Nevada Barr: Track Of The Cat

"You can't ever win, Anna. Your system is against you. Maybe I'll get fired. Maybe not. They won't put me out of business, though. One good hunt will pay off any fines for poaching. Nobody cares, Anna. They're just animals. In Texas they may even give me a medal."

"Craig, Sheila-even in Texas that will be considered murder," Anna said.

"No murders. Just the ravings of a crazy lady ranger. Your word against mine."

The dull chopping of a helicopter engine sounded as it marched down the northern sky, toward the ravine.

"Jerimiah and I and every scrap of evidence will be gone in thirty minutes. Your word against mine. And you may not live long enough to talk too much. You don't win."

The helicopter was in the ravine, flying up from where the hills opened onto the salt flats to the west.

"He's coming, Anna, Jerimiah D. and three men. Maybe if you run we won't find you. We won't find you tonight," he amended and laughed. The laughter was cut short. Anna hoped it was from pain.

She unslung the hunting rifle, put it to her shoulder, and braced for the recoil. As the helicopter flew over, she fired four rounds. One sang off metal. There was a light tinkling sound as fragments of Plexiglas rained down onto the rocks.

The helicopter climbed abruptly, was silhouetted against the moon. A spotlight beneath the fuselage switched on and a white finger of light began probing back down the narrow canyon. Anna fired again. The light shattered.

The helicopter spun on its axis and flew north, straight over the hills, not even attempting to seek cover from prying eyes. The pounding noise of the blades receded.

"You can bring the law down on me, Anna. But you won't win," Harland said. He was only a voice from the shadows. The flare had died, and the helicopter's light had robbed Anna of her night vision.

"You can beat the law," Anna said. "But you can't beat the desert." She started up the slope.

"You can't leave me here," he called after her and there was fear in his voice for the first time.

"Fence crew will find you in a couple of months," she returned without stopping. "What's left of you."

"I'll die of thirst. Anna, I broke my ankle. Swear to Christ."

Anna said nothing. She didn't much care.

"Paulsen'll be back in the morning. He'll get me," Roberts cried.

Anna doubted that. For all Paulsen knew this was a trap and the place was crawling with Feds. He'd steer clear of the West Side for a long time to come.

Reaching the flat of the saddle, she unslung Paulsen's fancy rifle. Using the tail of her shirt, she smudged her prints from the stock and barrel but didn't wipe the stock clean. Half New Mexico knew Paulsen's gun, knew he never let anyone touch it. And it was the gun that shot Harland Roberts. Anna set it on the ground.

"What're you doing, Anna?" Harland called up the hill.

"Leaving."

"I'll die of thirst," he cried.

Anna walked over to the ravine, looked into the depths. She couldn't see Roberts. "You never know," she said. "You might not live long enough. That lion could still be around. Here kitty, kitty, kitty," she called.

"Don't!" Harland screamed.

Anna walked across the flat toward the ridge where her camp was. The moon had moved partway down the sky. A silver trail led down the ridges: the path she would follow home. She began to run.

"Please!" she heard Harland yelling.

Maybe she'd saddle up Gideon, ride out tomorrow with water and bring Harland in. Then again, Gideon's hoof wasn't healing like she'd hoped.

Maybe she'd give him the day off.

Nevada Barr is a mystery fiction author, known for her "Anna Pigeon" series of mysteries, set in National Parks in the United States. She grew up in Johnsonville, California. In 1984 she published her first novel, Bittersweet, a bleak lesbian historical novel set in the days of the Western frontier.