STALKING
2019; Wiley; Volume: 107; Issue: 2 Linguagem: Inglês
10.1353/tyr.2019.0072
ISSN1467-9736
Autores Tópico(s)American and British Literature Analysis
Resumo1 3 5 R S T A L K I N G J O H N S A Y L E S ‘‘It’s not like I won the lottery, dude,’’ says Brent. ‘‘It is a fucking lottery. There’s just over four hundred elk licenses this year and like twelve thousand guys applying, plus if you’ve struck out before , your name shows up more times – the more years you signed up and whi√ed, the better your chances.’’ ‘‘But you nailed it on your first try.’’ Wayne Lee drives the Camaro like he always does, like it’s a fucking stock-car race. ‘‘Not only that, I got an ‘any elk’ tag. Two-thirds of the guys who scored have to whack something without antlers.’’ There’s a light rain and some wind, typical funky Dakota weather, but the forecast has it clearing up. Wayne Lee already has the orange vest over his camo outfit. ‘‘So this Okie from Muskogee – ’’ ‘‘He’s from Drumright, west of Tulsa, and he’s looking to stick a dozen wells on the rez.’’ ‘‘And you want the service contract – ’’ ‘‘At the least,’’ says Brent. It’s been a bitch setting this all up, feelers out to ranchers in the E 2 unit, nonresident permits for Mutt Miller just in case they run into a game warden with a hardon , salting the mine far enough ahead of time. He needs Wayne 1 3 6 S A Y L E S Y Lee for a bu√er, make it all seem like guys just out having fun. ‘‘What I want is for Mutt to go away convinced that nothing happens unless I put in the word with Chief Killdeer.’’ ‘‘So he depends on you – ’’ ‘‘So he sweetens the pot a little. Maybe puts me in for a percentage of one or two of the wells.’’ ‘‘He’d go for that?’’ ‘‘Hey, when I told him I got an elk tag he was the one who hinted he’d like to be the trigger man.’’ ‘‘Not a stranger to a little larceny – ’’ ‘‘More of an old-fashioned wildcatter than a corporate type. You’ll like him.’’ Mutt Miller is parked by the post o≈ce across from the Catholic church in Grassy Butte, pretty much all there is to the town. Wayne Lee swings in and honks lightly, pausing a moment for Mutt to get back into his Crystal Red Caddy DTS and follow them to the ranch. ‘‘Give the guy a break,’’ Brent says to Wayne Lee. ‘‘Keep it under eighty.’’ ‘‘My only problem with this state is not enough curves.’’ Wayne Lee glances at the speedometer, probably for the second time in his life. ‘‘That and the weather and the food and that there’s nothing to do and not enough women.’’ ‘‘You ever been to Oklahoma?’’ ‘‘Arrested in Okie City for a bar fight.’’ ‘‘Maybe keep that one under your hat.’’ They swing over and up past Medicine Hole, then hook left onto Gap Road. The rain stops, and by the time they pull o√ by the east gate into Jesse Gilmore’s place there’s a bit of early morning sun peeking through the clouds. Mutt looks like a catalogue ad, wearing Bone Collector camos new-bought from Scheel’s in Bismarck, silver hair curling out from under an Oklahoma Thunder gimme cap. He looks like some actor Brent can’t remember the name of, played a lot of generals. ‘‘Fellas.’’ ‘‘Looks like a good day for it, Mutt. This is my buddy Wayne Lee – ’’ The men shake hands and Mutt pops his trunk open with the remote on his key ring. S T A L K I N G 1 3 7 R ‘‘What you pack for me, Brent?’’ ‘‘Remington 700 with a Leupold variable scope,’’ says Brent, lifting the case out of the rear of the Camaro. ‘‘Shoots a 30-oughtsix – ’’ ‘‘So I’ll be good for what distance?’’ ‘‘It’s a tack-driver from way out, but I wouldn’t try anything past four hundred yards. Tracking wounded elk is an acquired taste – ’’ ‘‘That you never acquired.’’ ‘‘Exactly.’’ Growing up, Brent always had the Marines in the...
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