muted in shadow, and it had gotten colder.
Joe looked up and could see the ridge where they had originally parked, and thought it remarkable that the bear had led them back where the chase had begun. He had heard that bears often did that when injured, choosing familiar terrain over unfamiliar. Or maybe 304 was hungry again.
When he got a nowrecognizable whiff of the bear, he found himself clutching up, and could feel his limbs stiffen. He dismounted and led his horse to a tree where he could tie him up. Trey did the same.
Trey walked over to Joe and whispered, “We need to stay within sight and range of each other. If he goes for one of us, the other one has to shoot. If it’s up to you, Joe, aim in back of his front shoulder for a heart or lung shot.
Don’t shoot him in the head. I’ve heard of slugs bouncing right off.”
Joe nodded, didn’t meet Trey’s eyes.
“You okay, Joe?”
“Fine.”
Trey lifted the receiver, slowly sweeping it in front of him until he found where the signal was strongest. Joe looked up, following Trey’s arm. A dense pocket of aspen stood alone on a saddle slope of low gray sagebrush. The bear was too big to hide in the brush, so it had to be in the aspen grove. As if reading his thoughts, Trey gestured toward the trees.
Joe jacked a shell into the chamber of his shotgun and quickly loaded a replacement into the magazine. He put his thumb on the safety as he walked, ready to flip it off and shoot.
They approached the pocket of aspen. Joe could hear a slight cold wind ripple through the crown of branches, sending a few yellow leaves skittering down. He could also hear the signal from the receiver. Before plunging into the grove, he looked over at Trey. Trey mouthed, “Ready?” and Joe tipped his hat brim.
...
The smell of the bear was strong in the grove, hanging like smoke about three feet above the ground. It was dusk. Joe wished they had entered the aspen at least a half hour before, when there was more light. He promised himself that if they didn’t find the bear within ten minutes he would call to Trey and they would pull out and wait for morning.
Even though Trey had been twenty yards away when they entered the aspen, Joe couldn’t see or hear him now in the dense trees.
Joe noticed a nuance in the smell of the bear—the metallic odor of blood. He walked slowly, breathed deeply and as quietly as possible. He didn’t want the sound of his own exertion to fill his ears and make him miss something.
He felt it before he saw it, and spun to his left, his boot heel digging into the soft black ground beneath the fallen leaves.
The grizzly sat on his haunches, looking at him from ten feet away. Joe saw the silvertipped brown fur, some of it matted with black blood, saw the bear’s chest heave painfully as he breathed. Joe stared into the eyes of the bear, and the bear didn’t blink. The bear’s eyes were black and hard, without malice.
Joe raised the shotgun and thumbed off the safety. He put the front bead of the muzzle on 304’s chest, right on his heart. And he didn’t fire.
Even when the bear falsecharged and popped his teeth together in warning, Joe didn’t pull the trigger.
But Trey Crump did, the explosion sounding like the whole aspen grove went up. 304 flinched as if stung by a bee, and roared, his mouth fully open so Joe could see the inchlong teeth and pink tongue. Trey fired again and the bear toppled forward, dead before he hit the ground.
As they rode toward their vehicles in the dark, dragging the carcass of the grizzly behind them, Trey asked, “Why didn’t you shoot, Joe?”
Joe didn’t want to answer, and didn’t.
Because he was looking me straight in the eye, that’s why. Because I found out I can’t kill a bear when he is looking me straight in the eye.
That night, they ate big steaks and drank beer after beer at a guest lodge in the foothills of the mountains. Oldtimers at the bar had heard the story and sent over rounds of drinks for the game wardens. They, like Trey, admired old 304. But the bear had to go. A fed bear was a dead bear.
Joe left Trey at the bar and found a pay phone outside. It was cold as he shoved quarters in, and he could see his breath as he said, “Hello, darling,” to Marybeth.
“Where are you?” she asked. Even colder.
He leaned back and looked at the sign out near the highway. “Someplace called the T Bar.”
“In Jackson?”
“No,” he said. “By Cody.”
“Cody. Joe, why are you there? Why aren’t you in Jackson? Why didn’t you call like you said you would?”
Joe said, “Didn’t you get the second message from dispatch?”
“What message?”
He told her the whole story, but he could tell by her tone she was still furious with him. As he told her how scared he had been when he walked up on the grizzly, she said, “Sheridan has been an absolute beast. I can’t even talk to that girl anymore.”
Joe paused. “Marybeth, are you listening?”
“For three days I’ve been worried about you. Do you know what that’s like?”
