Dead Man’s Fancy Read Online Free PDF Page B

from below and waved her hat to draw his attention.
    â€œWalt, I’m sorry about this. I should have called in earlier,” she said as she stepped down the slope. She could hear his labored breathing and held out a hand, but he waved her off. “I made it this far. Point of pride to finish the climb.”
    â€œJesus, you’re leaking blood.” She wiped the snow off the log so he could sit at the lower end. “Let me see the damage.”
    He held up his left foot. He’d cut the toe off the boot. The sock was torn and his big toe curled out like a plum.
    â€œI thought I heard a scream ’bout fifty minutes ago,” he said. “I was on your track already, but after that I come fast as I could.”
    â€œThose were just the wolves.”
    â€œThen there must have been a werewolf with ’em ’cause it sure sounded human.”
    Martha felt a wave of emotion. For all his faults, Walt was the most devoted to her of anyone on the force. She could count on him having her back, even if it meant showing himself in a disadvantageous light. The fact that they had nothing in common beyond the job and that she betrayed her exasperation with him on a daily basis made no inroads on his loyalty. She poured him the last of the tea.
    â€œJase fill you in?”
    He took a sip and nodded. “I take it that wrangler’s got himself impaled on an elk antler.”
    Martha grunted. “Or maybe he had help.”
    Walt frowned. “What makes you think that?”
    â€œHarold says there were two other people here last night. He’s working out the tracks.”
    â€œSpeaking of the red man,” Walt said.
    Harold had materialized at the edge of the trees. He inclined his head for them to follow. “I’ve tracked lung-shot elk that didn’t leave a blood trail as heavy as yours, Walt,” he said, the words tossed over his shoulder. “We finish up here, I can build us a fire and cauterize that toe.”
    â€œSay what?” Walt said.
    â€œI said I got a clean, sharp blade. I can take that toe off, once we’re done here.”
    â€œFunny,” Walt said. He hopped to follow Martha into the trees.
    â€œOh Jesus.” Martha sucked a lungful of air as she looked at the wrangler’s body.
    â€œYou didn’t notice last night?” Harold said.
    Martha shook her head. “I couldn’t see this part of his face. What do you think? There was a fight?”
    â€œI don’t know. You get punched in the side of the head, this is what it looks like, like Walt’s big toe there. But snow would tell me if someone was knocked to the ground, and the bruising looks more than a few hours old. Something else.” He pointed to an ankle-high cut in the leather of the man’s right cowboy boot. The cut looked fresh, the leather lighter in color at the edges where it was sliced.
    â€œMaybe when he bailed, his horse stepped on him,” Martha said. “Like Big Mike stepped on Walt.”
    â€œMaybe.” Harold’s voice sounded doubtful.
    â€œHurt like the dickens if it did.” Walt was nodding his head. “That’s a trophy elk, I ever saw one. Look at the length of those G4 tines.”
    Martha gave him a withering look. “We got a man twisting on the spit and that’s all you have to say, it’s a big bull?”
    â€œScore three-sixty, maybe three-seventy. What do you think, Harold?”
    â€œAt least,” Harold said. “You look at the brow tines, good length on the main beams, hardly any points subtracted for asymmetry, he’s maybe not Boone and Crockett but the Montana record book for sure.”
    Martha looked from one to the other. “Let’s . . . focus . . . here.”
    They stood in silence over the body. Martha’s fingers reached for the pulse in her neck. Harold crossed his hands over his belt buckle.
    â€œThat G4,” Walt said, “They