narrow meadow to his right—a break in the canyon wall—and he drove in it and did a three-point turn in the dark so he was pointed back the way he had come.
Joe kept a small duffel bag of spare clothes in the lockbox in the bed of his pickup and he dug through it until he found a pair of socks.
“Sorry,” he whispered, as he slipped one of the socks over the head of the eagle. He’d learned from his friend Nate, who was a master falconer, that raptors went into a state of quiet when their heads were covered by a falcon hood. He hoped the sock would serve the same purpose.
Back in the cab of his pickup, Joe turned on a small radio receiver under the dashboard and waited.
In recent years, the use of handheld two-way radios—mostly manufactured by Motorola—had become standard equipment for hunters, fishermen, and hikers. The radios worked well within a two-to-five-mile range and operated on commercial channels. They were powered by AA batteries. The receiver under Joe’s dashboard was designed to scan those commercial channels.
It didn’t take long.
“Is that asshole finally gone, Brad?”
“He’s gone.”
Joe noted the thick Okie accents—he’d heard a lot of them lately in the area.
“Are you sure?”
Brad said, “He’s long gone. I seen his truck go over that hill a while back and now I can’t even hear it.”
“Let’s give it ten minutes anyway. If you see his lights or hear anything, shout.”
“You bet, Ron. But you know I gotta get back. I’m so goddamned late now Barb’s gonna kill me.” A little bit of panic in Brad’s voice, Joe thought.
“She’ll live,” Ron said.
“Yeah, she’ll live. But she’ll make my life a living hell. She’s probably throwin’ my clothes out into the yard right now.”
“Heh-heh,” Ron laughed. Then, “What was he doing down there all that time? That game warden?”
“I don’t know. But you can bet he got your plate number and he’ll know who you are.”
“He can’t prove nothing, though. All we gotta say is the truck stalled and we walked out trying to get help. That’s our story, and we’re stickin’ to it.”
“Yeah.” Cautious.
“We’re okay.” Arrogant. “He can’t prove nothin’.”
“Yeah.” Unsure.
“ ’Cause he’s an asshole,” Ron said.
“Yeah,” Brad said.
Joe thought,
Joe felt strangely disappointed. For a month he’d tracked the man, studied his crimes, gathered evidence. In the back of his mind, he supposed he’d built Ron into something he was not. Ron was just a stupid redneck poacher with too much time, too much money, and too many arrows.
WHEN JOE BATHED THEM with the beam of his Maglite, Ron was reaching for his door handle with one hand while gripping the compound bow with the other. Brad was urinating on the road. Both were wearing full camo and face paint. They were in their early thirties, thick and hairy. Energy workers. Empty beer cans and energy drink containers littered the bed of the pickup.
“Hello, boys,” Joe said, the Glock lying alongside the barrel of the flashlight.
Ron and Brad looked nervous and scared. Joe was, too, but he feigned confidence. He knew the blinding beam of his flashlight was his best defense if either of them decided to go for a weapon. He could see them clearly, and all they could see of him was the intense white light.
“Drop that bow,” Joe said to Ron. “Toss it into the back of your pickup. The arrows, too.”
Ron did. The arrows clattered in the bed of his truck.
“Both of you, up against the truck, legs spread.”
“He did it all!” Brad shouted suddenly, reaching for the sky, his spray going everywhere.
“Shut the fuck up, Brad,” Ron hissed.
“I never shot once,” Brad said, “not a single damn time. I was just along for the ride.”
“Would you
“Up against the truck, fellows,” Joe said. To Brad, “Zip up first.” To Ron, “I’m kind of hoping you make a stupid move since you’re the guy who shot my dog.”
Ron turned quickly and assumed the position as if he’d done it before.
“That dog was the worst thing Ron done,” Brad said, also turning around.
Ron sighed, “That dog ain’t good for nothing.”
Joe jammed the muzzle of the Glock into Ron’s ear hard enough to make him wince. “And you are?” he asked.
JOE FOUND a .357 Magnum revolver under the pickup seat, but neither Ron nor Brad was armed. There was also a baggie containing two vials
