Phil found himself liking the ranger's manner.
'Might as well,' he replied with a smile.
They searched the mesa in sectors. Phil and PJ were good trackers. The boy found recent claw marks on a pinon tree near a cow path, and Phil found fresh bear scat by a rotten log. They fanned out, working between the trees, and Kerney discovered a shooter's nest behind a cedar tree.
In the spongy, needle-covered soil a small blind had been constructed of branches and dirt, just large enough to conceal a prone rifleman. There were tracks of a four-wheel all-terrain vehicle in a sandy hollow off to one side.
PJ called out in an excited voice just as Kerney finished photographing the tire tracks. Kerney jogged to catch up with the boy and his father, who stood looking down into a rock crevice. A bear cub, huddled behind the dead body of a sibling, whimpered as PJ bent over with his hands on his knees for a closer look.
Phil turned to Kerney and said something that was lost in the sound of an arriving helicopter.
'What did you say?' Kerney shouted.
'I said it's a damn shame,' Phil Cox shouted, as they walked to where the chopper landed.
The pilot shut down the engine as a man disembarked and ran, head lowered, through the dust cloud kicked up by the rotor wash. He nodded at Phil Cox and turned his attention immediately to Kerney.
'You're Kerney,' he snapped. He was a man in his early thirties, with a serious face and sharp brown eyes. Sand-colored hair flapped over his forehead.
He wore a yellow fire lighter jumpsuit and hiking boots.
'That's right,' Kerney replied.
'Charlie Perry,' he said, brushing his hair back into place. A strand fluttered back down his forehead.
'I sure hope you haven't fucked everything up.'
The helicopter blades slowed to a dull thudding sound.
'That would be embarrassing,' Kerney replied.
Charlie's eyes narrowed at the sarcasm.
'What have you done so far?' he demanded.
'Staked evidence. Took photographs. Did a field search.'
'Show me the carcass,' Charlie ordered, as he started walking away from Kerney.
Kerney didn't move. After a few steps Perry turned to face him.
'There are two cubs over where PJ is standing,' Kerney said, motioning toward the boy.
'One is dead. The other one looks sickly.'
Charlie walked back to Kerney and gave him a sour look.
'Why didn't you call it in, for chrissake?' he demanded.
'I would have brought my wildlife manager with me.'
'We just found those cubs,' Phil interjected.
'Get off your high horse, Charlie.'
Charlie gave Phil a tight smile and looked at Kerney. 'Wait here,' he ordered, as he turned on his heel and went to the chopper.
As he talked to the pilot, Phil nodded his head in Charlie's direction.
'Now, isn't he a piece of work?'
'I like his warmth,' Kerney replied.
Phil chuckled.
'He sure puts a man at ease, doesn't he?'
Charlie returned carrying a canvas duffel bag.
'I'm sending the chopper back for my wildlife manager after you've shown me what you've done,' he said to Kerney.
'The pilot will drop you off at your vehicle. I'll take it from here.'
Kerney gave Perry a tour, while Charlie fired questions at him, each one more terse than the last, his tone peevish. When Charlie finished grilling him, Kerney turned over the Polaroids, exposed film, and evidence and stepped back to take another look at the man. Perry had close-set eyes and a pinched nose. His fingers were long and nervous.
Almost skinny. Perry stood just under six feet tall. His shoulders sloped a bit.
Charlie flipped through the Polaroids without comment and stuck them in the breast pocket of his jumpsuit. He looked up at Kerney without any change in expression.
'You can take off. Get back on patrol.'
Dismissed, Kerney nodded wordlessly, gathered up his gear, and headed for the helicopter.
Phil Cox walked along with him.
'It seems to me you did a damn good job out there.'
'Thanks. This was my first case where the victim was a bear,' Kerney admitted.
'What other kind of cases have you had?'
'The two-legged variety,' Kerney said as he climbed into the helicopter.
'But that was some time ago.'
The pilot cranked up the engine. Phil stuck his head through the open door into the cockpit as Kerney strapped on the seat belt.
'I didn't mean to sound so pissed off at you.' He finished the apology with a shrug of his shoulders.
'You didn't. Thanks for your help. And thank PJ for me.'
'I'll do it. Stop by for a visit when you have the time.'
'Be glad to,' Kerney answered.
Phil waited for Kerney to ask for directions.
'I'm over by Old Horse Springs,' he finally added, when Kerney remained silent.
'Turn off at the Slash Z sign on the highway.'
Kerney smiled.
'I know where it is.'
There was no answer to Kerney's knock at the door of the Triple H ranch house. A station wagon with an Albuquerque car dealer's decal on the tailgate was parked in front of a double garage. He knocked harder and waited. The limbs of an old cottonwood at the back of the house overhung the roof. The home, a contemporary single-story ranch style was neat as a pin on the outside. The landscaping, apple trees bordered by a moss rock planting bed filled with flowers, was carefully tended.
Against a small hill within hailing distance stood a weathered horse barn with a corral and a loading chute built out of old railroad ties nearby.
Kerney knocked again, got no answer, and gave up. On his way to the truck, he heard a woman's voice calling from the backyard.
'Cody, you get in here right this minute! I mean it, young man!'
He turned the corner of the house in time to see a shirtless, shoeless boy scoot up some steps and fly through the open door of an enclosed screened porch into an old stone house set back against a ridgeline. The screen door slammed closed behind him. It must be the original ranch house, Kerney thought. Square and chunky, it had a big stone chimney at one end, a rock foundation, and oldfashioned casement windows.
Kerney knocked at the screen door. The porch floor was stacked with moving boxes in various stages of being emptied. From inside the house he heard two children, a boy and a girl, arguing over who had been given permission to feed a puppy. The animal, a short-haired mongrel no more than twelve weeks old, answered Kerney's knock with a wag of its tail, pushed the screen door open with its nose, sniffed Kerney's boots, and wandered down the steps into the yard.
'Hello,' Kerney called out.
The children's chattering stopped, followed by their rapid arrival at the porch door. They were attractive kids with brown hair, fair skin, and bright, inquisitive faces.
The girl, about eight years old, had long braids that she twisted absentmindedly with her finger. She gave Kerney a shy smile.
'Hi,' she said.
'Hello. Are your parents home?'
