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Craig Nybo

8

“Are they real?” Clay asked.

“I don’t know; do you believe in Bigfoot?”

“Shut up,” Clay said. “Whatever happened back there is a little weird, don’t you think?”

“I’ve seen weirder,” Kurt said and the smile faded from his face.

“Did you see the tracks around those five maimed sheep?”

“They looked like wolf tracks to me.”

“They were bigger than any wolf tracks I have ever seen.”

“We’ll let the university look into it.” Kurt glanced over at Clay. His deputy looked as if he had heard a scary campfire story.

“Relax, will you?” Kurt said. “If there is one thing I have learned as a cop, it’s that everything has a perfectly rational explanation—no matter how strange it seems on the surface.”

Clay smiled, but he appeared unconvinced.

“I was wondering if I could ask you one more favor for the day,” Kurt said.

“Oh, no.”

“Could you please take these two animals down to Montana State? I don’t like the smell of them.”

“There’s that power of delegation again,” Clay said.

“Get used to it.”

“I am used to it.”

Small Town Monsters

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