Dark Sky (Joe Pickett #21)(26)

“Should I try for the lead cow?” Price asked.

“It’s your call,” Joe said. “But if you want a bull, you’ll have to wait. Bulls will come up at the end of the string.”

“And if I decide to shoot?” Price asked.

“Aim for the chest just in back of the front shoulder,” Joe said. “That’s your best chance of hitting the vital area and making a kill shot. Don’t aim at the head, neck, or shoulder. And if you hit the elk, grab another arrow. Keep shooting. Stick it with arrows until it goes down.”

Price shook his head. “Brutal,” he said.

“This is brutal business,” Joe agreed. “But what’s even worse is wounding an animal. We don’t want to spend the rest of our time tracking a wounded elk and we don’t want that creature to suffer.”

“I’m with you on that,” Price said.

Joe cast a quick glance to Rumy, who appeared bored with the conversation. He also looked to be very cold.

“It’s gonna get colder before the sun comes up,” Joe said. “If you need to get some circulation going, one of you at a time can get up and walk around back there in the trees. Be careful where you step and keep silent. You don’t want to scare them off before they get here.

“Whatever happens, don’t leave this spot,” Joe said, emphasizing his point by jabbing his index finger earthward several times. “Since we aren’t using radios, you’ll just have to wait for me to come back. I will come back here, whatever happens. And then we can plan our next move.” He looked at Rumy as he said it. Rumy struck him as the kind of guy who might decide to pursue fleeing elk or just want to go back to the camp for breakfast.

“We’ll do what we want to keep Mr. Price safe and comfortable,” Rumy said.

“We’ll stay,” Price said, cutting off his man. “We’ll do this right.”

“Good,” Joe said.

It had been Price’s decision to hunt without radio communication to better ensure a classic fair-chase hunt. Joe was fine with that. It bothered him when he encountered hunters in the field who operated as if big-game hunting was a military spot-and-kill maneuver. Radios weren’t necessary as long as everyone involved understood the strategy and contingencies.

Then he pulled his pack on and left them.



* * *



—

It was a surprisingly cold morning, Joe thought. There had been a dusting of snow during the night from the storm clouds he’d seen, but not even an inch of accumulation. The kind of snow that would likely melt off during a sunny day. He hoped Price and Rumy could stay loose and warm.

The light snow was a plus, he knew. It made it much easier to see tracks and gauge movement across the forest floor and in the meadow if the elk weren’t where he guessed they’d be.

The forest was dense with downed timber and tangled limbs. He had to make several detours to get around impenetrable brush so that his path, if mapped from the air, zigzagged all the way down the mountain and up the other side. Joe was grateful he was the one on the move because his activity warmed him up. It wasn’t long before he could feel the prickle of sweat beneath his armpits and in his crotch beneath his light wool underlayer.

In addition to the pack filled with extra clothing, optics, gear, a first-aid kit, and a knife and saw for field dressing, Joe wore both his .357 Magnum and a canister of bear spray on his belt. He’d laced gaiters over his boots to keep out the moisture from the snow.

In a perfect world, he thought, his plan would work at least as far as presenting the shooter with an opportunity. But anything could happen. Price might miss or wound his target, and they’d deal with either result. Panicking at the sight of elk happened often to many first-time hunters, Joe knew. It had happened to him the first time when he was fourteen and he’d let a lead cow walk by him so closely he could see the dew sparkle in her thick hide. He’d been frozen to his spot and never taken a shot. Joe planned to be very forgiving of Price if the same thing happened to him the first time.

He might not be as forgiving if it happened repeatedly.



* * *



—

As he picked his way through the trees, Joe couldn’t push away the feeling of being oddly disconcerted. Part of it, he knew, was leading an elk hunt for people he didn’t know. Another part of it was that he hadn’t been able to talk to Marybeth the night before because his satellite phone wouldn’t work. Talking to his wife was a ritual and it helped them both. It bothered him that he’d been unsuccessful and he felt like there was a hole in his heart that needed filling.

He also knew that when he didn’t call her—and it was rare when he couldn’t—her mind began to conjure up all kinds of worst-case scenarios. Especially when he was in the field. He was hurt, he’d been abducted, he’d been killed. And he couldn’t really assure her that none of those things were possible because of the many close calls he’d had in the past, including from his own doctor.

The sat phone had been reliable in the past and he’d tested it before they’d ridden away from the base camp. But although it’d powered up like it should, the device somehow couldn’t fix on a signal. He’d watched it search for twenty minutes. And since there was no cell phone signal this far away from civilization, he’d been left with no options.