The Loop Read Free Page B

indeed shown up there today, it needed its head examined.
    About ten years ago, Fish and Wildlife had held public meetings all over the state so that people could vent their feelings about federal proposals for wolf recovery. Some of these meetings had apparently gotten pretty stormy. But the one they’d held in Hope community hall beat all records.
    A group of young ranch hands and loggers had stood outside with guns and yelled abuse all the way through. Those inside, where guns were banned, were just as scary. Dan’s predecessor, a legendary diplomat, had managed to keep the lid on. But afterward, two loggers had shoved him against a wall and threatened him. He came out several shades paler than he’d gone in, only to find someone had poured a gallon of red paint over his car.
    In the far distance now, Dan saw the town looming.
    It was the kind of town you could drive through and barely know you’d been there. One straight street, a couple of hundred yards long, fishboned with a few side alleys. At one end stood a rundown motel and at the other a school, and in between you could find a gas station, a grocery, a hardware store, a diner, a laundromat and a taxidermist.
    Many of the town’s five hundred or so population lived scattered along the valley and to service their various spiritual needs there were two churches and two bars. There were also two gift shops, which said more about optimism than sound business sense; for although summer tourists often passed through Hope, few chose to linger.
    In an attempt to remedy this and to meet demand from the modest but growing band of subdivision newcomers, one of these shops (and by far the better) had last year installed a cappuccino bar.
    The shop was called Paragon and on those rare occasions when Dan was passing through, he always made a point of dropping in, not so much on account of the coffee, which was good, as of the woman who owned it.
    She was a handsome New Yorker called Ruth Michaels and, from their two or three encounters, he’d so far established that she used to run an art gallery in Manhattan and had come to Montana on vacation after her marriage broke up. She’d fallen in love with the place and stayed. Dan could imagine knowing a lot more about her.
    Cappuccino hadn’t exactly taken off with the locals who mostly preferred their coffee weak and stewed, the way they did it over the street at Nelly’s Diner. As he drove by, Dan was sad, but not altogether surprised, to see Ruth had a FOR SALE sign stuck in the front window.
    Ahead, he could see Bill Rimmer’s pickup parked where they’d arranged to meet, outside a forlorn bar, aptly named The Last Resort. Rimmer got out to greet him. He was a born and bred Montanan and with his Stetson and droopy, blond mustache, looked it. At six foot six, he always made Dan feel like a midget. He was a few years younger than Dan and better-looking too; in fact, come to think of it, Dan couldn’t figure why he liked the guy so much.
    He got out of his car and Rimmer slapped him on the shoulder.
    ‘How’re you doing, old friend?’
    ‘Well, Bill, tell you the truth, I had a better date than you lined up for tonight.’
    ‘You could break a man’s heart, Dan Prior. Shall we head on out there?’
    ‘May as well. Everybody else is. Did you hear the radio?’
    ‘Yep. And I heard there’s a TV crew up there too.’
    ‘Terrific.’
    ‘That old wolf sure chose a good spot to make his debut.’
    ‘Come on, Bill. We don’t even know it was a wolf yet.’
    They climbed into Rimmer’s pickup and pulled out down Main Street. It was nearly seven-thirty and Dan was starting to worry about the light. It was always easier to check out the scene of a depredation in daylight. He was even more worried about all the people who had been trampling over the scene of the so-called wolf attack. If there were any tracks they were probably all scuffed up by now.
    He and Rimmer had started their jobs at virtually the same time. Their