them as she was a bear, because she wouldn’t want to come face-to-face with a cougar, either, but she supposed she was allowed her points of illogic. She waited for five minutes, listening hard and hearing nothing more than very small rustles-no grunts, no coughs, no sounds of branches being snapped or logs rolled out of the way-before she ventured closer to the game trail she’d located.
There was the tree with the claw marks, the thicket of chokeberry bushes where the black fur had been snagged. She mentally mapped out a grid and walked it, taking her time, carefully examining the ground as well as constantly checking her surroundings. The silver ribbon of creek below helped her keep her bearings, so she always knew exactly where she was in relation to the camp. The ground sloped away to the right of her, punctuated by groups of boulders, stands of trees. Something metallic caught her eye, over by some of the rocks, but bear scat wasn’t metallic; probably someone had left some trash, which ticked her off. She’d pick it up on her way back to the camp.
No scat. She moved upward another hundred yards, but though she found some scat it wasn’t as fresh as what she’d found a few days before. Reversing directions, she began working down toward the creek. Water was a lodestone. Eventually, every creature in the mountains needed water.
When she reached the steep drop-away where she’d seen the glint of metal, she left the game trail and carefully worked her way over to it. A careless step could mean a sprained ankle, or, God forbid, a broken leg or a concussion, and she didn’t trust either Chad Krugman or Mitchell Davis to help her. She’d told Chad in detail where she was going, but as inept as he was in the wilderness she didn’t have a lot of faith he could find her. Davis had still been in his tent when she left, so he didn’t have any idea where she’d gone. If anything happened, she’d have to depend on herself; there was no one else.
A camera. The metallic glint came from a microdigital camera. She leaned down and picked it up. It was scuffed up, dirty, and probably wouldn’t work after being left out in the open. She examined it, saw that the switch had been left in the “on” position. When she flicked the switch again, the little screen lit up. Out of curiosity she hit “playback” and scrolled through some shots of the scenery. There were a hundred fifty-three pictures, but after viewing a few of them she turned the camera off. She’d look at the rest later, though she doubted there’d be any way of telling who the camera belonged to. It must have fallen out of the photographer’s pocket, who knows how many days ago.
She slipped the camera into the inside pocket of her jacket and zipped it shut, then resettled her orange vest. She looked around once more, and that was when she saw a shred of cloth, maybe ten yards away, close to a big cluster of boulders. It looked like part of a blanket, maybe. She checked all around her, saw nothing, so she eased in that direction.
Not a blanket. Part of a plaid shirt. The plaid was visible on a small portion of the fabric; the rest of it was black and stiff with blood.
She stopped in her tracks, hair lifting on the back of her neck. She didn’t go any closer to pick up the fabric, just stood where she was and once more checked her surroundings, three-sixty. The mountainside was quiet.
She looked back at the ground surrounding the fragment of shirt. The ground was dark in patches, gouges in the earth showing dark and raw, mixed with the imprints of big pads, the short claws that said black bear, not grizzly. There were scuff marks, as if something had been dragged. She followed the drag marks with her gaze, saw what looked like a piece of raw meat, dark red, stringy.
She edged back, away from the scene, so she wouldn’t disturb it, then farther down the trail a few yards before once again working her way across. The going was harder now, the slope much steeper; she had to brace herself with one hand, check each step to make sure it was solid before she put all of her weight on it. When she was even with the cluster of boulders, she looked up.
And gagged.
The man’s remains-possibly a man, she couldn’t be certain, because there was no face that she could see-had had dirt scratched over them. Bear did that with a half-eaten kill. The viscera had been eaten. Part of an arm lay nearby. And as if to leave proof of ownership, she could see where the bear had crapped.
She’d seen wildlife kills before. Nature wasn’t neat; it was messy and brutal. But she’d never before found a half-eaten human, and her stomach heaved. She fought down the nausea, fought the abrupt sense of panic as she suddenly imagined the bear looming right behind her on the trail just like in her nightmare.
Swiftly she pulled her rifle from the scabbard on her back, jacked a round into the firing chamber. The reassuring mechanical sounds of metal parts moving were all she could hear. She did another three-sixty check. No bear, no cougar, or coyotes attempting to raid the bear’s kill. Nothing. The “nothing” was almost as terrifying as “something,” because she knew the bear was in the vicinity. They didn’t willingly abandon their kills. It wasn’t close enough to scent her, though, or she’d have already been fending off an attack.
But if it came back for its kill, and crossed her scent trail, would it track her? Black bears did that. They stalked people. Humans were just part of their food chain.
She returned to the trail, heading back for the camp as fast as she could safely go. She checked the time, calculating distances. This had to be reported immediately, the Montana Fish and Wildlife Department alerted that there was a man-eater in the vicinity. The body had to be recovered and identified. But it was already so late in the afternoon that she’d barely have time to make it back to the camp before dark; there was no way they could make it to Ray Lattimore’s.
Even though Mitchell Davis hadn’t seemed thrilled with anything about the hunt, she bet he’d make a stink about it being canceled. She’d have to either refund the money or give them an extension on this hunt, if they could stay longer.
Or they could stay at the camp while she rode back to Lattimore’s. If she left at first light, she could be back tomorrow afternoon. She’d be able to travel faster if she was alone. Maybe she could convince them to do that.
The sun had already sunk below the mountain peaks when she got back to camp. Neither of the two men were in sight. “Davis!” she called. “Chad! We have a problem!”
Chad almost immediately popped out of his tent, and Davis emerged, his cold and dark expression in place, from his tent a few seconds later. “Did you find bear sign?”
“Yeah,” she said grimly. “I also found a body. Looks like a bear killed him. We’ll have to head back down the mountain in the morning to report it.”
“A body?” Chad echoed faintly.
“Bullshit,” said Davis. “It was probably a wild animal you saw, and you panicked.”
“Last time I checked, wild animals don’t wear plaid shirts, or carry digital cameras,” she snapped. “We go tomorrow to report it. If you don’t want to make the ride, I’ll go by myself. It’s up to you. We can either extend the hunt a day or reschedule.”
He looked around, disgust in his expression. “I want a refund.”
“Fine, you’ll get a refund.” It wasn’t worth arguing about. Someone had died a gruesome death, and this asshole didn’t like being inconvenienced. Sure, she needed the money, but she’d get by. Dare Callahan’s offer was still out there.
To her surprise, Chad said, “I want to stay. Angie rides down and back tomorrow, it’s just one day.” He shoved his hands into his pockets. “There’s no reason to leave.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Davis growled. “The body will have to be retrieved, and that’ll take at least one team. Then the Fish and Wildlife Department will have people all over this mountain, hunting for this particular bear. Everything will be spooked. This close to the end of the season, there won’t be any decent hunting until next year.”
He was probably right, and she didn’t care. “I’ll refund your money,” she said with finality in her tone. “We ride back down tomorrow. I’m leaving at first light, so be ready.” Because as of this minute she no longer considered Davis a client, she narrowed her eyes at him and said, “And you can saddle your own damn horse.”
Supper, what there was of it, was strained and silent. Angie kept her rifle close to hand, because the theory went that once a man-killer, always a man-killer. Couple that with a black bear’s propensity for stalking, and she had more than enough reason to be alert. It seemed everyone was angry at everyone else, so they all retired to their respective tents as soon as they returned from the food-prep site.
She secured the zipper on the tent flap so it couldn’t be opened from the outside, then sat on the cot for a while, so mentally exhausted she needed a minute to regroup. She couldn’t get the gruesome image of the mauled
