Grizzly

by Will Collins

"Honey, it's a butcher shop out there, between our bear and those idiots shooting up the woods."

  "I can take care of myself."

  "No. I'd be thinking about you and worrying, when I should be watching out for the business we've got to do."

  "But, Kelly," she said, trying to make him understand. "This is my book. l've finally found my theme."

  "I'm sorry," he said. "Go ahead and hate me, but the answer is no."

  Tom Cooper joined them. "We're all loaded," he said.

  "Okay," said Kelly. "Move them out."

  "I'll stay out of your way," Allison said, almost pleading.

  "No," he repeated, firmly.

  "Damn it, Kelly, I realize you've got your job to do. But I've got mine, too. I'm not playing games."

  "I know that, Allie. But this whole thing has gotten too dangerous. Find something else to photograph for your book."

  Angrily, she asked, "Is that an order?"

  "If you want it to be one."

  "From Kelly the Man, or Kelly the Ranger."

  "It's from both of us." He reached for her. "But Kelly the Man just doesn't want you to get hurt."

  "Well," she said, pulling away, "Kelly the Ranger can tell Kelly the Man to go straight to hell."

  She turned and walked away.

  Night comes early in the mountains, and this first night of the big hunt settled down over the hazy valleys before six P.M.

  One group of hunters, back-packing up the mountain, was clustered around a low fire. They were tired, it was one thing to sit on watch for a white-tailed deer, or a mule buck, but it was something else to scramble up one steep incline after another all day long.

  The men lay in down-filled sleeping bags. They tossed, as aching muscles protested against the hard ground.

  One awakened, sensing movement nearby.

  He looked up—right into the open mouth of a bear.

  He erupted,from the sleeping bag with a piercing yell of fright. The other hunters thrashed, escaping from their own nylon cacoons.

  The first hunter, who had grabbed his rifle as he fled, chambered a bullet. He threw up the rifle to fire.

  Then, slowly, he lowered it and started to laugh.

  A frisky bear cub pawed at the empty sleeping bag.

  The hunter said, "Boys, I just lost twenty years."

  Pat Clifford, a big, bluff man, lowered his own rifle. He said, "Hey, this may be that grizzly's cub."

  The first hunter, Mike Newton, said, "Naw. This is a black bear, not a grizzly."

  Pat persisted. "You can't tell. He's kind of speckled. Look."

  A third hunter said, "If he is, I'd suggest we throw his ass out in the woods. I don't want that bastard coming in here after any cub."

  "That's an idea," Pat said. "Listen, we can use the cub as bait. Tie him in the woods, wait until mama shows up and—" he made a shooting motion with his fingers. "Blam."

  "That's not a bad idea," Mike admitted. "Who's got some rope?"

  The original plan was to have someone on watch, waiting, but as the night wore on and tiredness ate away at their stamina, the hunters gradually filled up their sleeping bags again.

  So when a huge claw reached out into the clearing and scooped up the bear cub, no one was awake to hear its pitiful whimpers of pain.

  It took the headlights of the ranger vehicle, churning up the trail, to drag them back from slumber.

  Kelly helped waken them by tooting the shrill horn. Again, they crawled out of their sleeping bags.

  "Okay," the ranger told them. "The hunt's over for you boys. Pack up and move out."

  Pat Clifford argued, "Listen, Kelly, you know us. We're steady. Let us help you."

  "How?"

  Mike Newton said, "We've got a bait staked out for that grizzly. A bear cub."

  "Where?"

  "Over there—"

  Mike stopped. The cub wasn't there any more.

  They went over, and saw where the rope had been torn from the tree.

  A few feet inside the trees, they found what was left of the cub.

  Mike gagged. "Oh, my God."

  "So you're steady, huh?" Kelly said with heavy sarcasm. "Whose idea was it to use live bait?"

  Pat said, shakily, "Mine. But I—"

  "Did anyone see what happened?"

  Mike said, embarrassed, "I was supposed to be on watch. But nothing was happening and—"

  "You were all asleep," said a new voice.

  Arthur Scott, wearing buckskin, stepped out of the trees.

  "Scottie," said Kelly. "Where the hell have you been?"

  "Tracking our big friend. I think at one point I was only half an hour behind him. I came up on this camp shortly after he killed the cub. I've been waiting, to see if he'd come back."

  "Okay, fellows," Kelly said. "You heard me before. Start getting your gear together."

  "We found out one thing," Scott said. "Our grizzly is a male."

  Don said, "How do you figure?"

  "Only the males are cannibalistic. One of their favorite appetizers is a young cub."

  "Does knowing that help us?" Kelly asked.

  "Maybe. Males travel alone, and they tend to repeat their routes. In other words, he may come back to the scene of the crime."

  "So he may be out there right now?"

  "I'd bet on it," said Scott.

  Kelly turned to the five hunters. "Change of plan. You guys game to help us flush him out?"

  "I am," said Pat. "I can use that five hundred."

  "Me too," said Mike. The rest of the hunters chimed in with their assents.

  "You do it by the book," Kelly said. "My book. Nobody goes off on his own. And no sound shots. I don't want anything in these woods killed except that grizzly.''

  "You're calling the shots, Kelly," said Pat. "How do you want us to go?"

  "You guys get your tails up to the north ridge."

  "Pinto Pass?"

  "Right. Form yourselves into a line, like a deer driving party. The rest of us will spread out and hold the line at Culver Basin. If he's between Pinto and here, that's where he'll be coming down."

  "You want us to bark?"

  "Bark like dogs, beat tin pans, do anything you can to make that bastard turn and head down. He ought to come right at us."

  One of the hunters said, "My dogs are down with my brother's party. Do I have time to get them?"

  "Negative. You've got an hour and a half to get up to Pinto Pass, and start your drive." He looked at his watch. "That ought to give us some daylight."

  As the hunters began to gather their gear, Kelly went over to the Toyota.

  "Tom, you get out here."

  Tom Cooper, incredulous, said, "You're kidding. You're not going to cut me out of this now. No way. That bear's my baby!"

  "I'm not cutting you out of anything. I want you to take watch from Arrow Tower. You ought to be able to get a shot if he comes down the east slope."

  "That's not my idea of hunting, sitting up in that old wooden firetrap. Let somebody else take it, I'll stay with the rest of you."

  Kelly said quietly, "I know how much this means to you. Believe me, Tom, you've got the best chance of all of us of getting in a shot. We're going to be blocked by brush. You'll have a clear view. You're going to be our eyes and ears, with your radio. And maybe our firepower."

  Tom nodded. "Okay. But I hope I don't miss it all."

  "If you see him, give us a shout. Channel nine."

  "Right," said Tom. He gathered up his rifle and radio, and set off up the trail at a trot.

  "We'll leave the wheels here," said Kelly. "Unload."

  Don started to hand him a rifle. Kelly waved it aside.

  "Come on, Kell," said Don. "You aim to play Daniel Boone and wrestle with him?"

  "You keep it," said Kelly. "You're a better shot than me anyway."

  Don stared at him, as the group of rangers packed up and moved out.

  Arrow Tower was an old wooden structure that was nearly ready to fall down under it
s own weight and old age. it shook as Tom climbed the ladder leading to its porch. The tower had been built years ago as a temporary fire watch, and should have been torn down long ago. But it commanded a good view of the slopes coming down from Pinto Pass.

  He took up position on the rickety porch and checked his rifle to be sure it was loaded. The safety was on, and he left it that way.

  Tom pressed the transmit button on the radio. "This is Cooper," he said. "l'm in position."

  "Ten-four," said Kelly's voice. "Keep us posted."

  The last hour of the night passed slowly. Kelly deployed his armed rangers along the basin, warning them not to smoke. A wild animal can detect cigarette smoke for miles.

  There was no need to warn them not to doze; tension was so high that the breaking of a twig brought rifle barrels up.

  Scott, near Kelly, said, "Kelly, do we really have to kill him?"

  "What choice do we have?"

  The naturalist slipped what looked like a flare pistol out of his knapsack. "This. Give me the first shot."

  "Why?"

  "You don't understand. This is a rare find. Oh, I know he's killed, but there must be a reason. Kelly, there's a grizzly up there fifteen feet tall and weighing two or three thousand pounds. Let me try to capture him."

  Don Stober, on the other side of a low boulder, snorted. "Capture him? How? Draw down on him and say 'hands up'?"

  "Let Scottie finish," said Kelly.

  "This fires tranquilizer darts normally," Scott said, holding out the odd-shaped pistol. "But I've been experimenting with some new drugs." He fished in his pocket and took out a long, pointed shell. "These glass tips should penetrate his hide, and release the chemical agents into his bloodstream."

  Don examined the cartridge. "Christ," he said, "this mama wouldn't even get through the hair on his chinny chin chin."

  Scott took back the shell and slipped it into his pistol.

  "I want to study that bear," he said. "He's a genuine throwback to a million years ago."

  "Fine," said Don. "But first you have to knock him down, and I guarantee you, these BBs won't do it."

  "We'll see," Scott said.

  Kelly asked, "How long after he's hit until the drugs put him down?"

  "Ten seconds."

  "A bear his size can do a lot of damage in ten seconds."

  "I'll slip out in front," Scott suggested. "Then if the drugs don't work, you can still use the heavy artillery.''

  "You slip out in front, Scottie," said Don, "and you're on the menu as his breakfast. By now I bet he's hungry again."

  "He just ate that cub," said Kelly. "Would he be hungry so soon?"

  "I'm afraid he will," Scott admitted. "It takes a lot of food to sustain a two-thousand-pound animal. Particularly a bear. That may be why he's turned killer."

  "The cub was only the appetizer," said Don. "He's after bigger game. Listen, we used to have plenty of bear down Georgia way, and I've heard stories about them. Once they taste human meat, they won't settle for anything else."

  "That hasn't been proven," Scott said. "Man-killers usually have an injury, or illness. If it's cleared up, they revert back to normal behavior."

  "Is that what you have in mind for this baby?" Don asked. "Rehabilitating him?"

  "Why not, if it can be done? Isn't he worth saving?"

  "Not in my book. I don't think it can be done, and even if it could, I wouldn't buy it for this bastard, not after what he did to GaiI."

  "That's mere vengeance," said the naturalist.

  Don nodded. "You bet your ass. And what's wrong with a little vengeance?"

  "Punishing a wild creature is obscene. They can't reason. How can they be responsible for what they do?"

  "Tell that to the tribe of Kiowa who were wiped out south of here."

  "What tribe?"

  "Oh? Is there something about bears you don't know after all? Kelly, you heard the story, didn't you."

  Kelly nodded. "I heard it. I don't know if it's true."

  "It's true all right," said the other ranger. "I read it in a book. Seems there was this big tribe of Kiowa, moving west. They camped on a river downstream from a town, and didn't know it was polluted. While the braves were out hunting, the rest of the tribe came down with the typhoid. They were all laid up. And just about then, a big pack of grizzlies smelled them out, strolled into the village, and ate 'em."

  "Ate them?"

  "Each and every one, including the women, children and the sick old men. Just gobbled 'em up."

  "Fascinating," Scott said.

  "When the braves got back from their hunt, the bears were waiting, and they ate them, too. It was hell on wheels, Mr. Scott. For a couple of years, there was this big pack of grizzlies, roaming around, eating up Injuns."

  "Fascinating," Scott repeated.

  "Yeah," said Don. "Unless you happened to be an Indian." He chuckled.

  Scott realized he'd been had, and managed a smile in reward for the tall tale.

  "Still," he said to Kelly, "I think I can root him out my way. I've got my skins with me. I can look like something wild and smell wild too. I can get close enough to hit him with the drugs."

  Don said, "Scottie, can I have your mother's phone number? I better call her up, don't you think I'd better do that? I mean, does she know what you're doing, boy? Does she know she's got a forty-year-old certified fruitcake for a son, running around in animal skins and stinking like a dead-forty-days-ago fish?"

  Shocked, Scott turned away.

  "Shut it off," Kelly said, angrily.

  "Hey," Don said. "I was only kidding."

  Scott turned back to him. "My mother's been dead for nine years," he said. "But if she were alive, I think she'd be happier with a certified fruitcake than if she had you for a relative, sonny."

  Don started to answer, but he was cut off by the sound of barking from up the mountain.

  The bear drive had begun.

  The sun was flirting with the edges of the mountains, but had not risen yet.

  The air had that special chill that holds it still just before the day begins.

  The original,five hunters had been joined by another group, which also had three hunting dogs.

  Now, in a skirmish line, they started down the mountain. The men shouted and barked. The dogs took up the baying too, and the noise was tremendous.

  In the old tower, Tom heard them. He pressed the transmit button of his radio and said, "Kelly, this is Tom. They're moving."

  "Roger," said Kelly. He turned to Arthur Scott. "Scottie, they've started the drive. If you see him first, he's yours. But I can't let you go up there alone."

  Scott's lips tightened. He made no answer, just took out the tranquilizer gun and checked the firing mechanism to be sure it was ready.

  The beast was not startled by the barking. He had been aware of a disturbance in the natural rhythm of the forest for some hours now, and had made his way carefully along invisible trails to stay as far away as possible from the intruders.

  Despite his huge size, he moved quietly through the forest, keeping to the low areas where his bulk would not be silhouetted against the skyline.

  He was hungry again. And somewhere ahead, he could smell the tantalizing odor of food.

  Tom Cooper glassed the slope.

  His radio made a tinny "Beep."

  He picked it up. "Cooper."

  "Kelly. See anything moving?"

  "Just your mighty hunters. They're coming down the mountain like the charge of the light brigade."

  Kelly chuckled. "Well, keep watching."

  "Ten-four," said Tom. He lifted his glasses and continued his surveyal.

  The beast knew food was nearby. He could smell it. But with his poor eyesight, he could not pinpoint its location.

  The odor seemed to come from above. . . .

  Tom's radio beeped again. He said, into it, "Yeah?"

  "See anything?" Kelly asked.

  "Just your hunters chopping up the woods."

>   "Well keep looking. He's out there somewhere."

  Before Tom could answer, he felt the tower lurch. He grabbed for a handhold, looked down and saw the beast.

  Kelly heard him shout, "My God, it's the grizzly!"

  "Where?"

  But Tom was too busy to answer. The monstrous creature had hold of one of the tower's supporting legs, and was shaking it back and forth. It could not hold under such an assault for long.

  He fumbled for the radio, but couldn't find it. He caught up his rifle, aimed it at the beast's throat, and fired.

  The bullet hit. He heard the meaty slap it made as it tore into the grizzly. But the impact did not slow the beast's frenzied attack on the tower.

  Slowly, like a falling tree, the tower toppled. As it did, Tom's rifle fired again, but this time the bullet went straight up into the rosy sky.

  "Tom said something about the grizzly," Kelly said. "Let's get ready to move out."

  "I heard two Shots," Don said. "They sounded like they came from the tower."

  Kelly handed the radio to a nearby ranger. "You and Witham stay here on watch. We're going up there. Keep trying to reach Tom."

  The ranger did, and the fallen radio made intermittent beeping noises.

  But no human heard them.

  "Jesus H. Christ," said Kelly, looking at the fallen tower. "What happened here?"

  Scott went forward, his quick movements out of place with his great size. He stepped over a fallen timber and looked down.

  At his foot, half covered with torn earth, the radio went, "Beep!"

  And a few feet away, half-severed from his body, Tom Cooper's bloodied face stared up at a sunrise the young ranger would never see.

  Scott turned away, nauseated and angry.

  "Kelly," he said quietly. "The bear's been here."

  On the mountainside, a barrage of rifle shots rang out. Then, after a pause, two more—slowly, carefury fired. The kind of shots a hunter takes to finish off his fallen target.

  The elated hunters dragged the bear into the clearing which surrounded the fallen tower.

  Tom's body had been covered with a nylon ground cloth. The hunters did not even notice it.

  Pat Clifford swaggered up to Kelly. "Well," he said, "We got the bastard."

  Numbly, Kelly said, "Where?"

  "Up below the ridge."

  "Impossible. He's been down here. He wouldn't head back uphill."

  Pat said, proudly, "Well, he did. Take a look."