The Highwayman: A Longmire Story (Walt Longmire #11.5)(38)

“I do.”

He took a deep breath and studied me. “You do?”

I nodded. “I don’t approve of your methods, but I’ll forgive you for your motive.” I sipped my coffee. “That’s the problem with actions like this, you never know where they might end—or who might get hurt.”

One of the EMTs approached, but then, seeing the seriousness of the conversation, stopped about ten feet away, glancing between Harlow and me. “Sheriff Longmire?”

I answered without looking at him. “Yep?”

“Ms. Wayman says we can’t take her until she gets a chance to talk with you.”

“Okay, I’ll be right there.”

Dismissed, he hurried back toward the van. I started after him, Harlow’s voice carrying to me in the echo chamber of the tunnel. “You’re not turning me in?”

I stopped and tipped my hat back. “I don’t see what would be gained by it.” I pointed at the Toyopet Crown. “Anyway, you saved us all by helping to push that damn car out of the tunnel.”

He was silent for a moment and then did a quick double take at the import. “I doubt I was much help pulling on the door pillar, but at least I got the wheel turned and pointed straight.”

I waited a moment before taking a step toward him. “No, I mean before, when you were at the trunk helping push.”

He made a face. “What are you talking about?”

I looked at Henry, but he kept his head down and ignored us. “When you came through the tunnel . . .”

He pointed again at the debris-strewn north tunnel, where they were just now using a brace of tow trucks to pull the wreckage from the opening at the far end. “That tunnel? Hell no, I came around the path at the other side of the guardrail.” He chortled derisively. “No human being could’ve walked through that.”

Unsure of what to say, I turned and moved toward the EMT van as Henry followed, and paused only to ask, “Did you . . . ?”

“What?”

I stared at him as we continued walking. “Did you see . . . ?”

“See what?” He continued to sip his coffee, not making eye contact with me.

I stopped. “The . . .”

“The what?”

I stood there for the briefest of moments and then continued on toward the van and Rosey. “Nothing.”

? ? ?

“How do I look?”

I leaned in over the gurney. “The black eye is very becoming. Unfortunately, it’ll probably be the first thing that heals.”

She smiled, and I could see a little blood tracing her gums. “Thank you.”

I brushed away the sentiment. “Didn’t do anything—at least nothing like you.”

“Are they all right?”

“Yep, they’re fine. Already on the way to Riverton.” I started to straighten. “Where you should be going right now.”

I watched as the blanket bulged where she tried to reach out to me with her good hand. “Thank him for me?”

“Who?”

“The trooper.”

I laughed. “Harlow? You’re lucky if I don’t punch his lights out.”

“You know who I mean.”

I stared at her and then glanced at the Cheyenne Nation, who leaned against the inside of the van, still sipping his coffee.

“We’ve got to get rolling.”

I looked up to see the EMT connecting an IV to Rosey’s good arm as two more medics waited at the back doors. “Right, right . . . We’ll get out of the way.”

The Bear and I backed out of the van as I gave Rosey’s good hand a quick squeeze and then watched as they piled in and closed the doors, switching on the lights and siren and heading south toward Riverton Memorial Hospital.

As we turned and walked back, we saw that they had successfully pried the wreckage from the north tunnel and had dragged it back a good forty feet to where the roadway was now clear. “I guess we can get to my truck now.”

Walking through the slushy section between the tunnels, the Bear trailed his hand along a stem of grandfather sage, stripping the leaves from it and holding them up to his nose to smell. “I vote we stay in Thermopolis and head home in the late morning.”

“Agreed.”

Our footsteps echoed against the black, scorched granite of the tunnel walls as we approached the opening, our boots sticking to the surface of the still-warm asphalt.

The stench was tremendous, so it was good to get to the open air on the other side, making it all that much more puzzling when Henry extended an arm and stopped me just as we stepped out onto the thin layer of snow, stained red, green, and black from the leaking wreckage.

I looked down at the back of his fist against my chest and then at him.

He thumped the fist against me again, holding it out as if it held something. “Toss this into the tunnel and then say your piece.”

I opened a hand under his, and he dumped the sage leaves into it.

“Always have incense.” He started off toward my truck, turned slightly as he went, and looked back at me. “You can tell Heeci’ecihit you understand him, if you think it means anything to him.”

I stood there for a moment watching him go and then thought about just tossing the leaves and following, but then I remembered Kimama’s warning that I needed to respect the beliefs of people who had been in this part of the world thousands of years before mine.