Breaking Point

said when he arrived at Farkus’s mobile home with the horse trailer attached to his pickup and the mystery man in the passenger seat, was to drive north on the interstate, cut off at Winchester, and approach from the west the range of mountains where Butch Roberson was last seen.
    “Those federal yahoos,” McLanahan said, “are going to mass on the east slope at Big Stream Ranch and push west. When ol’ Butch, he realizes the Feds are coming—I figure those boys will make a lot of noise and racket moving through the timber—Butch won’t be stupid enough to try and make a stand. Instead, he’ll stay ahead of ’em and work his way west. There are only a couple of possibilities how he’ll come out, and I’m guessing he’ll use the most direct route and the one he’s most familiar with. That’s where we’ll set up and intercept him.”
    Farkus had nodded, not able to visualize the route McLanahan had in mind. Apparently, his puzzlement was written on his face, and it was obvious to the ex-sheriff.
    “That’s where you hunted with him, right?” McLanahan said. “Up there on the west side on those saddle slopes and in those canyons?”
    “I think so,” Farkus had said, “but we came from the other side, from the ranch. We never went up there from the west side.”
    McLanahan had rolled his eyes and said, “It’s the same mountain, Farkus. The features don’t change because you’re looking at them from a different direction.”
    “It’s wild country up there,” Farkus said. “It’s easy to get turned around.”
    Inside the cab of the pickup, Farkus had heard the mystery man snort a derisive laugh.
    “Who is that?” Farkus asked, chinning the direction of the pickup.
    “Jimmy Sollis. His brother used to be a deputy of mine, a good loyal guy. He was killed in the line of duty when Wheelchair Dick got it. I’ll always be regretful it wasn’t the other way around.”
    Farkus looked up, trying to connect the dots.
    “He’s a prize-winning long-distance shooter,” McLanahan said. “He travels the country winning tournaments. He’s got some kind of custom rifle and scope, and he knocks the center out of targets at a thousand-plus yards. I figure he’s a good man to have along, and he wants to test his skill.”
    Quiet, big, and deadly, then,
Farkus thought. He’d been around too many of those types in his life, and he didn’t much like them. He shifted uncomfortably from boot to boot.
    “Three guys—that wasn’t the deal,” Farkus said.
    “He’ll be good to have along.”
    “But three guys means a three-way split, is what I’m sayin’.”
    “So?”
    “I’m doing this for the money, Kyle. I don’t have any hard feelings toward Butch.”
    “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph,” McLanahan said, and sighed. “This ain’t about the money. And don’t call me Kyle. Call me Sheriff.”
    Farkus nodded toward his mobile home. “It’s about the money for me, Sheriff.”
    “I told you already, this is big money.
Federal
money. They’ve got lots of it.”
    “So how much are we talking about?”
    “I don’t have
figures
”—McLanahan drew the word out sarcastically—“but a shitload of it, that’s for sure. The Feds are the only folks who have any these days, don’t you know. It’ll be enough that you won’t ever have to worry about when the next disability check comes in the mail so you can fill your tank.”
    Farkus considered pulling out. But what was his choice? There were few jobs, and he didn’t want one, anyway. He liked being a free man, and busting his butt was for losers. And this was free government money. They wouldn’t even miss it.
    “Okay,” Farkus said.
    “Then let’s get the map out,” McLanahan said. “I want to make sure you’re familiar with the terrain before we waste our time going up there.”
    While the ex-sheriff unfurled the map on the hood of the pickup, Sollis got out of the truck without a word and bent over the side of the pickup into the bed. Farkus heard the sound of latches being thrown, and soon Sollis was holding a heavy and polished long bolt-action rifle with a black-matte scope. Farkus watched out of the corner of his eye.
    “What’s he up to?” Farkus whispered to McLanahan.
    “The map,” McLanahan said impatiently. “Pay attention to the map.”
    Farkus tried to concentrate on the features of the map McLanahan was holding flat on the hood with his bearpaw hands. The layout of the canyons
did
look vaguely familiar. He bent