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wolf in the Bighorns—wolf, singular; a lone wolf.”
    He interrupted. “But there was a man killed.”
    “There is a man dead, which is not the same thing.” I leanedback in my chair, class now in session. “There is a man who most likely committed suicide.”
    “But he was partially eaten by the wolf singular?”
    I had to smile, maybe the kid was smarter than I thought—at least his ass was. “The wolf took part in some scavenging predation, which is what wolves, singular or plural, are sometimes wont to do.”
    “Yes, but isn’t it true that once wolves taste human flesh they acquire a taste for it?”
    I sighed. “Not to my knowledge, but I’m no wolf expert. Perhaps you need to talk to the wardens over at Game and Fish or to somebody who deals with these animals and get some professional answers before writing your story.”
    There was a pause. “So, you say the death was a suicide?”
    “I said, most likely a suicide.”
    “Can you tell me his name?”
    “Not until we’ve made arrangements in contacting the next of kin.”
    “Was the man local?”
    “No.”
    “We’ve heard rumors that he was a shepherd. Could that have led to the circumstances surrounding his death?”
    I sighed again. “Circumstances surrounding his death . . . How old are you?”
    “Excuse me?”
    At the risk of sounding like Lucian, I still had to ask, “How old are you, young man?”
    Another pause. “I don’t see how that has . . .”
    “I’ve been answering your questions, now you answer mine.”
    “Twenty-four.”
    “Where are you from? I’m just curious.”
    “Casper.”
    “Brand-new degree in journalism?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    When I was around that age, I got an invitation from the United States Marine Corp requesting my assistance in a conflict on the other side of the world in Vietnam. “Nate, can I call you Nate?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “Call me Walt, okay?”
    “Right, Walt.”
    “What we have here is a man working up the mountain who may or may not have committed suicide and a registered, radio-tagged wolf most likely from the packs that have been reinstated in the greater Yellowstone region. Now this wolf couldn’t resist the opportunity of feeding on a portion of the dead man’s body, even after most likely killing a ewe. Now, if that is the case—and from my understanding this wolf will be dealt with ‘swiftly,’ in the parlance of the Game and Fish Department—then it should be noted that the wolf is alone and that it had nothing to do with the death of the man in question.”
    “Got it.”
    “Good. Is there anything else?”
    “Excuse my ignorance, but having just moved here, I’m not aware. Have there been wolves in the Bighorns before?”
    “I think there have been, but Chuck Coon of the Forest Service or Ferris Kaplan over at Game and Fish would be able to answer that and any other questions you have more capably than I.” I reached down and stroked Dog’s head. “I am no wolf expert.”
    “One more thing?”
    “Yep.”
    “Do you have a stock photo you could email over to us here at the Courant just in case we decide to use it?”
    “I don’t have a computer or email, and no I don’t have a photo of myself. Besides, why in the world would you want a photo of me?”
    “Just in case we decide to use it?” There was some rustling. “I’m trying to get some things up to date here in the office, but it’s, uh . . . difficult.”
    “Is the train set getting in the way?”
    “It’s pretty sizable, Walt.”
    “Best of luck with that, Nate.” I hung the phone up and turned around in my chair to find the majority of my staff standing in the doorway. I addressed the only one that spoke Spanish. “Sancho, you mind getting the number and contacting his wife in Chile?”
    “Can do.”
    “Has anybody run Miguel Hernandez through the National Crime Data Base?”
    Vic glanced at Saizarbitoria and then back to me. “He’s the victim—we generally don’t do