Blind Revenge

By Bob Tait

Julian Reichert stared in disbelief as the woman who called herself Angeline Reichert walked into the courtroom. It was as if time was moving one frame at a time; click, click, click when he watched this woman, an image from his past, walk to the plaintiffs table and sit next to her attorneys. It was his sister Angeline, the Angeline he saw lowered into her grave more than thirty years earlier. Julian sat stunned and numb. This could not be! It was only when Gavin McGowan, the Veterinarian and friend of his father, took the witness stand that Julian learned of the bizarre chain of events that dropped this sister into his life where she would challenge his role as the heir to the Reichert empire. Conspiracy and murder, including two attempts on his own life, awaken Julian to the realization that his father has harbored a diabolical secret, a secret known only to the charismatic vet who stuns the court with his story.

• Language: English
• Publisher: iUniverse
• Release date: Jan 30, 2013
• ISBN: 9781475972115

Bob Tait

Garland Robert (Bob) Tait is a retired educator and lives with his wife Kathryn in Phelan California. He is an avid sportman.

Book preview

BLIND

REVENGE

BOB TAIT

iUniverse, Inc.

Bloomington

Blind Revenge

Copyright © 2013 by Bob Tait.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping or by any information storage retrieval system without the written permission of the publisher except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews.

This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, incidents, organizations, and dialogue in this novel are either the products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously.

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Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Thinkstock are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.

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ISBN: 978-1-4759-7210-8 (sc)

ISBN: 978-1-4759-7211-5 (ebk)

iUniverse rev. date: 05/29/2013

Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Epilogue

DEDICATED TO:

Adam, Kimberly, Ryan, Troy, Jodi, Jordan, and Michael who make me laugh and who, along with my grandchildren, bring me the greatest joy in life.

Acknowledgements: My undying gratitude goes to Sharon Schlegel, Heather Conkle and Becky Grijalva who provided encouragement and invaluable advice in framing the story. To my eternal companion Kathryn, who gave up hours of companionship and lists of honey do’s as I huddled in my man cave—I will love you forever.

Chapter 1

It was evening in Calf Creek valley, and the setting sun crept toward the western horizon, pulling the shadows up the water-streaked ledges, transforming them from pink to red. An occasional Cadiz fly hovered above the water as Calf Creek coursed its way through lush green pastures around a cluster of outbuildings that were the center of Calf Creek Ranch. The creek meandered through the ranch on one short leg of its trip through the Grand Staircase National Monument, passing through deep slot canyons and over cascading waterfalls before emptying into the mighty Colorado River.

It was here in the stark grandeur of the upper reaches of the Grand Staircase that Angeline Reichert was preparing for the fight she believed was her destiny to wage. Her father, Rusty, and his father before him, William Reichert, built a ranching empire, a 640,000-acre spread known as the Diamond T, the largest cattle operation in all of southwestern Colorado. Rusty’s only son and Angeline’s brother, Julian Reichert, stole the Diamond T from Rusty, or so she had been told, and she was determined to get it back. She would extract her father’s lost heritage from her evil brother, the man who Rusty once called his son.

Angeline had never met her brother Julian, and she had no desire to meet the man who destroyed her father. The story was clear. Julian tricked his father into willing the ranch and its massive holdings to him as the sole heir, and then he pushed Rusty and his beloved wife, Lola, out of his life. Angeline could not stop asking herself what kind of man would strip his parents of their home and then relegate them to a lonely existence in a place that overlooked their lost dream—a small cabin on the outskirts of the ranch.

Angeline could never forget the sadness she felt when Rusty explained to her that it was there in the roundup cabin, where she was born, that he suffered the second blow to his life’s dreams. Lola died giving life to her. He reminded Angeline that she was what kept him going through his despair. He also revealed that she had an older sister, her namesake, also Angeline. That sister, twenty-two years her senior, and two years younger than Julian, died in an automobile accident at the age of twenty-seven. With the help of an Indian woman and her husband who lived near him, Rusty raised Angeline to adulthood, and it was there in the cabin he gave her her life’s mission. He told her how she would restore to him and to her that which was rightfully theirs. Rusty explained to Angeline that the power of the Diamond T was its reputation for producing the best beef animals in the west. He told her how he and his father, her Grandfather William, had built that reputation by buying and breeding the best animals they could find. Rusty described, through his anger, how Julian, over his objection, dramatically changed the way the Diamond T developed its line of cattle.

Julian got pulled into the hocus pocus of genetic engineering as a way to change how new calves developed, he told her. It’s not right, messing with the way God designed to pass traits from one generation to another, but he’s done it, and you will use his own secrets to get the ranch back.

Angeline didn’t argue with Rusty when he talked about genetic engineering because she knew she couldn’t change his mind. What she did know was that the Diamond T had developed a line of beef cattle that was superior to anything in the country, and they did it by altering the effects of a gene called myostatin.

Myostatin manages the development of muscle tissue by acting as an inhibitor to its growth. In animals, where the myostatin gene mutates, muscle mass increases, and the animals are larger and meatier than animals with the normal gene. Julian Reichert’s researchers created a synthetic gene that blocked the effects of myostatin, resulting in cattle that were 20 percent meatier than any other strain. The Diamond T generated in excess of ten million dollars annually, in sales of genetically engineered sperm and eggs and market beef.

You have to get the secret to the myostatin blocker, Rusty told her, and use it to develop your own line of prize animals. By pirating the process and using Julian’s own cows, you’ll be spared the time and expense to develop your own breeding line. Once the new line of cattle is developed, you’ll use the money from selling the eggs and sperm and the breeding animals to pay your attorneys.

Rusty not only set the vision in her mind as to who she was and why her life’s mission was to take down Julian Reichert, but he laid the plan out for her. They would sneak onto the Diamond T and steal animals that were part of Julian’s genetically engineered breeding stock. Those animals would form the base of Angeline’s own line of show animals.

As she matured, Angeline convinced Rusty that she needed to understand the processes of genetic engineering, so she went away to college, pursuing a dual major of Management and Genetic Engineering. It was during her second year away from home that tragedy struck; an overheated wood stove caused a fire that burned the cabin to the ground, killing Rusty. Angeline walked away from the small memorial service for her father with a deeper resolve to bring him justice.

Angeline’s intelligence, natural business instincts, and beauty served her well. In just five short years following her graduation, she purchased the Calf Creek ranch in a bank short-sale and formed Domtec, the company whose name combined the identity of the famous Dominion line of Hereford cattle with state-of-the-art technical genetic engineering. Calf Creek was the ideal location for her operation. It was close to the Diamond T but remotely secure. Calf Creek had its own barns, pastures, and, most importantly, a state-of-the-art lab staffed with a talented geneticist.

Angeline Reichert was not just another intelligent woman. She was also a model of beauty and confidence. Her almond-shaped, black eyes, set off by long eyelashes, nestled in a field of soft olive-colored skin. These were the center of her beauty. Her perfect face, framed in dark auburn hair, and her five-foot-eleven frame, combined with her beauty, drew attention and commanded respect, almost subservience, from most of the men who pursued her. She was most comfortable in Wrangler jeans and Western-cut shirts, but she could reach into her wardrobe and dress for any occasion.

As the afternoon sun approached the western horizon, Angeline stepped from the wooden porch of the log home that was the residence at Calf Creek Ranch. The setting of the sun and lengthening of the shadows lifted warm air above the canyon walls, pulling in behind it slow-moving breezes that brought nighttime temperatures into the narrow valley. Angeline shivered and thought about going back into the house for a light jacket but changed her mind, thinking she wouldn’t have long to wait. She was anxious.

Earlier that day, she had sent Elliott Cole, the man she would marry, into western Colorado onto the Diamond T with two ranch hands, Billy Brock and Rand Ingram. They were carrying out the first step in Rusty’s plan to bring Julian Reichert to his knees. When Elliott insisted they just buy the animals and avoid the risk of getting caught stealing them, her anger surfaced.

The sun will fall from the sky before I pay Julian Reichert anything, she said. Besides, you know we don’t have that kind of money. Those cows sell for twenty-five grand each!

Angeline, it’s not worth the risk, and we can get the money, Elliott said. Your stubborn streak is going to come back to bite you.

No! Angeline exclaimed. Her unflinching stare told Elliott he was fighting a battle he couldn’t win. He relaxed, shrugged his shoulders, and walked to the truck. Angeline followed.

Just do it, Elliott, she said, her voice softening. It’ll be okay.

Angeline gave Elliott a tight hug and then stepped back as he climbed into the truck, which was hooked to a trailer containing three horses. Billy and Rand waited in a second truck hooked to an empty stock trailer. Elliott led the way as he drove out of Calf Creek in the early morning darkness. It was slow moving along the narrow, two-lane highway that wound and turned like a slithering snake through the slick rock canyons and high ridges of the Grand Staircase. From the highway crossing at Calf Creek, up over Devils Backbone and on into the Fremont Valley, their travel was measured and deliberate. It was only after winding through Fruita, Utah, and Capitol Reef National Monument east of the small farming community of Torrey that the road opened up, allowing them to make up time lost coming out of Calf Creek.

As Elliott drove, his thoughts turned to Angeline. He couldn’t help but think how her stature and beauty belied the anger that too often consumed her, and he focused, once again, on the features that had drawn him to this thirty-one-year-old beauty. Elliott had never loved anyone the way he loved Angeline, but as he would soon discover, his love for her was tempered by a greater passion—a desire for wealth. It had been within his grasp, his dream of untold millions, but the dream was shattered instantly, just like his knee, in a football accident during the final season of his college career as an All American quarterback. It was ten years later in his chance meeting with Dennis Leachey that he saw that dream come alive again, and it was Dennis Leachey, just as much as it was Angeline, who was pulling the strings on building the case against Julian Reichert.

The fading light of the coming dawn exposed the high ridges of the Colorado Rockies as the two vehicles entered I-70 west of Grand Junction. They were still fifty miles from Thunder Ridge, the southwestern border of the Diamond T and the location of the animals they would steal. They arrived at the Thunder Ridge Trailhead two hours after leaving Calf Creek as the sun’s rays sent a spray of light across the tops of the Rocky Mountains above the Continental Divide. They unloaded the horses and then mounted and pushed them to a steady gallop toward Thunder Ridge. They were slowed by the steady climb of the narrow trail that traversed upward on the south side of the ridge, but once on top, it was a quick ride across the three-hundred-yard span of the flat-topped ridge. They stopped before descending into the range land below, and Elliott pulled a pair of binoculars from the saddlebag. What were dark specks on the range to the east took the shape of cattle in the round field of the binoculars.

There was no time to waste. Elliott panned the open range, back and forth with the binoculars, looking for riders, and then he put his spurs to Shaliko and guided the horse off the top of the ridge and down the narrow trail that ended in a narrow box canyon. A stand of cottonwood trees near the dead end of the canyon marked the presence of water, designated on the topographical maps as Cottonwood Spring. The only access to the spring was down the trail they were on or through a narrow slot canyon that was barely wide enough in places to allow a horse and rider through. It was through this slot canyon, and to the east, where they would find their cows. They rode through the slot canyon quickly and without speaking. Within one hour, they were bringing the cows and calves back toward Cottonwood Spring.

Elliott led the way back through the slot canyon and up the trail. They were one-third of the way to the top when Elliott glanced back toward the open range and saw two riders pushing their horses in a steady gallop, moving across the plateau to the southwest. They would be riders from the Diamond T.

Get up the trail! Elliott shouted. Billy and Rand spurred their horses, pushing the uncooperative cows up the steep trail, but the younger of the two calves left the trail and scampered back down the hill. Billy turned his horse to go after the calf.

Leave it! Elliott shouted. Get the cows to the top!

The winded cows held them up twice, stopping to breathe heavily before they reached the top. To Elliott, it was like they were moving in slow motion. He reined in Shaliko and looked for the riders below. They were nowhere in sight.

Keep the cows moving, Rand, Elliott said. He then dismounted and spoke to Billy. I want you to dismount and hide here on the top of the ridge. If you see riders come through the slot canyon, watch where they go and then catch us as fast as you can.

Elliott walked to the edge of the ridge with Billy. He identified a spot that was not visible from below or on the trail and told Billy to wait. Elliott then mounted Shaliko and raced across the top of Thunder Ridge. He reached the south side to see, to his relief, that Rand was well down the southern slope with the cows. He caught up with Rand, and it was then he heard a gunshot from the ridge behind them.

Elliott whipped his head around and looked at the top of the ridge then he yelled: Move it Rand! Get these animals to the trailer!

They had no sooner loaded the cows into the trailer when they heard the sound of rolling rocks, and Elliott turned to see Billy, pushing his horse down the steep slope on its haunches, cutting the trail. When he reached the bottom, Billy spurred his horse toward the vehicles where Elliott and Rand were loading their horses into Elliott’s truck.

What was the gunshot, Billy? Elliott asked.

Just after you left, I saw those two cowboys enter the slot canyon, and I knew they would be after us. When the first rider came out of the canyon, I popped a shot at him to scare him back. He whirled his horse back into the slot canyon like a scared hoot owl. I waited to make sure he wasn’t coming again, and then I beat it here.

You idiot! I ought to take your rifle and beat you to death with it! Do you realize what you’ve done?

Billy sat on his horse in stunned silence, staring at Elliott.

I… I figured you’d want me to—

You’re not getting paid for thinking, Lizard! There was a time when the nicknames Angeline gave their two ranch hands was amusing, but right now, Elliott was furious. You’re getting paid for doing what you’re told! Now you’ve not only got Julian Reichert coming after us, but it’ll be the sheriff. If you have a brain, it’s bouncing around inside your head like a bb in a fifty-gallon barrel. I can’t believe this.

Elliott stood shaking his head, looking up at the stammering Billy, and he wondered how long the men they saw at Cottonwood Spring would wait before they came up over the ridge. Thinking that Julian Reichert would not just turn tail and run, he guessed that they might come after them. He walked to the trailer, took out the binoculars, and looked at the ridge where the trail topped out. There they were. In the far distance, two men on horseback were looking in their direction.

Get your horse in the trailer, and let’s get out of here!

When Billy’s horse was loaded next to the others, Elliott turned the locking bolts on the trailer gate and then turned to Rand and Billy.

Okay, he said, get into the truck and keep the rig moving steady and at the speed limit. The last thing we need is to attract attention. Stay calm and go straight to Calf Creek.

Elliott slid behind the wheel of his truck and drove ahead of the truck-trailer rig, still fuming over Billy’s incompetence. He worried about the gnawing feeling in his gut that things were going to go from bad to worse. They had to get the cows to Calf Creek. Then they would deal with Lizard and Buzzy. As Elliott pulled onto the freeway, he dialed a number on his cell phone.

Leachey here, a high-pitched voice said.

Dennis, it’s Elliott. We’ve got a problem. Elliott explained what had happened and that they had been spotted with the cows. We’ve got a mess if the cows don’t get to Calf Creek, Elliott said. If Billy and Rand get stopped, no telling what they’ll say to the cops, but after that, we’ve got to do something with those two potheads," Elliott said.

Silence.

Dennis?

I’m here, Elliott. I’m here wondering if you’re any smarter than Billy. This was supposed to be clean and quick… no glitches.

Those riders weren’t supposed to be there, Elliott said. I’ve ridden the south quarter of the Diamond T three times before and saw no one.

How far away are you from Calf Creek? Leachey asked.

Two hours. I’m ahead of the cows, but we’re twenty minutes from Grand Junction.

Okay, Elliott. You go straight to Calf Creek. I’ll have Smitty make sure your boys make it with the cows, and then we’ll decide how to deal with them. Try not to screw this up any more than you already have.

Elliott cut the connection, freeing him up from listening to the whiny-voiced Dennis Leachey tell him he had screwed up. Elliott had run into Leachey at a livestock show in Stockton, California, and was surprised at how much the man knew about him and Angeline—more than Elliott thought he should. Now, six months later, unbeknownst to Angeline, Leachey was an ally in her quest to get the Diamond T and Elliott’s quest to become wealthy.

Ten minutes after his brief conversation with Leachey, Elliott answered his cell phone and recognized the voice of Leachey’s goon, Smitty. Elliott had met Smitty. He was a marine and an ex-con, and the more Elliott got to know him, the more he wondered how far Dennis Leachey would go to access the mining rights to the massive oil shale deposits on the Diamond T. Elliott didn’t like the man because he was a model for the perfect assassin, and Elliott didn’t believe there was any need for an assassin in their mission. He became unnerved when, one day prior to their trip to get the cows, Smitty wanted to know if either Rand or Billy had a gun. When Elliott told him, yes, Billy had a gun, Smitty asked him for it. He persisted until Elliott relented and took the pistol from Billy’s truck and gave it to Smitty.

Angeline was sitting on the porch of the ranch house when she heard the roar of the diesel engine. She quickly walked to the center of the compound where she had a clear view of the dirt road leading into Calf Creek Valley. A feeling of relief went through her when she saw the Ford with Elliott behind the wheel. She walked to the tack shed where she knew Elliott would unload the horses. She waited as he pulled the rig along the tack shed, and she watched as the ruggedly handsome cowboy slid his slender, six-foot-two frame out of the truck and walked toward her. He lifted the tan Stetson from atop his head and ran his fingers through his wavy blond hair, a trait that Angeline had learned sent a signal that something was bothering him.

I expected the truck with the cows to be with you, Angeline said. Where are they?

They’ll be along, Elliott said. I left them at the Thunder Ridge trailhead, but we had a little problem.

Problem? What kind of problem?

Elliott repeated the motion with his hat and his fingers through his hair as he described their passage over the ridge with the cows and Billy’s stupidity. As Elliott talked, Angeline’s anger built. She could lay out a blanket of profanity on Elliott or the two dimwits that were making a disaster out of her plan, but that was not her.

Did he scare the riders off, Elliott? Did he? Or did he just give them a chance to figure out that someone had just stolen their cows?

All I know is Billy waited and watched until he was sure they weren’t coming after us.

So where are your two dimwits?

They’ll be along. They’ll be here by the time I take care of the horses.

Elliott said nothing about his conversation with Dennis Leachey or Smitty. Angeline stood shaking her head in frustration, struggling to control her anger. She recalled the dismay she felt weeks ago when Elliott showed up at the Calf Creek Ranch with the two ranch hands that were really just excuses for ranch hands. Now they were paying for this blunder. If they were lucky, they could recover from this disaster, but only time would tell. She recalled the conversation she had with Elliott the day after she met Billy Brock and Rand Ingram.

I agree that we need ranch hands to do pickup work around here, she said, but where did you find these morons?

The Purple Rooster, he said.

Angeline knew about the bar on the outskirts of Grand Junction. Nestled in a serene setting on the bank of the Green River, the one-hundred-year-old restaurant/bar was a gathering place for thugs and ex-cons.

You looked for ranch hands at Felony Fountain?

Angeline let Elliott convince her that he had found the right men, but she should have thought better when he described the truck they were driving that night. The front fender on the old Ford was smashed in to where it almost touched the tire, and the front bumper was missing. The Colorado license plate, secured by pieces of baling wire, hung loosely from the top of the grill. Myriad scrapes in the paint revealed the underlying color, probably the original, to be red. Noting the contrast, Elliott described how he wondered if the second coat had been applied on a cold morning at Christmas time. For better or for worse, he had found his men, and they were driving their resume. That was six weeks ago. Right now, Angeline was trying to find a way to send them packing, wishing she could scrub their minds free of what they knew.

Angeline helped Elliott remove the saddles and bridles from the horses and place the gear in the tack shed. She walked with him as they placed feed bags containing the usual serving of rolled oats over the horses’ noses and then led them to the twenty-acre pasture south of the barn. They waited, listening for the truck, while the horses ate, and they talked about how having the Diamond T cows would speed up the development of their breeding line. It was small talk—talk that masked the tension that grew as more time passed and no truck. When the horses finished their meal, they were turned loose in the pasture. Elliott and Angeline walked in silence to the porch on the main house. Angeline was deep in thought, and Elliott did not push to know what was on her mind. When Angeline entered the house to get a jacket and came back to sit beside him on the porch swing, she surprised him.

We can’t keep the cows, Angeline said.

Elliott looked at her sharply. What?

We can’t keep them. We’ve got to take them back. That’s the only way we can keep Julian Reichert from getting to us.

Julian is never going to find the cows here! Elliott exclaimed. He knows nothing about us or where we are!

You don’t think Julian is going to have every sheriff’s deputy he can get searching for these cows, to say nothing of the network of fellow ranchers and their riders? Every rancher within a two-hundred-mile radius of the Diamond T will be looking for those cows and calves. They’re going back.

You mean we did this for nothing? What about the breeding line we were going to build? We take them back, and we’ve lost the ability to put the Domino line and the myostatin blocker into our own line. Better yet, why not just take them back and buy the heifers from Julian Reichert? We can get the eggs without having to worry about this mess.

We’ve been through this, Elliott. We’ll get eggs and tissue from the cows before we take them back, and we’ll take tissue from the calf. Get Martin into the lab. He can flush eggs from the cows and get tissue from the calf, and we’ll clone them. As soon as that’s done, we’ll send those bozos back with the cows and calf.

Are you sure you want to do this?

We have a disaster in the making, and we can’t take a chance on being discovered before we have the money to bankroll the lawsuit. When the cows go back, send Lizard and Buzzy packing.

I don’t think that’s a good idea.

We don’t have a choice. They’re too stupid to keep around.

And I think they’re too stupid to let go. They know we tried to steal cows from the Diamond T. Don’t you think they’ll talk?

We’ll buy their silence. They’ll keep quiet for the right amount of money.

That’s risky, Angeline. I think taking the cows back and then cutting those guys loose is more of a risk than keeping the cows here. Julian won’t find the cows here.

I’ve made up my mind, Elliott. Now go get Martin. I want him in the lab when the cows get here… if they ever get here. Do we have something to worry about, Elliott?

They’ll be here. I’ll get Martin.

Martin Evers was brilliant when it came to understanding how to manipulate the genetic makeup of cattle. He trained as a geneticist while becoming licensed to practice veterinary medicine. He understood how the myostatin blocker worked, and he drew a handsome salary from Domtec as the man who would advise the genetic engineering and breeding of show-stopping animals. The state-of-the-art lab was a model of organization and sterility and reflected the professional expectations that were important to both Angeline and Martin. It was a welcome environment for any research geneticist, and it aligned with Angeline’s dream.

When Billy was shooting at the Diamond T riders on Thunder Ridge, Colorado State patrolman Ronnie Porter was walking from his car into the substation in Western Grand Junction. It looked like just another routine day for the dark-haired, five-year veteran of the state patrol. Porter always arrived at the substation ten minutes before his clock-in time. He drew a cup of coffee from the vending machine and joined three fellow patrolmen in the briefing room. At 7:00 sharp, Lieutenant Jerry Wheeler, the watch commander, walked into the room and began his daily routine. Most of what the watch commander told the patrolmen was old news, but there was one exception, and that was an APB. A cattle rancher in Oak Creek Valley surprised a trio of rustlers as they were stealing two high-priced breeding cows and a calf. The rancher, Julian Reichert, reported the theft to the Mesa County Sheriff’s office. The patrolmen were to look for a gray, one-ton truck with duel wheels, and a steel tube cattle rack pulling a white stock trailer. The rig was last seen moving west on State Route 12 toward I-70.

We know the rustlers are armed, Wheeler said, because they took a potshot at the rancher. If you spot the truck and trailer, call for backup before you try to stop them.

Ronnie ran through the checklist and then took to the road. On a day without incident, he could cover his assigned area four times before the end of the shift, and he had no reason to believe this day would be different. He drove west on I-70 to the Utah state line, exited at the border, and then entered the freeway going east. His pattern was to exit every main road and then patrol them both north and south for approximately ten miles, reenter the freeway, and repeat the process at the next exit. He was constantly on the lookout for the gray truck and trailer. He would continue this pattern east to Glenwood Springs and then come back west. There would be no speed traps today.

At 9:33 a.m., Ronnie pulled off the freeway onto Mill Creek Canyon Road, made a left turn, and crossed over the freeway on his way into Mill Creek Canyon. It was then that he saw the rig that fit the description of the truck and trailer. He watched as it passed under him, and he looked at the two men in the cab of the truck. He drove across the overpass, turned left onto the ramp, and accelerated onto the freeway.

One hour before Ronnie Porter spotted their rig, Billy and Rand left Colorado State Highway 12 and pulled onto the I-70 Interstate going west toward Grand Junction. Neither of the two men gave a second thought to the gray sedan that shadowed their truck. Billy was nervous that the cowboy he shot at might have made it to the top of Thunder Ridge before the cows were loaded and ID’d their truck, but after driving on the freeway for an hour, he was feeling more relaxed. And besides, he thought, if they were ID’d it was Elliott’s problem, not his.

They were two miles from the exit that would take them to Peggy Sue’s restaurant in Grand Junction where they could coffee up when they both saw the Colorado State Patrol unit cross the Mill Creek Canyon overpass. As they moved under and beyond the overpass, Billy looked in the rearview mirror.

Oh, oh! he said. Smokey’s coming down the ramp.

Billy kept the truck at the speed limit and in the right lane as he watched the patrol car quickly close the distance between them. A sinking feeling settled in his gut. Billy knew how the law treated cattle rustlers, and his thoughts went back to his recent stint in the state pen. He wasn’t going back. As the patrol car pulled up behind them with it red lights flashing, he slowed the truck and pulled off the freeway onto the gravel.

The gray sedan pulled over and parked five hundred yards behind the patrol unit in the shadows of the Mill Creek overpass.

Get the tire iron from under the seat, Billy said.

What are you gonna do?

What I do depends on what Smokey does, he replied. Just shut your stupid mouth and hand me the tire iron. I ain’t going back to that hell hole of a jail.

Billy put the gearshift into park and watched in the rearview mirror as the door opened on the patrol car. He rolled down the window and watched the patrolman release the security snap on his pistol and walk toward the front of the truck. The officer walked alongside the trailer and then the truck and stood to the rear of the driver’s window.

Something wrong, Officer? Billy asked.

Nothing serious, the patrolman said. It looks like you’ve backed into something with your trailer. The running and signal light bracket on the right is broken, and the light is hanging, almost dragging on the pavement. You’re going to have to get that fixed. I’m going to give you a fix-it ticket, but you need to either park the trailer before it gets dark or pull into a garage in Grand Junction. You’re just a couple of miles away. Just sit tight while I fill out the ticket.

Billy relaxed and took his hand off the jack handle that lay on the seat beside him and watched in the mirror as the patrolman walked back to his car and slid into the driver’s seat. He heard the crackle of the radio, and he watched as the patrolman picked up the mouthpiece and spoke into it. Billy tried, unsuccessfully, to hear the patrolman’s conversation. He watched, his anxiety building, as the officer slid out of the seat and walked back to the truck. He had no ticket. Billy tucked the tire iron into his belt, snapped the buttons on his vest closed to conceal the iron, and watched in the rearview mirror as the patrolman approached the open truck window.

You gentlemen mind if I take a look at the contents of your trailer?

Whatever you want, Officer. Is there a problem? Rand asked.

No, I don’t think so, Porter said. This will just take a couple of minutes, and then you can be on your way.

Billy opened the door of the truck and stepped onto the roadway, his mind racing. How were they going to get out of this? Rand was on the verge of going postal. Billy looked at him and whispered for him to relax as he turned to walk to the back of the trailer. He didn’t have much confidence that anything he said would calm his high-strung partner as long as the state patrolman was snooping around.

C’mon, Billy, gimme a hand, Rand said.

The two men pulled the pins that secured the gate and lowered it to the ground, allowing the officer to look in the trailer.

Where are these cows coming from? Porter said.

Billy explained that they had bought the cows at an auction in Telluride, saying that one of the large cattle ranches was getting rid of breeding pairs.

If you don’t mind, I’d like to see the bill of sale, Porter said.

Billy’s mind raced. He began to sweat. Sure, Officer. It’s in the truck. He looked at Rand. Rand, help me close this gate. We don’t want them cows gittin out.

The gray sedan pulled up behind the patrol car just as Billy and Rand lifted the trailer gate and turned the lock bolts. The driver stepped out of the car, pistol in hand, and aimed at the patrolman. He fired just as Porter looked his way. The slug from the .357 magnum struck Porter square in the forehead, and when he crashed to the ground, Billy and Rand jumped as if a volcano had erupted. Billy ducked down in front of the patrol car, and Rand started running along the freeway in front of the truck.

Get back here, both of you! the man shouted. I’m not going to shoot you,

Billy stood up as Rand walked to the back of the trailer. Billy began to sweat as he stared at the large man with the shaved head who had run to stand over the fallen officer. Rand looked at the body of the dying patrolman. The killer’s six-foot-five, broad frame dwarfed them both. Billy looked at the officer on the ground, whose leg made one last twitch, and he fought back the surging vomiting reflex.

You k-killed that cop! Billy said, stunned.

Quick! Drop the trailer gate, and let’s get this body off the roadway before someone sees him, the man said.

Wh-wh-who are you? Billy stammered.

Name’s Smitty. Now do as I say before somebody sees this body.

Terrified at what they had just witnessed and aware that Smitty held a revolver in his hand, Billy ordered Rand to help him drag the lifeless body into the trailer.

You! Smitty pointed to Billy. Get in the truck and follow me. He pointed to Rand. Put on your gloves and get into the patrol car and follow the truck. Keep the truck between you and me. Move it!

The three vehicles moved onto I-70 and traveled west past Grand Junction. Thirty minutes after entering the freeway, they were at the Colorado-Utah state line. Twenty miles into Utah, Smitty led the way as he exited on Utah State Route 12 and turned south toward Torrey. He left the pavement on Burnt Sage Wash Road and drove to where the road crossed a railroad trestle just three miles from State Route 12. Smitty parked his car and directed Rand to pull the police car alongside the trailer. They took Porter’s body from the trailer and dumped it into the trunk of the patrol car.

Okay, Smitty said. Get all of that bloody straw out of the trailer. Then throw some sand on the floor and rub the blood off. Then pull the car under the railroad trestle. He turned to Billy. Do you have an ax in your truck?

There’s a chainsaw.

Get it. Cut enough brush to cover the car.

While the two men were cutting brush, Smitty placed the .357 back under the seat of the truck where Elliott had removed it two days earlier. He watched as the two men finished covering the car with brush, and then he turned to them.

Okay, you guys get in the truck and act as if nothing happened, he said.

Who are you? Billy asked again.

Let’s say that I’m a friend who just saved you a trip back to state prison.

Smitty paused, looked first at Billy and then Rand. He saw the fear in the eyes of both men when he spoke.

You saw what happened to the cop, right?

Both men nodded.

If either one of you says anything—I mean anything to anyone about this—I’ll kill you both. Got it?

Smitty held his