Land of Wolves by Craig Johnson Read Free Book Online Page A

studied them again. “The first one at the top is a flower symbol that is supposed to ward off evil. And the two figures below represent a father and son, I think.”
    Folding up the notepad, I dropped it back into my pocket.
    Sancho fought with the steering wheel again. “So, to get it straight, the old man Abarrane blew Lucian’s leg off?”
    “No, not Abe, his father, Beltran.”
    “I don’t think I know him.”
    “Well, you missed your chance—he’s been dead for quite some time now.”
    “When did that happen exactly?”
    “You mean when did he die?”
    “No, when did he blow Lucian’s leg off?”
    “Late forties, after the war.” I glanced over at the Basquo, who still showed interest in the story. “Lucian was over on Jim Creek Hill in Sheridan County, out of his jurisdiction, which explains why it is that he got the drop on Beltran and his brother . . . Jakes, I think his name was.”
    “Why was Lucian after them?”
    “I think it had to do with a woman that Lucian was married to for a couple of hours.”
    “A couple of hours? Who was she?”
    I sat up, a little annoyed, and loosed my seat belt with a thumb. “Which story do you want to hear, because I’m only telling one.”
    He continued to smile, entertained by my morning grumpiness. “The leg.”
    “Not that much to tell, really. Lucian slips up on them but then isn’t watching, and Beltran grabs a shotgun and blows Lucian’s leg off and then walks over and stands there advising Lucian that he should take up another line of work before Beltran leaves him to bleed to death. Instead, Lucian uses the sling from his rifle to tie off the leg and drags himself to that old Nash of his and drives into Durant, and the doctor there took the leg.” I sighed. “Shortly thereafter, said doctor left town.”
    “What happened to Beltran and Jakes?”
    “Three weeks later, Lucian sticks the barrel of his .38 in Beltran’s ear and sends him down to Rawlins for a five spot. When he got back, he’d calmed down a bit. Heck, I think I even saw the two of them drinking together at the Euskadi Bar on Main Street.”
    “What about the brother, Jakes?”
    I thought about it. “Damned if I know.”
    We got to the Extepare ranch and drove past the outbuildings and sheds giving the impression that this was most assuredly an honest-to-goodness working ranch. Abandoned, out-of-date equipment was parked alongside the barns with deeply trenched causeways and weather-beaten grayed posts and poles that leaned southeast in the pervasive wind.
    I pointed to where some more modern vehicles and a bulbous ’65 International Travelall were parked in front of what must’ve been the main house, where a man sat on the front steps.
    Armed.
    Santiago slowed. “Is he holding a sawed-off shotgun?”
    “Looks like it.”
    Sancho pulled up and parked, and I got out, looking at Abarrane. “Mr. Extepare.”
    He squinted his eyes at me as he stood with what looked to be an old, foreshortened Remington automatic half aimed toward the yard beside me. “Sheriff.”
    “Are you going bird hunting?”
    A short, stocky man with a prodigious nose and earlobes that seemed to comprise the entirety of his body fat, he held the tough-guy look as long as he could and then chuckled. “I did not know if you recognize an Extepare without a shotgun!” He broke out laughing at his joke as I came around the front. “How you doin’, Walter?”
    He tossed me the old sawed-off Model 11 that probably hadn’t been fired since before Sputnik. I looked at the crusty, rusted mechanism of the twenty gauge. “What’s this?”
    “Dat’s the one dat done it.”
    I stared down at the weapon, the realization dawning on me like the slow morning I’d already endured. “This is it, huh?”
    “Dat, or Ma Barker hid it under dat lambing shed over at the summer place.”
    “Well, I’ll be.”
    “No other reason my old man woulda taken a valuable piece of iron like dat and hid it unless he had a