Breaking Point

demeanor and his constant scowl and rancher uniform of long-sleeved shirts, hat, jeans, and boots, Frank turned out to be a bundle of contradictions. He loved opera and had spent his college years in Italy attending performances at La Scala in Milan; he’d endowed the Zeller Chair of Economics at the University of Wyoming; and he kept a luxury Sikorsky helicopter in a hangar at the Twelve Sleep County Municipal Airport that he piloted himself.
    Julio Batista couldn’t have known any of that, though, and certainly not by the way he was talking through the gate to Frank, Joe thought. He caught the end of Batista saying: “. . . we could take this all the way if we have to, Mr. Zeller. What you’re doing here is stubbornly preventing authorized federal law enforcement from engaging in a hot-pursuit investigation of a man who murdered two government employees in cold blood.”
    Frank Zeller snorted and rolled his eyes. “So you’ve already convicted him, huh? I thought you had to arrest him first.”
    “We need passage, and we need it now.”
    Zeller said, “Not through my land, you don’t. Not without a court order and compensation. This is private property, and you aren’t crossing it without my say-so.”
    “This is insane,” Batista said to Frank. “I could have you arrested right now.”
    “Try,” Frank said, still cradling the rifle but not raising or pointing it. “You bust down that gate and your monkeys will start dropping like flies.”
    “Is that a threat?” Batista said, his voice rising. “Did you just threaten me? And was there a racial aspect to the threat?”
    “No threat,” Zeller said. “I made a promise.”
    “Hey, Frank,” Joe said, interrupting.
    Zeller’s eyes shifted to Joe, but he didn’t move his head. “Joe,” he said, his voice flat.
    “What seems to be the problem?”
    “Isn’t it obvious?” Batista said to Joe.
    Joe ignored him.
    “These fancy federal boys want to use my ranch to set up some kind of camp,” Zeller said. “They want to track up my meadows with their vehicles, and open up my place to all their friends to come in. They don’t want to talk terms, or deals. They just want me to unlock this gate and stand aside while they roll through like Patton’s army.”
    “That’s ridiculous,” Batista whispered.
    Zeller said, “When I want to lease forest for my cattle or cut wood to build a new corral, I’ve got to pay these boys a fee. But when they want to charge through my ranch and use it like it was a playground, they don’t want to pay
me
anything.”
    “He’s got a point,” Joe said to Batista.
    The administrator’s eyes flashed, and he whispered to Joe, “We don’t have time to negotiate an agreement. It takes months to get this kind of thing through—you know that.”
    “You were quick enough with that reward last night,” Joe said.
    “That has
nothing
to do with this,” Batista said, his voice rising again. “I thought you were here to help us.”
    Joe shrugged.
    Frank said to Batista, “This guy you’re after is on the National Forest, right? The forest is federal. So you can just turn your monkeys around and go into those mountains from the other side and I can’t stop you.”
    “I
told
you,” Batista said sarcastically, “he was last seen on
this
side of the mountains. We’d waste more than a day going around to the other side and working our way back.”
    “First time I ever heard of the government being worried about wasting time,” Frank said. “I could tell you some good stories.”
    “We don’t have time for your stories.”
    Joe watched the two as if viewing a tennis match, following each as they spoke.
    Joe turned to Batista, and said, “You might try working with Frank here, instead of bullying him.”
    “You’re useless,” Batista said, waving his hand at Joe and turning away, “just like the rest of these people up here.”
    He strode back toward the SUV, but not without a
go-ahead
nod to Heinz Underwood. Joe saw Underwood acknowledge the signal, which had no doubt been prearranged.
    Underwood stepped toward Joe, his expression hard but slightly bemused. “Walk with me,” he said.
    Joe cautiously fell in beside him as Underwood walked down the length of the barbed-wire fence far enough that neither Frank Zeller not the occupants of the convoy could overhear.
    “You’re friends with this rancher?”
    “We’re acquainted.”
    “I’d suggest you give him a little advice.”
    “Depends on what