Nestled in the pine forests of the Moonlight Mountains, overlooking meandering Flint Creek and the valley it waters, Anderson, Montana held itself apart from typical mining towns in that it began as an outpost for a vast ranch. The historic Anderson Ranch encompassed most of Stone County. So widespread were the holdings that hired hands on the far end of the valley were forced to spend days riding a well-worn trail to the home place for supplies and tools. Charles Anderson, family patriarch, saw the wisdom in keeping his hired men working rather than running errands. He had a blacksmith shop built on the far side of the valley to handle horseshoes, broken wagon wheels, and the like. As cowhands continued beating the trail in search of supplies, he added a dry goods store. In a wild land with provisions scarce and towns few and far between, neighboring ranches, homesteaders, and passersthrough took notice of the outpost. Ever the businessman, Charles opened his private store to the public. Soon after, he built a roadhouse and hotel, offering food, lodging, and, of course, libations. A man of morals, Charles drew the line at loose women. Saloon girls and harlots were not allowed. Unbeknownst to him, his own daughter, Clara, ran a brothel in the hotel he built for her. Charles lived out his life on the other side of the ranch, secure with the delusion that the town bearing his name was nothing less than virtuous, and no one told him any different. While Charles found his fortune in land and cattle, others searched for treasure beneath the surface.
The quest for gold and silver brought riches to a lucky few, defeat to most, and left mountains scarred inside and out. In modern times, treasure hunters come to Anderson in search of sapphires. Formed in the depth of the earth by the melding of titanium, corundum, and iron in boiling cauldrons of magma, the beautiful gems owed to the surface on rivers of lava. Rarer than diamonds, and some would say more desirable, sapphires are found in only a few special places. One of these is Anderson, Montana. Modern-day Anderson offered much more than sapphires. Ski bums replaced treasure hunters in the winter months and beer enthusiasts ocked to the brewery year-round. In spite of throngs of tourists, Anderson remained a peaceful place. As head keeper of the peace, Stone County Sheriff Peter Elliot felt more than a small amount of pride for the tranquil little town.
As Peter sat, window open to the fresh summer breeze, feet on his desk, enjoying the peace, several phone lines in the sheriff’s department lit up within seconds of each other.
“Boss!” Travis—the blond and buff department clerk— shouted from the front office. “We have an incident in the basement.”
Peter dropped his paperback onto his desk, stood and reached for his required Stetson. “What sort of incident?”
“Something about Nancy May and a skunk.”
Peter smiled. He could always count on Nancy to spice up a quiet day.
Nancy May, beloved resident of the local senior apartments and frequent source of incidents for the sheriff’s department, always came out “smelling like roses” after each episode of the Nancy May show.
She may have met her match this time, thought Peter. “Where is everyone?” he asked.
“Tom is out at the Geary ranch checking on a trespassing complaint. Helen’s on traffic duty.”
“Call Helen and tell her to head this way. We might need her for… something.” Peter left his hat on his desk and instead took a hand towel out of the jail linen closet. “Stay, Zack!” he said. The last thing he needed was a skunksprayed dog.
He held the towel over his mouth as he hustled his six-footve, 200-pound bulk down the hallway. Already the familiar, putrid scent of skunk hung in the air. He hesitated on the top step of the wide central stairway, swallowed a gag, and twostepped his way into the cloud. Workers, coughing and gagging, pushed past him, rushing to the door and fresh air. A breeze blew up the stairway as he descended, carrying a faint scent of vomit underlying the musk of skunk. By the time Peter got to the basement, the hallways were bare, and the offices empty of people. Every door and window appeared to be open in a desperate attempt to clear the stench. Seeing no immediate threat, he walked to the end of the hallway and out the back door into a scene of chaos. People were gagging, puking, crying, and moaning in individual torment across the courthouse lawn.
He said in his loudest voice of authority, “Can anyone tell me what’s going on here?”Nobody stepped up to answer.
Helen arrived in her patrol car, astonishment on her face as she surveyed the pandemonium. She rolled down her window. “Is it safe to get out?” she called to Peter.
He nodded and motioned for her to join him.
“What happened?”
“Something to do with Nancy May and a skunk.”
“Oh boy.”
“That’s the story, but I don’t see Nancy May or a skunk,” said Peter as he searched the grounds.
EMS parked behind Helen and began unloading gear.
“What do you do for skunk spray?” asked Helen.
“Not a clue,” replied Peter. “Maybe EMS carries emergency spray canisters of tomato juice.”
Helen snorted as the EMTs unloaded canisters of… something.
Peter laughed until he had tears streaming down his face.
“Do you need an eye rinse, Sheriff?” asked an EMT, mistaking his tears for a reaction to the skunk.
“No, thanks. I’m good,” said Peter, wiping away the tears.
Rick Jones, Stone County animal control superintendent, had his office in the basement of the courthouse. Peter watched as Rick made his way across the lawn. Obviously disgruntled, he rubbed his eyes and coughed into a towel.
“Glad we could amuse you, Sheriff.”
Oh, boy, thought Peter, I’m going to be hearing about this for the next decade. “What happened here, Rick?” he asked.
“Nancy May is what happened.”
Helen disguised a giggle with a fake cough, earning her a dirty look from Rick. “I don’t see Nancy anywhere. Is she okay?”
“Oh, she cleared off before the skunk had a chance to spray the rst time.”
“Okay, Rick, start at the beginning. How and why did Nancy May happen to catch a skunk and transport it here?”
Rick sighed and blew his nose. “She walked in this morning with this black cage and started going on about catching something in her garden. I was on the phone and not paying attention. I told her to leave it by the door and I would take care of it later.”
“Then what happened?”
“I got off the phone and went to have a look. I brought it into the holding cell we have for strays and opened the cage to see if it had an ID collar.”
“You opened the cage without knowing what it was?” asked Helen.
Rick glared at her. “It only had a narrow opening on top. All I saw was black and a little ash of white. I thought it was a cat.It wasn’t hissing or anything. Tabitha has that black and white cat, and you know how Nancy and Tabitha are always going at each other.”
“So, you opened the cage?” prompted Peter.
“Yeah. I opened the cage, and the skunk ran out and sprayed me right in the face.”
“Where did it go?”
“I don’t know Peter. Why don’t we have a skunk spray you in the face and see if you can track where it runs?”
