Assistant Director Les Etbauer resigned from the Wyoming Game and Fish Department the day after Vern was arrested. The official statement from the department was that Etbauer had committed a serious lack of judgment when he suspended Joe Pickett and that Warden Pickett's position had been restored immediately with no further action required. There was even a commendation and a small increase in salary for Joe. Etbauer was then immediately hired as a consultant to the governor to serve as a liaison between the state and various federal land management agencies. Sheriff O. R. "Bud" Barnum won reelection with 87 percent of the vote with the remaining 13 percent going to write-in candidates that included pets, Marshal Matt Dillon, and two votes for Joe Pickett.
Joe had followed the news reports of how the pipeline that Inter West Resources had been building was capped and abandoned 50 miles from the western slope of the Bighorn Mountains. Despite congressional investigations, no credible evidence had been found linking Inter West with the webs Vern had spun on their behalf. Inter West eventually merged with CanCal to help build a single natural gas pipeline to Southern California, but market conditions were such that analysts were predicting that the project might be put on hold for years.
Marybeth came in from her walk with an armful of Sunday newspapers. She planned to start taking Maxine with her again in a couple of months, once she had built up her strength. Now though, she was walking with the aid of a cane and with a painful limp. The rigors of holding the Labrador back were too much for her.
Marybeth's progress from wheelchair to walker to crutches to assisted walking on her own had all occurred before the doctors had said it would be possible. They marveled at her strength--and at her will. A full recovery was predicted. Joe had never doubted it.
Once they had moved back into the house from the Eagle Mountain Club, Missy Vankeuran had fled back to Arizona, saying she was needed to lend support for her new husband's run for the U.S. Senate.
There were now three children at the table for pancakes. Sheridan, now eight, and Lucy, now four, shared the table and the family with April Keeley, their foster child. It had been Marybeth's idea, and she had pursued it, even while she was in the wheelchair, after she had learned that Jeannie Keeley, Ote's widow, had left the county after she had given birth, taking only the baby with her.
The youngest child had died of pneumonia. April, the sick child Joe had seen at the Keeley's home, had been left behind in Saddlestring. She was between Sheridan's and Lucy's ages, and she was slowly discovering that she could trust both of them. Marybeth had explained to Joe that April Keeley, likely to be a bundle of problems, would be the focus of all of the love and mothering that had been stored in her for the new baby. April was beginning to open up to Marybeth and Joe, although she was painfully shy and ashamed of her situation. Marybeth spent hours with her. Lucy was of course a little jealous, but Sheridan seemed to understand.
During the first month and a half when Marybeth returned home from the hospital, the situation had been difficult for all of them. Joe, Marybeth, and Sheridan had all been through separate but connected ordeals. Marybeth focused her hate on Vern Dunnegan, and Sheridan raged about Wacey Hedeman. Marybeth tried to explain to Joe how she felt about losing a child, how the feeling would never go away, how she would forever blame herself as a mother for allowing it to happen.
There were many long nights when Joe held Marybeth while she cried. There were other nights when he held Sheridan.
Joe knew that he would never really fathom the depths of feelings both Marybeth and Sheridan had about what had happened. All he could do, he concluded, was what he did: be there and listen.
Joe had become concerned that both of them would be bitter, but it hadn't happened. Instead, they had become even closer as a family.
***
After breakfast, Joe and Sheridan put the remaining pancakes and bacon into a sack and went outside into the backyard. They walked around the house and sat in two lawn chairs facing the back of the garage. The morning had become warm, and the sun was out. Yesterday's snow was already melting. Muscular rivulets of runoff rushed down the Sandrock draw.
Sheridan broke off pieces of the pancakes and bacon and scattered them on the ground near the foundation of the garage. Joe cut up a couple of small chunks of meat from the haunch of a road killed cow elk he had stored in the freezer and tossed them out. It didn't take long for the Miller's weasels to zip out of their den and clean up the food. Joe and Sheridan exchanged conspiratorial smiles while they watched.
There was a good reason why the Miller's weasels had moved from the woodpile to the roomy cavern beneath the garage. It turned out that, while Sheridan had been right about Lucky being a male and Hippity-Hop being a female, she was wrong about their "son," Elway. This spring, Elway had produced 10 babies (Joe had learned from the biologists in the canyon that the young were called "kits"), and eight had survived.
The kits were fascinating to watch because, although they were a quarter the size of their parents, they were just as fast when they shot out from beneath the foundation, grabbed food in their forepaws, and flashed back into the den.
When Joe pointed a flashlight into the den, the weasels were a mass of writhing, chirping, long, brown bodies equally annoyed at the intrusion. The kits would sometimes come out into the sun and try to stand on their hind legs like their parents, and Joe and Sheridan would laugh as the kits would lose their balance, fall over, and scramble upright again until they could hold the famous pose.
"They're getting big," Sheridan said, nodding at the kits and tossing small pieces of food.
"Yes they are," Joe replied.
"Dad, what do you suppose would happen if anyone found out about these little guys?" Sheridan asked. He could tell she had been contemplating the question for a while. Joe had been amazed when Sheridan told him the entire story about the weasels, and she and Joe had promised each other not to tell anyone. As far as anyone knew, the Miller's weasels that Ote Keeley had brought down the mountain with him had died in the woodpile fire, just as Wacey said they had.
"Well, I don't know for sure," Joe answered. "I'm pretty certain that what we're doing isn't legally the right thing. There's some biologists who would go berserk if they found out. A lot of other people, too."
"But aren't they the people who are at the colonies where the Miller's weasels keep dying?" Sheridan asked.
Joe chuckled. "That's them," Joe said.
Sheridan dutifully scattered the remains of the food near the den.
"You're doing this for me, aren't you?" Sheridan asked.
Joe nodded. "Yup."
Sheridan settled back into the lawn chair. "You know, Dad, these critters remind me of our family," Sheridan said. "They were in great danger, and now they're doing okay. They're a family again."
Joe nodded. This was the kind of conversation that made him uncomfortable.
"We're sort of like them, aren't we, Dad?"
Joe reached over and squeezed Sheridan's hand. "Sheridan, sometimes we see things in animals that aren't really there. It's called transference, if that makes any sense."
Sheridan was studying him now. "That's okay, isn't it?" she asked.
"As long as we admit it to ourselves, I think it's okay," Joe said. "It hink there are a lot of people who say they do things for animals when they're really doing it for themselves. They see things in animals that might not really be there. I think sometimes that hurts the animals in the end, and it hurts other people, too."
Sheridan thought it over. "Transference," she repeated.
"There are people on both sides of the issue who think animals are more valuable than people are," Joe said. "That's what's happening here."