AT THE TWELVE SLEEP COUNTY SHERIFF'S OFFICE, THE Scarlett brothers sat in molded-plastic chairs, with an empty chair between each of them, across from the sheriff who was at his desk.  Arlen was on one end of the line, Hank on the other, Wyatt in the middle.  All three were still cuffed.  Wyatt's and Hank's hands were bound behind their backs but Arlen had his cuffed in front, so he could dab his head wound with a cloth.  Deputies stood close to the brothers.  Joe had found them like this when he arrived, and was surprised emotions had cooled down enough that McLanahan had chosen to put them all into the same room.  Joe sat on the edge of McLanahan's desk, a gesture sure to annoy the sheriff.  Fine, Joe thought.  Arlen had apparently persuaded the sheriff to forgo the hospital for the time being, and he held a bloody cloth to the side of his swollen head.  His eyes were alert, Joe thought, and his expression was mildly amused.

Robey Hersig, the county attorney, had been called away from dinner with his family to come to the sheriff's office and interview the brothers.

"You asked what happened," Arlen said to Robey.  "I'll tell you.  As you know, the legislature broke for the session Tuesday morning.  I stayed in Cheyenne that night to pack, and drove back to the ranch.  Two nights ago, I had a nice supper with my mother and Wyatt at the Holiday Inn here in town, and we went back to the ranch."

"They got good prime rib," Wyatt interjected, then looked back at his big hands in his lap.

"Yes, well," Arlen said, looking at Wyatt with an expression that wasn't quite sympathy, wasn't quite annoyance, but a kind of uncomfortable acceptance.  "Anyway, we were home that night around ten, which is late for Mother.  She's an early riser.  The game warden can attest to that," he said, nodding at Joe.

Robey looked to Joe for an explanation of why he had been brought into the conversation.

"I saw her early yesterday morning when I floated the river," Joe said.  "I guess it was about seven."  But he wasn't sure why Arlen had thrown it to him, other than to make the point, yet again, that Joe might have been the last person to see her.

"And why were you there, Mr. Game Warden?" McLanahan asked from behind his desk.

Joe bristled at the way McLanahan asked, knowing there was sarcasm in the question.

"Fishing access," Joe said, and left it at that.

"How did she appear when you had your conversation with her about... fishing access?" McLanahan asked.

"She was fine," Joe said, "her normal self."