by Will Collins
"To find food," said the doctor.
"There's plenty of food up there. The streams are brimming with fish."
"Maybe this one got tired of fish."
"Doc, I'm in no mood for sick jokes."
"This isn't a joke, Kelly. Your bear was hungry enough to kill those two girls and eat them. You saw what was left."
"Yeah," Kelly said. "But bears don't eat people."
"This one did," said Hallit.
Kelly shook his head. "It's a mess. Listen, do me a favor. Put this all down in your report? We're going to have ourselves one hell of a public relations problem."
Hallit nodded. "And your first one is going to be assigning some poor bastard to call the victims' families."
Kelly looked at the floor. He said, "I couldn't stick anyone with that one. I guess I'm the poor bastard you mentioned."
Hallit sighed. "It's a crummy world sometimes." He slid open a desk drawer and took out a flat bottle. "Here. I keep this for those occasions when the world is too much with me."
Kelly took a welcome swig, and choked.
As he handed back the bottle, the door opened, and a well-dressed man in his late forties hurried in. He
was slim, with a pale face that saw no more of the sun than could hit him as he hurried from his office to his automobile.
He sniffed the aroma of the good brandy.
"Drinking, Kelly? On duty?"
"Mr. Kittredge," Kelly said patiently, "It's nearly midnight. I went off duty at five. I'm working on my own time right now."
"Oh, all right," said the park supervisor. While Kelly Gordon had effective control of the day-to-day operation of the park, Avery Kittredge had the title on his door. He was anything but popular with the field rangers; the previous director had spent more time on horseback and climbing ridges than he did indoors. But that wasn't Kittredge's style. He was handier with a memo than a mule prod. "Why wasn't I notified of this appalling accident?"
Kelly said, "We called your home and left a message. You weren't at either of your clubs."
"I had a speaking engagement," Kittredge said harshly.
"Well, you're here," Kelly said. "Obviously, one way or the other, you got the word."
"Yes," Kittredge said angrily. "I got it on the radio, headlined in the news. Why wasn't the report held back until I approved it?"
"Because," Kelly replied loudly, "We don't want any climbers heading up into the high country until we get the situation under control."
The doctor cleared his throat, looked at his watch. "If you gentlemen will excuse me? I have quite a lot of work ahead."
He nodded toward the two examination tables.
For the first time, Kittredge saw the bloodied clothes covering the terribly still bundles of deformed flesh. His face whitened.
"Thanks, Doc," Kelly said. "We were just leaving, weren't we, Mr. Kittredge?"
Kittredge made a choking sound and almost ran from the room.
"Don't push it, son," warned the doctor.
"I'll try," said the ranger. He went out into the night, and found the supervisor leaning against the porch, making gagging sounds.
Kelly turned away. It wasn't fair to watch any man at such a moment.
But Kittredge sensed his presence and whirled.
"Hold it, Kelly!" He managed to regain his composure. "Let's have it. What the hell happened up there?"
Kelly tried to keep it loose. "We're still searching. But it looks like one of our bears got lonesome up in the high country, and came down looking for some real action."
Kittredge snapped, "I suppose you think that's funny."
"No, I don't. But what the hell good does it do to stand around crying?"
"Well?" demanded the supervisor. "What are you doing about it?"
"I've got men up in the field tracking him down, and we've put R-Three and R-Four off limits to campers. I think he's in one of those areas, and with luck we can contain him there."
"I want hourly reports," said Kittredge.
Kelly scowled. "Really? Do you want us calling you every hour on the hour all night?"
Kittredge realized the insanity of his request. "Well . . . no. But keep me informed all the way."
Kelly crawled into the Toyota. The jeep was still up on the mountain. Kittredge had followed him over. "And keep this in mind, Kelly. After this is over, I want an investigation."
"Investigation? What kind of investigation?"
"We have a responsibility to the public."
"And we carry it out. We've had a perfect safety record."
"Until tonight! Don't snow me, Kelly. It's my head on the block. How could this happen? Those bear are supposed to be in the high country."
"That's where we put them," said the ranger. "But remember, we don't have any fences up that way."
"Granted," said Kittredge. "One of them may have come down. Or maybe you didn't do your job. Maybe you didn't move them all."
Kelly said, "We tagged every goddamned bear in the park. Ask Arthur Scott. He knows every bear in this forest by first name. There's no way we could have missed one."
"Now, that's a good idea you just had," Kittredge said. "Get hold of Scott. Get him down here. I want to talk with him."
Kelly turned the key and the Toyota's engine turned over.
Kittredge hardened his voice. "Kelly, I hope you don't think I've been talking to myself."
"No," said Kelly Gordon. "I read you loud and clear."
He mashed down the gas pedal and !eft Avery Kittredge fuming in a cloud of smoke and scattered gravel.
CHAPTER FIVE
The beast, unaware that a massive search had been started to track him down and kill him, awoke in his shelter and gave a contented yawn. His belly was still full, and dimly he was aware that he had stumbled on a rich source of food that seemed inexhaustible. Until now, the two-legged ones had been only vague enemies, to be avoided and hidden from. But now that he had learned they were red meat, the beast had lost all fear of their strange scent and noisy ways.
He had never heard a gun fired, or seen an arrow launched. He had no way of knowing that these weak creatures had powerful ways to protect themselves.
So, as he rolled and scratched in the first gray light of dawn, his mind turned to the juicy, easy food he had discovered, and his crafty mind began to form a plan of action.
Don Stober whirled the helicopter through the still morning air. With him, as observer, Gail Nelson scanned the forest below with field glasses. She had insisted on taking her regular shift in the chopper patrol against Tom's wishes.
"Nothing," she reported. "Not a thing is moving."
"It's early yet," he said. "Keep your eyes open."
"I will," said the young ranger. "How awful for those poor girls."
"They won't be the last," Don said grimly. "Not unless we luck into finding that bear."
"How can you say that?" she said. "It was just an accident."
"He's tasted blood," he told her. "From now on, he'll be a killer. Until we kill him."
He shoved the yoke to one side and the Hughes chopper banked violently and slipped around the edge of a steep cliff.
Although only two camping areas had been closed off, the word of the killings spread through other areas, and by mid-morning, a mass exodus from the woods had begun.
Back-packers streamed down from the low-slope areas they'd been exploring. In more congested areas, tents were struck—often by cutting the tie ropes rather than waste time in pulling up the stakes.
The rangers, most of whom had only managed to grab an hour or so of sleep, were anything but popular this morning. The general attitude seemed to be that they were somehow responsible for what had happened.
It would take days to restore the camp sites to their original condition.
But, somehow, that didn't seem very important just now.
To a ranger, the rifle is an enemy except for authorized practice and licensed hunting. To a man, they have come upon too many w
ounded and slaughtered animals abandoned by careless hunters, many taking game out of season, to appreciate the loudly declared right of every citizen to bear arms. Many citizens should not even be allowed to drive a car, let alone aim a high-powered weapon.
But the rangers on the sides of the mountain this morning all carried rifles, and chambered in them were soft-nosed, expanding 30.06 220-grain slugs, which hit with more than two tons impact and blew up inside the body of the target. Even this was considered lightweight ammunition when going up against an enraged bear.
Today, the rifle was a welcomed tool . . . an implement that might save a ranger's life before the day was over.
Not all campers had fled the park. Some welcomed the "adventure."
In one high country site, near the edge of R-Three, two young back-packers sat, sipping beer, and listenlng to a transistor radio.
The announcer said, "Today there's news of another tragic accident—this one in the National Park. Most years, we hear of unnecessary deaths caused by careless campers. This year has been free of such mishaps. But now a double death has been caused up near the timber line by what appears to be a rogue bear. Two young women were slain by a berserk bruin, and the official opinion is that they may have appeared to threaten a bear cub and were killed by the angry mother. Search teams are on the move, and the hopes are they will either capture or kill the bear shortly. Private sources say the young women were so badly mutilated that the evidence points toward a dangerous animal—a killer bear, using all its cunning and wiles to destroy the enemy . . . man."
Tom Cooper, riding Tex, paused near the edge of the clearing.
He addressed the two young men. "Hey, guys. Didn't you get the word about evacuating this area?"
"We just got in," said one camper. "You mean about that bear?"
"Yeah. I know it's a hassle, but we've got to move everybody out of this area until we bring that rascal down. He's killed two girls already."
"Hell," said the other camper. "Bears don't hurt you unless you mess with them. We hiked all the way up here and we just spent an hour pitching our tent."
"Sorry," said Tom. "Areas one and two down the mountain are safe. Set your rig up there."
"Sure they're safe," said the first camper. "They're filled with noisy brats and TV sets at full blast. What bear in his right mind would ever head that way? No thanks."
"Well, mister," Tom said, hardening his voice, "You just don't have any choice." The camper finished his beer can, almost threw it into the woods, and saw Tom watching. Instead, he stowed it in a black plastic garbage bag.
"On your way down," Tom added, "Make a lot of noise. You don't want to surprise any bears. Give them plenty of warning you're coming, and they'll usually move away. They're very dangerous if you jump them."
"Yeah, sure," said the second camper. "Okay, Harry, let's break camp."
"Wait a minute," said the other. He went over and stroked Tex's neck. To Tom, as if they were old friends, he said, "Listen, pal, we planned on this trip for months. Why don't you just forget you found us here? We know our way around in the woods. We're not afraid of your bear."
"Sorry," said Tom. "I can't do that."
Henry took out a twenty-dollar bill and rolled it around his finger.
"Maybe this might help loosen up your memory?"
Tom stared at the camper for a long moment, his jaw tensing with anger. Then, without a word, he dismounted, walked over to the tent and pulled up one of the corner stakes by its rope. The tent collapsed like the skin of some giant green creature.
The two campers gaped at the ranger.
Tom remounted his horse. "Mister," he said softly, "You just broke camp. And you've got exactly fifteen minutes to police up this area and get down the trail."
He waited to see if there would be an argument. There wasn't any. Henry slipped the twenty-dollar bill into his pocket furtively and turned to his partner.
"Come on," he said loudly. "You heard the man. We don't have all day."
Kelly Gordon's office at the ranger station was simple and almost militarily neat. The desk was old, of battered wood. The chairs were even older, and did not match each other. One file cabinet was taller than the other. The office looked exactly like what it was—a collection of furniture scavenged from various other offices.
The narrow screened windows fronted on a vista of trees and mountains that would have been breathtakingly beautiful if anyone in the office had ever bothered to look through them. But this was a place for business, not sightseeing, and right now, Kelly was all business.
Speaking into the telephone, he raised his voice. "Okay, I read you. Mr. Scott is not in the office. That's no surprise. He's never in the office. He's always out in the woods wearing one of his cock-eyed costumes. But this is an emergency. Use your radio to connect me with him."
He waited for an answer, and didn't like it when the voice of a young man said, "I'm sorry, sir. I can't do that."
Kelly said, "What are you saying? That you can't connect me with Scott, or you won't?"
"Technically I could," the voice replied. "But Mr. Scott left strict instructions. He wasn't to be contacted unless it was a major emergency."
"Sonny," Kelly said grimly, and now his voice fought to hold down the anger that wanted to spew out. He lost the battle. "You just listen to me. We brought in the bodies of two young girls who were eaten to the bone by one of our animals. So don't throw snow about 'major emergencies.' This qualifies as one, and if you don't get me Scott on that radiophone in the next minute, you're going to be standing in the unemployment line tomorrow morning."
The voice hesitated. "I didn't know. I'm sorry, I'll try to raise Mr. Scott. Hold the line."
"That's better," said Kelly. "I'll be here."
As he waited, the door to his office opened and Allison came in. He gave her a little wave.
Her return gesture was slow. "Hi," she said.
"Are you all right?" he asked.
"As right as I can be on a strict Valium diet."
"You didn't eat?"
She sat on the corner of the desk. "I don't think I'll eat for maybe another year. Or sleep. I kept coming awake with their faces staring at me—"
Her voice was on the verge of trembling. She brought it under control by finding something else to talk about. She pointed at the big map of the park on the wall. It had several red and blue-headed pins stuck in at different locations.
"What's with the pins in the map?"
Kelly said, "The red pins show where we found the girls. The blue ones are places where I think our animal may have gone off to digest his meal."
"Animal? Then you still aren't sure it was a bear?"
He said, "Nearly sure. But there's still the faint possibility that—" He broke off the sentence, said into the phone: "Yes?"
The other voice said, "I'm ringing Mr. Scott now."
To Allison, Kelly said, "Sit down, this'll only take a minute.'' Into the phone: "I'm holding, son. Keep on ringing until he answers."
The voice said, ruefully, "Yes sir. But I hope you explain to him that you made me do it. Mr. Scott's not going to be very happy about this."
"Don't worry," Kelly promised. "I'll get you off the hook."
Few modem humans have ever seen a herd of bighorned elk close up with the naked eye. If the whitetailed deer is considered nervous and shy, the elk is a wild-eyed paranoid about his privacy. Where many of the park animals had become accustomed to humans, and even tolerated them, the elk left the paths of man strictly alone.
The small herd here in a high altitude clearing were miles from the nearest road, and not even a foot trail came anywhere close to this place. Still, the huge buck who led the herd kept his head turning, his wide nostrils sniffing the air for alien scent. The does and young calves grazed while he kept watch.
Once, his great head lifted and he stared, with his four-power binocular vision, at a shape that stood near the edge of the clearing, just within the forest. He sniffed, bu
t the acrid scent of man did not soem present. For a moment he waited, alert to any movement that might be hostile.
But none came. Satisfied that the furred thing within the trees was not an enemy, he lowered his head again and grazed. But one eye was always turned toward the forest.
The bundle of furred hides stirred slightly. The movement did not go unnoticed by the elk, but it did not alarm him.
Within the hides, strapped around him like a giant deer pelt, a man smiled. His lips moved soundlessly. A lip-reader would have seen the word, "Good" formed on them.
Then a harsh "Beep" shattered the calmness of the quiet clearing. The elk herd reacted by freezing all motion. For a fraction of a moment, they became living brown statues, poised for flight, yet avoiding movement that might attract a preying eye.
The man inside the hides mumbled a curse and made a grab for the two-way radio in its holster strapped to his belt. He was too late. The harsh "Beep!" came again.
This time, the elk herd was energized into frantic movement. The buck leaped first, covering more than twenty feet from a standing start. The rest of the herd followed him, and in seconds the clearing was empty and still.
Arthur Scott threw off his fur hides and yanked the offending radio from its holster. He whipned up the antenna, pressed the transmit button and shouted, "What the hell is the matter witla you, Barney? I gave you strict orders not to contact me. Do you know what you've —"
The young man's voice said, "I'm sorry, but Kelly Gordon said it was an emergency. He insisted—"
"Oh?" snarled Scott. "Kelly insisted? Well, put him on, I'll insist him!"
"I'm on," said Kelly. "Listen, Scotty, we've got ourselves a problem—"
"You've got a problem," Scott yelled into the radio. "Do you know what you just blew for me? A whoIe week's work!"
Kelly tried to cut in, but Scott kept shouting. "I had me a family of elk. I've been on their trail all week, moving with them, damned near living with them. I've seen behavior that—"
"Damn it, will you shut up and listen?" Kelly finally managed to say. "We've had a bear kilIing."
"That's the end of my elk this season," Scott went on. Then what Kelly had said sank in. "We've had a what?"
