Free Land of Wolves by Craig Johnson Page B

“Where in Alaska is Hyder?”
    “Southeast, furthest point east in Alaska, south of Juneau. Ground transport through Stewart, Canada, is the only way there.”
    “Is the fishing good?”
    “Chum salmon.”
    “Dog food.”
    Dog looked up, dog and food being in his twenty-word vocabulary, following his number one word, ham . “Forty-pounders . . . But we’re not going there for the fishing, we are going there for the adventure.”
    “Okay.”
    “In the meantime, I may need your help with a project of mine that is closer to home.” He smiled. “Have you ever heard of Jaya Long, aka LongShot?”
    “Nope.”
    “Highest scoring girls basketball power forward in Lame Deer history, but there is a situation developing, and I may need your help.”
    “Any relationship to Lolo Long, Cheyenne Reservation chief of police?”
    He nodded, an unidentifiable expression passing across his face. “Her cousin.”
    I was aware of some movement to my right and noticed that JJ was standing at the bar.
    “Hey, Chief, how ’bout that round?”
    Henry didn’t move, but the mahogany pupils shifted in his head and you could almost hear them clicking like a set of bolt actions as they registered full right. He waited a moment before speaking to the man with the rock and roll hair. “Your companion informed me that your wife is coming by to give all of you a ride home, and I told him that when she did, I would be pleased to provide you with another round.”
    He snorted. “Well, she’s not coming, so you can just hit us with another.”
    The Bear looked at him.
    “Did you hear me?”
    “Yes, I did.”
    The drunk straightened a bit. “Do you know who the fuck I am?”
    I started to turn and pull back my jacket to reveal my star, but Henry extended two fingers like an absolution, so I sat there and watched the show.
    He stepped toward the man, an easy step like the ones the mountain lions make before sinking their teeth into the back of a neck. “Excuse me?”
    The idiot actually leaned in. “I said, do you know who the fuck I am?”
    Henry peered at him and actually looked concerned. “Do you not know who you are?”
    There is a specific form of confusion that plays across a drunk’s face—I’d seen it many times, and I was seeing it again now. “What?” For some reason, the drunk looked at me, then at his friends, finally turning back to glare at Henry. “Look, asshole . . .”
    You had to really be paying attention to see what happened next, but I had witnessed Henry in these situations before, so I knew what was going to happen, maybe not exactly, but certainly a form thereof. Like a timber rattler, the Bear’s hand leapt out, snatching the drunk’s tie and yanking downward, which caused the man’s chin to collide with the edge of the bar with a clack like a Willie Mosconi clean break.
    The Cheyenne Nation had let go of the tie and placed his hand to his face feigning concern. He glanced at the man’s fellow drunks, who sat there transfixed. “Your friend appears to have passed out, perhaps you should come and assist him?’
    Slowly they stood and approached, possibly even more putoff by Dog, who had risen from his nap to go over and sniff the man on the floor. When they got close enough, they stooped down and picked JJ up, holding him vertical with his arms draped over their shoulders.
    They stood there for a moment before the young one, obviously the mouthpiece of the group, decided to speak. “Um, we’ll be going now . . .”
    I turned and opened my jacket revealing my star. “No.” They seemed indecisive, or maybe they were in a state of mild shock, so I tipped my hat back and draped my jacket to reveal the Colt M1911A1 .45 semiautomatic at my side. “You’re going to go back over to your table and sit on your hands until JJ’s wife gets here.” Dog curled around my stool again, and I picked up my Rainier, taking a sip as they struggled to get the man back to their table. “I don’t know,