Long Range

by Box, C. J.

Skiers in Jackson Hole were buried every year by avalanches, and hunters frequently became disoriented and lost in the dense alpine terrain. Finding them diverted manpower and resources, so any technology that could speed up searches would save not only money and time—but their very lives. The experimental system known as a Lifeseeker supposedly worked because it could home in on individual cell phones even in remote areas with no cell service—provided the lost person’s phone was turned on. A local philanthropist in Jackson had donated one of the $100,000 Lifeseeker boxes to the Teton County Search and Rescue team for which Martin was a liaison.

  The plan was for Joe and Martin to fly in a helicopter over the Gros Ventre mountains to see if they could identify people below by the strength of their cell signals. It was densely wooded terrain, and nearly impossible to see through the canopy of pine trees to the ground below. They’d note the GPS coordinates and follow up on the ground later to see if the sightings could be confirmed.

  If the Lifeseeker turned out to be a reliable tool in search and rescue efforts, it would likely be incorporated by the Predator Attack Team to pinpoint the location of some human–bear encounters.

  When Martin and Joe heard about the bear attack, they were circling the Lifeseeker box on a table in the conference room of the Jackson Game and Fish station, trying to figure out how the dials and display worked. The Teton County sheriff had called to say they were transporting a hunter into town. His guys had picked him up after he’d signaled a passing unit near Turpin Meadow. The hunter, the sheriff said, had a wild story.

  *

  MARTIN HAD INTERVIEWED Talbot in the same conference room, and asked Joe to be present during the initial statement.

  Talbot claimed that he’d booked a trophy elk hunt months before with a local outfitting company, and that a guide named Jim Trenary had been assigned to him. Trenary seemed like a knowledgeable guide, Talbot thought, and he was pleased to have drawn him. The man seemed pleasant enough and fun-loving, but serious about his job. He made sure Talbot knew that grizzlies were present in significant numbers in the area where they’d be hunting, and that the bears sometimes moved in on elk kills or gut piles to feed. As long as the hunter was cautious and carried bear spray and a firearm at all times, there was little to worry about, Trenary had said. He’d cautioned Talbot never to put himself in danger by walking between a sow grizzly and her cubs.

  As Talbot talked, Joe noted that the hunter always referred to Jim Trenary as “my guide” instead of using his given name. It was a revealing tell. It was as if Trenary were simply a tool to get Talbot what he wanted, not an individual.

  And the story Talbot told wasn’t only wild, Joe thought, it was bizarre.

  According to Talbot, they had ridden two horses and trailed a packhorse into the hunting area the day before. Around noon, Trenary pointed out a small herd of elk standing in the shadows of a wall of trees on the side of a mountain meadow. Talbot picked out the largest bull with a set of five-by-six antlers. Trenary used his range finder to determine that the target was one hundred and fifty yards away.

  Although it should have been an easy shot, Talbot had missed and the herd had spooked and run away.

  The guide and his hunter walked their mounts across the meadow where the elk had been, Talbot said. They were going to follow the churned-up trail of the animals with the hope of finding them again. But before they got close enough to find the tracks, they heard something that sounded like a freight train on the mountain ahead of them. They could hear branches breaking as it crashed through the timber toward them.

  “Stand your ground and get out your bear spray,” Trenary ordered Julius Talbot. “It might do a false charge, so be ready.”

  Talbot said he did as he was told.

  The grizzly bear flattened a row of willows and came straight at them, Talbot said. It was unbelievably fast and huge, cinnamon in color, with a large hump on its back. It grunted as it ran, and Talbot said he could hear its plate-sized paws thump the ground.

  The horses they were holding panicked and bolted, running back in the direction from which they had come. Talbot showed the two game wardens the abrasions in his palm where the reins had been pulled through.

  Both the hunter and the guide extended their canisters of bear spray toward the coming grizzly.

  “He’ll turn,” Trenary said.

  But he didn’t. Both men pulled the triggers of their canisters of bear spray, which should have created large red plumes of noxious pepper spray in front of them. But Talbot had forgotten to pull the pin that would arm his spray, and it didn’t fire. Trenary’s blast had been shot too soon, before the grizzly was in range, and the bear ducked nimbly to the side of it as the spray hung in the air.

  In his peripheral vision, Talbot said he saw the guide throw aside the canister and reach for his holstered .44 Magnum revolver.

  According to Talbot, the grizzly hit Trenary before the guide could aim his weapon. The bear struck the guide so hard it knocked him backward off his feet into the grass. The revolver went flying. The bear went straight for the guide’s throat and face, furiously slashing with three-inch claws and teeth.

  Talbot said he couldn’t shoot the grizzly himself because the fury of the attack was so fast and intense that there was no way to get a clean shot without hitting Trenary. Since he’d fouled up his chance to use the bear spray, Talbot said he’d retreated to the other side of the meadow, hoping he could draw the bear away from the guide and get a shot. While he did so, the guide had screamed and fought back the best he could by hitting the bear in the face and kicking up at him.

  Then, Talbot said, the bear wheeled and ran back up the hill. He’d moved so fast Talbot couldn’t steady the crosshairs of his rifle enough to fire.

  Talbot found Trenary mauled, disemboweled, and bleeding profusely. The horses were long gone. But Trenary was still breathing.

  Talbot tried to call for help on his phone, but there was no service. So he placed the .44 on the guide’s bloody chest so he’d have it handy if the bear came back. Then Talbot started the long hike out to get help. He never caught a glimpse of the horses along the way.

  It took four hours to reach the two-lane highway to the south, where he was able to flag down a deputy sheriff and hitch a ride to Jackson.

  *

  AFTER JULIUS TALBOT had left the room to get his hand attended to at the medical clinic, Martin had turned to Joe with a doubtful look on his face.

  “Did that sound as hinky to you as it did to me?” he’d asked.

  Joe nodded.

  Martin asked, “Did you notice that he never used Jim’s name? Only ‘my guide’?”

  “I noticed.”

  “I’ll get him to agree to lead us to the location tomorrow,” Martin said. “I’d really like you to come along.”

  Joe didn’t respond at first. The Jackson office had more personnel than any other office in the state.

  “I know what you’re thinking,” Martin said, as if reading Joe’s mind. “You’re wondering why I don’t put together a team from here.”

  “That’s what I was wondering.”

  “Because I trust you and you’ve been around the block, just like me,” Martin said. “In fact, as you know, you’re kind of a legend.”

  Joe felt his face flush hot.

  “I’d appreciate your expertise,” Martin said. “Besides, I know the folks here. Half of ’em would spend the whole time trying somehow to blame the bear attack on climate change. I want a straightforward assessment from someone I trust. Another set of experienced eyes. I’ll ask Eddie Smith to come along with us. He’s a good hand.”

  “What about the Lifeseeker test?” Joe asked.

  “We can do both things at once,” Martin said. “We’ll send up the bird with the equipment while you and me and the wildlife supervisor go into the timber on horseback with Julius Talbot. Maybe the bird will locate Jim Trenary before we do. Maybe not. Either way, it’ll be good to have air support if we need to fly him out.”


  Joe nodded. It made sense. He appreciated the fact that Martin hadn’t referred to “the body”—even though the possibility of Trenary lasting through the night in his condition was improbable at best.

  They made plans to meet at the office the next morning at four-thirty. Martin had a string of horses assigned to his district. Jackson Hole was considered a “six-horse district” and it had good equine facilities.

  “I suppose you want the youngest mustang,” Martin asked.

  “I do not.”

  Martin grinned to indicate he’d been kidding.

  *

  JOE LISTENED IN as Martin asked Talbot additional questions. In the distance, he heard the sound of the helicopter getting closer.

  “Walk me through this again,” Martin said to Talbot.

  “I’ve done this three times already.”

  “Let’s do it a fourth time.”

  Talbot sighed.

  “So you take a shot at a bull elk at one hundred fifty yards and you miss.”

  “Yes,” Talbot said with irritation. No hunter liked to talk about when they missed.

  “Did you see where your bullet hit?”

  “No.”

  “Did Jim Trenary say anything about where it hit? Like, ‘You were way high to the right’ or anything like that?”

  “No.”

  Martin said, “I’m just trying to figure things out. I’m wondering if you were way off when you shot and the round went high into the timber where the bear was. Maybe you even hit him and made him mad. Is that possible?”

  Talbot scoffed. “That’s ridiculous. I might have missed that bull by a few inches, but I didn’t shoot that high at a hundred and fifty yards.”

  “Is it possible there was a ricochet up into the trees? Like maybe you hit a rock?”

  “I didn’t hear anything like that,” Talbot said. His voice was rising with irritation. “I told you what happened. Why do you keep asking me about it?”

  “Because,” Martin said, “I’ve worked a dozen or so bear encounters, and I’ve talked with biologists who’ve been on the scene of lots more. I’ve never heard of a grizzly attacking two men without any provocation at all. It just doesn’t happen.”

  “It did this time,” Talbot sniffed.

  “Is it possible that bear was feeding on a carcass out of your view?” Martin asked. “Maybe he heard the shot and thought you were trying to steal his bounty?”

  “I don’t know,” Talbot said. “We didn’t see any carcass.”

  Martin asked, “Is it possible that you got so excited when you saw those elk that you walked right past a bear cub or two? That maybe you two walked by accident between a mama and her babies? So the mama charged you to protect her little ones?”

  Talbot shook his head. “I guess anything is possible. It’s pretty dark in that timber. But my guide left me up on the hill while he scouted down below—before he found those elk. I doubt he would have walked past bear cubs twice without noticing them.”

  Joe noted the “my guide” reference again.

  Martin nodded and thought about it. He said, “You might be right. Cubs wouldn’t be that far away from mama bear normally.”

  “Thank you,” Talbot said in exasperation, as if the issue were settled.

  But it wasn’t. Martin asked Talbot, “You say you forgot to thumb off the safety on your bear spray, so it didn’t work.”

  “That’s correct. I’d never used one before and I panicked and forgot.”

  “I understand,” Martin said. “At the moment, you were rattled. But when you realized that you hadn’t armed the spray, why didn’t you flip off the safety and hit the bear with it when it was attacking Jim Trenary? Jim wouldn’t have liked it, but I’m sure he’d much rather have bear spray in his eyes than get torn up.”

  Talbot paused a long time. Then he said, “I’d already dropped the canister by then. I guess I wasn’t thinking straight.”

  “Interesting,” Martin said. To Joe, that “interesting” sounded a lot like You’re a fool, then. In that moment, Joe felt a little embarrassed for Talbot, despite himself.

  Joe leaned forward in his saddle. “Mike?”

  Martin turned around.

  Joe said, “I’ve talked to a couple of wildlife biologists who are doing a study on grizzly bear behavior. Although they don’t have any conclusions yet, one of the things they’re studying is if the reason there are more and more bear encounters every year is possibly because the grizzlies are getting more comfortable with humans around in their habitat. And when they hear a shot during elk-hunting season, the bear associates that with easy food. Maybe something like that happened here.”

  Not said was that the enactment of the endangered species laws in the previous decade had produced a lot more grizzlies in the ecosystem than before. Conservative estimates Joe had read indicated there were more than six hundred in the area. Local outfitters reported that they saw grizzly bears nearly every day out in the field—sometimes as many as five or six. More grizzlies meant more likelihood that there would be human–bear encounters.

  “Maybe,” Martin said. “But I hope not.”

  “Why do you hope not?” Talbot asked.

  “Because if that’s true,” Martin said, “it means a total adaptation or change in animal behavior. It means six-hundred-pound predators have lost their fear of man. It means there could be a whole lot of dead people in the future.”

  “Oh,” Talbot said.

  “Now,” Martin said, “put all those theories aside for the moment. I want you to tell me again the sequence of actions you took yesterday after the bear attacked.”

  Talbot physically recoiled.

  “I’ve already told you,” he said to Martin.

  “Tell me again,” Martin said. “I’m kind of slow.”

  *

  BEFORE TALBOT COULD respond, Martin’s satellite phone burred. They’d brought it along because there was no cell phone coverage in the area and they thought they might need to communicate with the pilot of the helicopter.

  Martin pulled on the reins of his horse and stopped it. The other mounts in the string stopped automatically. Martin dug the sat phone out of his saddlebag and punched it up and listened for a moment.

  Then he handed it toward Joe.

  “It’s for you,” Martin said.

  “For me? Who is it?” Joe asked. He tried to tamp down an immediate rush of worst-case scenarios involving Marybeth or their three adult daughters. That seemed to be the only reason why someone would track him down on Mike Martin’s satellite phone.

  “It’s the boss,” Martin said.

  Joe took the heavy receiver. “Joe Pickett.”

  “Joe, I’m glad I caught you.” It was indeed Rick Ewig, the director.

  “I’m in the middle of something,” Joe said.

  “You’ll need to drop it,” Ewig said.

  “What’s up?”

  “Your judge up in Twelve Sleep County is on the warpath.”

  “Judge Hewitt?” Joe asked. Hewitt was short, dark, and twitchy. The judge had a volcanic temper: he carried a handgun under his robes and he’d brandished it several times in his courtroom to maintain order. Every prosecutor and defense lawyer Joe had ever encountered was scared of Judge Hewitt.

  “That’s him,” Ewig said. “He’s been on the phone with Governor Allen, and the governor’s been on the phone with me. You’re being called back immediately. As in right now.”

  Joe said, “I’m on a horse just a couple of miles from the Teton Wilderness. I’m giving Mike Martin a hand with—”

  “Forget that,” Ewig said. “Apparently, someone took a shot at the judge last night. He was at home at his dinner table and the bullet missed him by inches and hit his wife.”

  “Oh no,” Joe said. “Sue?” Joe felt his body go cold. It had been less than a year since Twelve Sleep County had been rocked by a massacre on the courthouse steps that had killed the sheriff and seriously wounded the county prosecutor. Now t
he judge was a target?

  “Sue sounds right,” Ewig said. “Anyway, she’s in critical condition and Judge Hewitt has demanded that all local law enforcement meet with him immediately. He suspects a drive-by shooting and he wants the guy caught. That includes you.”

  Joe grimaced. “It’ll take me four hours just to get back to my truck.”

  “No it won’t,” Ewig said.

  The volume of the spinning rotors of the helicopter increased in volume as they spoke. Joe understood. Ewig had diverted the helicopter to pick him up.

  Joe handed the sat phone back to Martin.

  “Gotta go,” he said.

  Martin shook his head in disgust. His feelings about aggressive top-down management were well known. Martin was old-school: he thought local game wardens should manage their districts as they saw fit with minimal interference from the “suits” in Cheyenne, even though Ewig had once been a game warden himself.

  “Can I go with him?” Talbot asked Martin.

  “Not a chance,” Martin growled.

  “I’ll be back,” Joe said to Martin with a side glance toward Talbot. “I’m really interested to see how this ends.”

  Julius Talbot looked away.

  THREE

  AT THE SAME TIME, INSIDE A FALCON MEWS ON THE SAGEBRUSH prairie outside of Saddlestring, Nate Romanowski firmly grasped a pigeon in his left hand and twisted its head with his right, producing an audible snap. When the bird’s body responded with a last-breath flurry of flapping wings, he held it out at arm’s length until it went still. Then he chopped it up with an ax and fed it piece by piece to his raptors. It was the fifth pigeon of the morning, and the air was filled with tufts of downy feathers and the crunching sound of falcons eating the birds, bones and all. The morning air inside the mews smelled of the metallic odor of fresh blood and the pungent smell of splashy white bird droppings. The gullets of the falcons swelled to the size of hens’ eggs as they ate, and Nate made sure all nine of his hooded birds were satiated.

  It was the daily circle of life and death for a master falconer.

  Nate inspected each bird—two red-tailed hawks, a gyrfalcon, three prairie falcons, a Swainson’s hawk, and two peregrines—to make sure they were all healthy and fit. One of his prairie falcons had damaged its left wing the week before during an ill-fated swoop on a prairie dog, but it seemed to be recovering nicely.