C Box - Trophy hunt

Nate leaned forward, looking back and forth from the GPS display into the basin. "Unless I'm wrong," he said, "our bear is inside that sheep wagon."

Joe turned his head toward Nate. "This is really strange."

Nate nodded.

"Do you have a lot of bullets for that gun?" Joe asked.

Nate arched his eyebrows. "I do. I just hope I don't have to use them."

Joe stopped the truck twenty yards from the sheep wagon. His headlights bathed the door, which appeared to be slightly ajar. There was no light from inside, and no curl of smoke from the chimney.

Nate spoke softly as Joe armed the tranquilizer gun under the glow of the dome light, twisting off the plastic cap from the needle, checking that the dart was filled with 4 cc's of Telazol, inserting the dart into the chamber, and snapping the barrel down on the assembly.

Nate said, "I've read where the methods of working with bears is similar in concept to working with raptors. On a much bigger scale, of course, but it's basically the same program of give-and-take, and mutual respect."

Joe checked over the tranquilizer pistol and found the button which engaged the CO2 cartridge. He pushed the button and heard a short, angry hiss.

"Nate, are you saying you want to train the grizzly?" This was incomprehensible to Joe, not to mention illegal.

"Not at all," Nate said emphatically, "I want to get inside his head, see what makes him tick. Find out what he's thinking and why he came here. And who sent him."

Joe looked at Nate, hoping to see a hint of a smile but Nate was dead serious.

Joe's heart raced as he approached the sheep wagon. Their plan was for Joe to go to the left side of the wagon, the side the door would open up to, and for Nate to take the right. Joe had the tranquilizer gun in one fist and his Mag-Lite flashlight in the other. Once in position, Nate was to slip a cord over the handle of the door and ease it open. Joe would shine his light inside. If the bear was in there, he would shoot it point- blank, aiming for a haunch or shoulder. Don't hit him in the head, he told himself. If he missed, the dart could bounce right off.

So here he was, he thought, with his little dart gun and no place to run if things went bad. The sheep in the plain hadn't even looked up to note their presence.

Nate was his insurance policy in this situation. Despite his earlier statements, Nate had agreed that if the bear turned on either one of them Nate would fire. From the other side of the sheep wagon, Joe heard the faint click-click of Nate's revolver being cocked.

Joe heard no sound from inside the wagon as he stood next to it. No breathing, no rustling. He could smell a dank, musky odor-a bear.

He peered cautiously around the edge of the wagon and saw Nate slip the cord over the door handle. Slowly, the cord tightened and the door began to open. When a rusty hinge creaked, Joe nearly jumped out of his boots.

Then the door was fully open, and Joe pivoted around the side of the wagon and aimed his flashlight inside. The tranquilizer gun was held parallel to the flashlight.

The sheep wagon was empty. "All clear," Joe croaked, his voice giving away his fear. Nate wheeled around the door and looked down the sight of his handgun into the wagon. "The place has been trashed," Nate said, easing the hammer down and holstering the gun. Inside, in the naked white light of the flashlight, Joe could see that the table was splintered and the old mattress on the bunk was shredded, with rolls of foam blooming from the tears. The insides of the walls were battered. Joe stepped up on the trailer hitch and shined his flashlight on the old cooking stove. It showed deep scratches from huge claws, as did the cupboards and shelves. "He's been here, all right," Joe said. "But where is he now?" Nate shouldered Joe aside and reached down into the gloom. Joe shined his light down to see what he was after. A battered, sun-faded nylon collar hung from the bent-back steel handle of an ancient icebox. Nate pried it loose and held it up. Joe said, "He must have snagged his collar on that handle, and ripped it off when he pulled out. But what was he even doing here, going inside a sheep wagon? There are plenty of sheep out there to dine on." He looked closely at the radio collar, surprised how old it looked. The collars Joe had seen had much smaller radio transmitters. This collar looked like an old model. Perhaps the underfunded bear researchers had had to dig into their storage containers to keep up with demand. No wonder it hadn't worked properly, he thought.

Joe dropped Nate off at the Jeep. "Thanks for the adventure," Nate said. "Are you going to follow me out?" Joe asked, before driving away. Nate slowly shook his head. "I'm going in the other direction, back to the wagon." "What?" Nate shrugged. "That bear is close."

"He doesn't even have his collar anymore, Nate," Joe said. "How are you going to find him?"

Nate was silent for a moment. He seemed utterly calm. "I'm going to stay here and let him come to me. I think he'll come when he realizes I mean no harm."

Joe thought about it for a moment. There was no point in arguing, because it wouldn't do any good. Nate hunted for deer and antelope by staking out a spot and "letting the animals come to him." Joe had scoffed when he heard it the first time. He didn't scoff anymore.

"Don't disturb the crime scene, okay? And don't get hurt."

Nate was quiet for a few seconds. "Remember when you asked why the bear trashed the sheep wagon?"

"Yes."

"Maybe he was looking for somebody," Nate said and smiled wickedly.

As Joe made it back onto the highway, he listened to his radio after he called Trey Crump to let him know about the bear collar. His report had caused a firestorm of recrimination and controversy among the elite bear team. They openly doubted his claim that the collar was an old model. Trey promised to send it to them after he received it from Joe. One of the researchers accused another of using old equipment, and the man accused denied it. An argument started. Joe turned down the volume of the radio to a low roar.

He thought about the sheep wagon, the collar, what Nate had said. He thought about Nate out there in the dark, letting the grizzly come to him. And what had Nate meant about different levels of reality? Joe shook the thought off.

Then he remembered the telephone number.

Why not, he thought. He pulled over to the side of the road and found the number in his notebook. Grabbing his cell phone from the dashboard, he keyed the number, then held it to his ear.

It rang four times, then someone picked up.

"Nuss-bomb," a deep voice answered.

"Hello?" Joe said, not understanding.

"Nuss-bomb."

"What? Who is this?"

"Nuss-bomb!"

"I can't understand you," Joe said, his voice betraying a hint of panic as well as the knowledge that he might have just done something really stupid.

"Nuss. Bomb," the man said patiently.

"Where are you?"

The phone clicked off.

"Damn it!" Joe shouted. What had he done?

He weighed calling again, but decided against it. This might be a matter for the task force. He pulled back on to the road, mentally kicking himself. Stupid, stupid, stupid.

Driving down Bighorn Road to his house, he reconsidered slightly. Why would the man who answered assume he was involved in any kind of investigation? As far as the man on the other end knew, it was a wrong number. Joe hadn't identified himself, or given any indication why he called.

Joe was pleased to see that Maxine was up and excited to see him when he came in the house. She was still white, though.

Sheridan worked on homework on the kitchen table, while Lucy watched television.

"Where's your mom?" he asked.

Sheridan gestured toward his office. The door was closed, which was unusual, and he opened it.