“You make good press, Walt. Think of it as giving the guy a leg up.”

“How ’bout I give him the boot out instead?”

He frowned. “There are folks in Cheyenne who would appreciate you taking the time to work with him.”

“Joe, you keep leaning on me, and I’m going to call Mary and have her lean on you.”

At the mention of his wife he held up his hands. “Oh, don’t do that.” He waited a moment and then added. “In a week, he’ll be out of your hair. You know, if we can establish ownership of that giant bag of bones, it’ll go to public auction pretty soon.”

I stared at him. “There’s no way the legal shenanigans will be over pretty soon, Joe.”

“They will, if I can get you to help ascertain who has actual ownership—the family, the Conservancy, or the federal government. Then I can do it, and it’ll be out of my hair and out of the public eye.” His shoulders slumped. “Otherwise, this thing is going to drag on in the courts forever. I hate to light a fire under you at a time like this, but there it is.”

“So some venerable organization like the Smithsonian, backed by Exxon/Mobil or Burger King/Pizza Hut, can have Jen?”

“And the owner gets the money.” He sighed. “To the winner go the spoils. We are a capitalist society.” He leaned back and looked at me. “So, concerning Skip Trost, what can I do to make this happen in an amicable fashion?”

I thought about it and stuck a finger out like a baton. “Remind him he’s in my county as a guest.”

“Done. Anything else?”

I left the finger out there. “And don’t you come back up here to slap my wrists over this again.”

He waited a moment and then did a little air clearing. “You know, this is not the way that a sheriff is supposed to speak with his attorney general.”

I took a deep breath and blew it out like a valve. “Nope, this is the way I talk to my old friend Joe Meyer, but if you’d like to see how this conversation would go in a professional manner, I can start over from the beginning.”

“I think I’ll pass.” He studied me a bit longer, then pulled the papers from the seat and set them back in his lap. “Besides, I have to be in Evanston this evening for a meeting at the state psychiatric hospital.”

“Checking in?”

He opened a folder and began reading. “I think seriously about it sometimes.”

I pulled the handle and stepped out onto the sidewalk. “You want me to go down the hill and get the troops?”

“No, I’ve got enough to keep me busy till they get something to eat. They’re good boys—one’s in night school over in Laramie getting his law degree.”

“What about you?”

“Believe it or not, I have my degree.”

“I meant lunch.”

“Oh, Mary made me an egg salad sandwich—it’s in here someplace.” He glanced around, finally spotting a brown paper bag at his feet. “Here it is.” He pulled the waxed-paper-wrapped sandwich from the bag, along with a bottle of water. “Would you like a half?”

“No, thanks. Not really hungry today.” I leaned in the opening, draping an arm on the door, looking at the last of a breed—a statesman and true champion of the people. “You’re a good guy, Joe.”

He didn’t look up but spoke to the documents in his lap. “So are you, Walt. That’s why we do what we do—something I’m sure your son-in-law, after making the sacrifice he has, wherever his spirit is, understands far better than we do.” He turned his face toward me, and I could see the sadness there. “Please tell Cady I am so sorry, and if there’s anything I can do, anything at all, to please contact me. As a matter of fact, have her call me when she can, if you would.”

I nodded.

“Now shut the door so I can concentrate on my work.” He raised a fist without looking at me. “Save Jen.”

 • • •

Cady was seated on the wooden bench in the reception area with her belongings around her. I joined her as she talked with Ruby about the flight she would be taking from Sheridan this afternoon. “I explained the situation, and they made a spot for me.”

I moved a carry-on and sat in its place. “Short visit.”

She turned to look at me as Dog placed his bucket head on her lap. “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Don’t be silly.” I put an arm around her and pulled her into inevitable love. “Do you want me to go with you?”

Her voice was muffled against my chest, and her fingers threaded through Dog’s hair. “No, there’ll be all the preparations to make, and I’ll want to spend as much time as I can with Michael’s family. Anyway, Vic is going with me.” Her hand came up and straightened my shirt. “You don’t mind me taking your second in command?”

“Not for this—even wounded she’s awfully capable.” I looked around. “Where’s Lola?”

“In your office, taking a nap with Henry.” She pulled back a little and looked up at me. “I guess we’ll have to postpone the naming ceremony.”

“I’m sure it’ll be fine.” I glanced up at my dispatcher and could see she was crying, so I figured I’d better get the ball rolling in a different direction or we’d all be fumbling for tissues. “Hey, what’s on the agenda around here?”

Ruby wiped the tears away and slapped her hands in her lap as if the action would dispose of the emotion. She took a deep breath and adjusted her glasses. “Joe Meyer is here, looking for you.”

“Already took care of the attorney general; he was sitting in his car and caught me—evidently everybody thinks we’re a drive-through.” Cady breathed a laugh, but it was hollow. “Speaking of, I’ll drive you over to Sheridan.”

“That’s okay. Henry says he’ll do it.”

“I saw that he broke out Lola’s namesake.”

“He said that she should go to the airport in style.” Cady swallowed as she glanced out the window. “But I don’t think we’re going to get a chance to put the top down.”

“No, doesn’t look good.” I thought about how the Bear, knowing what was for the best, sometimes stepped in for me. He would be able to talk to her about the pain of a fresh loss, something I was not as capable of doing. “Ruby, what’s the weather going to be like?”

Addicted to the metallic Norwegian voice of our NOAA radio, Ruby always knew the score. “Rain, with the really bad thunderstorms hitting us tonight.”

I turned back to Cady. “Glad you are leaving this afternoon, then.”

She nodded. “I think Michael’s family is going to need me back there.”

“Yep.” I waited a second before adding, “Promise me you’ll take care of yourself?”

“I will.”

“No, I mean it.”

She paused a moment and gave me a funny look. “I promise, Dad.”

With a final squeeze, I stood. “Well, I’m going to get one last cuddle with that granddaughter of mine before the three of you take flight.”

She smiled up at me, and I took my leave, Dog staying with her. I quietly approached the doorway of my office and peeked around the jamb to see the Cheyenne Nation reclined in my chair with Lola lying on his chest, slowly rising and falling with each of his breaths, her tiny hands twined into his long hair.

I was about to back out when his voice rumbled, “The best reason I can think of for having children is that it is a marvelous excuse for taking naps.”

I stepped into the room, sat on one of my visitor chairs, and glanced around, not used to seeing my office from this perspective. “You mind if I ask you a question?” He stared at me. “Last night, why did you ask if Michael’s death was a random incident?”

He waited a moment and then said the two words I was hoping he wouldn’t: “Tomás Bidarte.”

We sat there listening to the ticking of my wall clock and the breathing of my granddaughter. “So, you don’t think he’s through after hiring Delgatos to try and kill me.”

“No, and if this is still Asociación Punto Muerto, then the contract on you is yet unfulfilled.”

I could sense conflicting feelings surging through the tectonic plates of my emotions like lava. I wasn’t sure I wanted to hear the rest of what he had to say, but it’s a long, red road with no turns when you’re dealing with the Cheyenne Nation. “Just for the sake of argument, why Michael?”