“Can they talk?”

“Babble, mostly—kind of like a bad drunk.”

Ruby smiled. “As I recall, Cady talked early.”

“Yep, and she’s never stopped.”

Double Tough ventured an opinion. “You’re going to need a high chair.”

We all turned to look at him.

He adjusted his eye patch, having put it back on. “What? I got nephews and nieces.”

I pushed off Ruby’s counter and stretched, glancing up at the Seth Thomas on the wall and wondering why all these people were still here, other than to antagonize me. “This grandfather stuff is complicated.”

Ruby laughed. “You haven’t seen the half of it.”

I turned back to Saizarbitoria. “So, I don’t suppose I could impose on you to help me buy all these things?”

He nodded. “And put it together?”

“What?”

“You have to assemble the stuff, and I’m thinking it would be best if you had everything done.”

I nodded some more, getting used to taking orders again. “At my place?”

Vic stared at me. “Where were you thinking they were going to stay?”

“I hadn’t really thought about it, but wouldn’t it be easier if they were in town?”

She shook her head. “Oh, no.”

“You’ve got a brand-new house.”

“Nice try.”

“And if they need anything, they wouldn’t have to drive twenty miles . . .”

“Absolutely not.”

I turned back to Saizarbitoria. “If you and Maria will help me out with this, I’ll give you the rest of the day off.”

He made a face. “The day is over—how ’bout tomorrow?”

He had me over a barrel, and he knew it. I pulled out all the cash I had in my wallet and handed it to him. “Will that cover it?”

He nodded, stuffing the bills in his shirt pocket. “If not, I’ll get the rest from petty cash.”

“Deal. Leave the receipts, so I can reimburse.” I turned to Lucian, suddenly remembering the flask in my coat pocket, the one that I’d taken from the recently deceased. “Hey, old man, I need your opinion on something.” I pulled it out and handed it to him.

His eyes brightened at the prospect. “Now you’re talkin’ about my kind of baby.” He unscrewed the top and sniffed the contents. “Bottled-in-bond.”

He started to take a sip, but I caught his arm. “Hold up. I took that off of Danny Lone Elk, and it hasn’t been tested.” Before I could react further, he changed hands and took a strong, two bubble pull. “Lucian . . .”

“Damn, that’s good.” He licked his lips. “Straight rye whiskey, a four-year-old, if I’m not mistaken—a little metallic, but that could just be from being in the flask too long.”

“You’re not concerned that it might be poisoned?”

“Troop, I’ve been poisoning myself with this stuff for nigh on seventy years and I’m sure in the end it will get me, but it’s been an elongated and cheerful terminus.”

“Brand?”

“E. H. Taylor.” He took another nip, just to be sure. “Hundred proof, I should think.”

“Nothing wrong with it?”

“Not that I can tell, but I better have another just to be on the safe side.”

“Let’s save some for the Department of Criminal Investigation, shall we?” I turned to talk to Double Tough and noticed a group of men standing at the top of the stairs: two highway patrolmen named Bob Delude and Robert Hall, aka the Bobs, and a suited man who looked like a bad smell. “Can I help you?”

“Are you Sheriff Walter Longmire?”

“Maybe.”

“I’m Deputy United States Attorney Skip Trost.”

I noticed he left off the “acting” portion of his title. “Good to meet you.”

“Are we interrupting anything?”

“Oh, no. Just the circling of the wagons here at the end of the day.”

He stepped forward. “I was wondering if I could have a private word with you, Sheriff?” He didn’t wait for an answer but turned and dismissed the two patrolmen. “Thank you, gentlemen; I believe I’m Sheriff Longmire’s responsibility now.”

Robert rolled his eyes and Bob shook his head as they turned, noticeably glad to be rid of him, and trooped down the stairs and out the door. I knew the Bobs pretty well from dealing with them over the years and would have to talk to them later to get the dope on the ADA.

I gestured toward the hall and my office, the day obviously not over.

 • • •

“You know why I’m here.”

Easing myself back in my chair, I took off my hat and set it on my desk, thinking the thing spent more time there than on my head. “I believe so.”

“This is a serious crime against the American people.”

I tapped the brim of my hat and watched it spin on the overturned crown. “The American people, huh?”

He folded his overcoat in his lap and regarded me with a set of very pale blue eyes, the kind that sled dogs have—the kinds of dogs that if not fed enough eat each other. “We have an opportunity here to make a statement to these private collectors that the relics and fossils on public lands are not for private sale.”

“I wasn’t aware that the High Plains Dinosaur Museum was going to sell Jen.”

He watched me, probably trying to get a read on my position in all of this, and that gave me the opportunity to study him in turn. He was fit, and I was guessing he was no stranger to the gymnasiums in Cheyenne. “The point is, Mr. Trost, that we don’t know if the fossil is on public land, and besides, if they maintain ownership, then they can do whatever they like with Jen. It’s a free market, as near as I can tell.”

The shoe stopped bobbing, and he grinned. “They told me you were sharp.”

“Who did?”

He dismissed my question with a wave of his hand. “Everybody at Twenty-Fourth and Capitol.”

“So, I guess you’re looking to establish a partnership with the Northern Cheyenne, the Cheyenne Conservancy, and the Lone Elk family.”

“His family is active?”

I gave him my warning voice. “Very.”

For the first time, he broke eye contact with me and stared at his coat. “Hmm . . .”

“If you don’t mind my asking, why is it that the federal government suddenly has a deep-seated yearning to go after the High Plains Dinosaur Museum?”

“They are stealing government property.”

I expulsed a breath of air that substituted for a laugh. “Private collectors and paleontologists have been doing it all over the American West for more than a century.”

“All the more reason it should be stopped.”

“What’s the hurry? I mean the thing isn’t even out of the ground.”

“The head is.”

I stared at him. “What?”

He grinned some more. “You didn’t know that.”

“No. I’m not really privy to everything the museum does, nor should I be.”

“I just received a text . . .” He pulled out his cell phone and showed it to me—maybe he thought I’d never seen one. “. . . that the head is on the premises of the HPDM and has been crated for shipping.”

“To where?”

“At this time, parts unknown.” He studied me. “So your buddy Dave Baumann doesn’t tell you everything.”

I wondered what Dave was up to, thought about it, and then leaned back in my chair. “I wouldn’t call him my buddy, but he’s from my county and that does make him mine to defend.”

“Defend.”

“A long time ago, the previous sheriff handed his star over to me.” I thumbed my badge for him to take notice—maybe he’d never seen one before. “And along with this three-inch piece of metal came the responsibility of looking out for my people, all 2,483 of them.”

He cocked his head and barked a short laugh. “So, it’s going to be the United States of America versus Absaroka County?”

I sighed deeply and brushed the cuff of my shirt over my badge, wiping off my fingerprints. “Not necessarily. You treat the people of this county with the respect they deserve and I’m yours to command, Acting Deputy Attorney.”

He let that one settle in for a bit and then stood. “I’m afraid you are mine to command no matter what or how I do it, Sheriff.” He looked down at me, enjoying the advantage. “I think we should be going to the High Plains Dinosaur Museum, but first off I’m going to need personal protection.”