Table of Contents
Also by Larry Watson
novels
Montana 1948
White Crosses
In a Dark Time
Laura
Orchard
Sundown, Yellow Moon
poetry
Leaving Dakota
For Susan
Justice
Outside the Jurisdiction
(1924)
WHEN Tommy Salter, Lester Hoenig, and the Hayden brothers left Bentrock, Montana, at dawn, only a gentle snowflakes fat as bits of white clothfell from the November sky. But the spaces between those flakes filled in fast, and soon it became impossible to see more than fifty yards down the highway. Where the road dipped or was sheltered from the wind, snow lay so thick on the road that the bottom of the Model T, even with its high clearance, scraped the tops of drifts.
We get high-centered, Tommy Salter said from the backseat, were done for. We aint going nowhere.
Frank Hayden, the driver, said, Were all right. He tightened his grip on the steering wheel and kept the car aimed for the tracks made by the last car that had passed that way.
You bring a shovel? Lester asked.
Frank glanced quickly at his brother then shook his head.
Wesley Hayden tilted his head until it rested against the windows icy glass. He closed his eyes and concentrated on the cars slow, wobbly motion down the highway. Goddamn, he had wanted so badly for this trip to go well. Next fall, Frank, two years older than Wesley, would be in college, seven hundred miles away at the University of Minnesota. This could be the last time the brothers took this trip together for years. For years? Wesley reconsidered. This could be the last time. Ever.
Anyone want to turn around? Go back? Frank asked.
Tommy laughed. Where the hell you going to turn around?
It could let up, Lester offered. Down the road. I guess Im for pushing on.
Wesley kept his eyes closed. It isnt going to let up.
You know that, do you? Frank asked his brother.
You know it too, Wesley answered.
We aint going to freeze to death anyway, said Tommy.
Wesley knew Tommy was referring to the three bottles of bootleg whiskey, purchased for them by Dale Paris, a hired hand on the Hayden ranch.
Whats the nearest town? Frank asked.
Lester asked, Are we in North Dakota?
Weve been in North Dakota since breakfast, Tommy answered.
You know damn well the closest town, Wesley said to his brother. McCoy.
Frank nodded. If it doesnt let up Im thinking well head for McCoy. Thats got to be less than fifty miles.
The plan had been to leave their home in northeast Montana, cross over into North Dakota, and head south. Eventually they would set up camp on the banks of the Little Missouri and from there hunt the red rocky bluffs, the dark wooded draws, and the sagebrush flats of the Dakota Badlands. They had hunted that region for years, and just last year they returned with four deer and over fifty pheasant and partridge. Lester had even shot a coyote. Of course last year the weather had been much differentthree days of sunshine and uncommonly warm temperatures.
I dont hear you, Frank said, cupping his ear to the group.
Whats in McCoy? asked Lester. Anything?
Tommy laughed. Its right off the reservation. You know whats in McCoy.
Lester looked down the road. It sure as hell aint letting up.
What about you? Frank asked Wesley.
Do what you want. You dont need my permission. When they were first planning this trip, Wesley had hoped that he and his brother would go alone. But Frank invited friends, and now Wesley not only had to share his brother, but since Lester and Tommy were Franks age, Wesley was stuck being the youngest as well. He was the little brother; he didnt have any influence with this group. Hell, Wesley had hoped theyd actually hunt. Just hunt. But this snow covered that hope too.
Frank said to Wesley, Im not taking anyone where they dont want to go. If you dont want to go to McCoy, say the word.
Ill camp out in the snow, Lester said. Dont bother me.
Go to McCoy, Wesley said to his brother. Fuck if I care.
Frank took his hand from the steering wheel and slapped his brother gently on the arm. Heyits outside the jurisdiction, right?
Outside the jurisdiction. How many times had Wesley heard his brother use that phrase? They were the sons of Julian Hayden, the sheriff of Mercer County, Montana, and that fact made Franks and Wesleys lives both easier and more difficult. They grew up knowing that if they ever got into trouble, their father, proud and protective of his sons, would bail them out. Yet knowing this, they felt they had to behave so it wouldnt seem as though they were taking advantage of their fathers position. Only when they got out of town, out of the county, out of the jurisdiction, did they feel as though they could be other than the sons of Julian Hayden.
Where we going to stay? Lester asked. I dont mind sleeping in the car if we can find someplace to park it out of the wind. Shit, Ill sleep in the tent for that matter.
Well get a room at the hotel, said Frank.
They got a hotel? asked Lester.
Hotel or a boardinghouse. I forget which.
Its a hotel, Tommy said. I think.
You think theyll give us a room? Lester asked.
Hell, yes, Frank replied. Why not? If we can pay theyll give us a room.
Wesley understood that Lesters true concern was over money. A good many families in Mercer County were poor, but the Hoenigs were worse off than most. Their family was large (Wesley could never keep trackwere there nine or ten kids?), and whether it was the land it sat on or Mr. Hoenigs incompetence Wesley never knew for sure, but their farm, year in and year out, was one of the least productive in the area. Lester tried to cover their poverty by pretending not to care about what other boys cared aboutnew shotguns or rifles, cars, horses, pretty girls, baseball gloves. Frank and Wesleys mother had stopped giving Franks hand-me-downs to Wesley; instead she had Frank give them to the shorter, slighter Lester.
Me and Frank will pay for the room, Wesley offered.
You sure? Lester said.
Frank picked up on his brothers suggestion. The trips our idea. Hell, McCoys my idea. Its only fair.
Okay by me, agreed Tommy.
I still wonder if theyll give us a room, worried Lester.
Franks right, Tommy said. If we got the money, were in. Thats McCoy.
Frank shook his head. Pop says its not as wide open as it used to be.
Thats not what you said last summer, Tommy replied.
What? Lester asked. What about last summer?
We had a baseball tournament over there, Tommy said.
Wesley interrupted. Its hardly even cattle country around there now. Fucking wheat farmers.
Where were you? Frank asked Lester. How come you didnt play?
Working, Lester answered. We was bringing in a crop of hay. Trying to. What there was. He turned back to Tommy. What happened in McCoy?
Tommy leaned toward Frank. You want me to tell him?
Frank shrugged.
