are involved.”

Lolo studied me. “Did you call them?”

“No.”

“Then who did?”

Vic smiled. “Skip.”

3

“What do you mean you can’t pick us up in Billings?”

Glancing around the reception area at my assembled staff as we took on our greatest challenge at the end-of-the-day coffee klatch, I sighed through the telephone line in an attempt to get out of trouble with the Greatest Legal Mind of Our Time. “There’s a big mess going on among the Cheyenne, the High Plains Dinosaur Museum, and the federal government, and I’m betting I won’t be able to get free tomorrow. The acting deputy U.S. attorney is going to be here, and then I’ll know more.”

“Acting deputy U.S. attorney—what the hell does that mean?”

“I don’t know; I guess it means he acts like a deputy attorney or something.” I hugged the phone in for a little privacy. “Can’t you fly into Sheridan?”

“I’m traveling with a five-month-old, and they don’t have a leather helmet and goggles to fit her.” There was a pause. “Have you ever traveled with a five-month-old?”

The second time I’d been asked that today—I tried to remember if I ever had. “I think your mother did; I was just ground support.”

“Did you get the Pack ’n Play and the car seat?”

I lied. “Yep.”

“You’re lying.”

Uncanny. “As fast as Dog can trot.”

“If you can’t borrow them, then get them over in Sheridan when you come to pick us up.”

“So, you are flying into Sheridan. Why don’t you rent a car?” The phone went dead in my hand as I handed it back to my dispatcher and my guideline for all things domestic. “What’s a Pack ’n Play?”

Ruby looked at Saizarbitoria, who seemed to have an innate ability to describe child-rearing accoutrements in terms I could understand. “Portable solitary confinement.”

“Ahh . . .” I smiled, pressing the joke. “And the car seat?”

“It’s a seat. That goes in your car,” the Basquo grunted. “I’ve got all that stuff.”

Ruby hung up the phone. “Walt, you can borrow them, but I’m thinking you should buy; this is not the only time they’re going to be here—that is, if you don’t keep royally messing things up.”

I glanced at Lucian, who sometimes showed up at these unofficial end-of-the-day meets, and then the rest of my staff. “Everybody seems to think that, huh?”

They all nodded, but Lucian was the first to speak. “You’re not off to a good start, troop.”

Vic laughed. “Like you’re a knowledgeable source.”

I cupped my chin in my palm and postulated as I looked at the previous sheriff of Absaroka County. “I’m trying to remember what five-month-olds are like; what they can do.”

Lucian mumbled. “They shit a lot.”

Vic bumped him with her shoulder. “When was the last time you even held a baby—the Eisenhower administration?”

Ruby agreed. “You’re going to need diapers.”

“Is there a service in town?”

“They don’t do that anymore; they’re disposable.” She glanced at Saizarbitoria again. “But I’m betting Sancho is our go-to guy on all of this.”

He rolled his shoulders. “Like I said, we’ve got all that stuff and you’re welcome to it, but you might be better off to buy all new. Anthony’s over a year old and escapes from everything like a miniature Houdini, but we still use some of it.” He smiled. “You’ve got a long road ahead of you, Grandpa.” He thought about it. “At five months they can sit up, scoot, roll, and maybe crawl a little.”