The helicopter, a speck in the sky, followed the gravel road that cut across the high valley of the mountains, on a fast track to Silver City through the passes.
Kerney turned, looked up at the mountain and back at Jim Stiles.
"That old man didn't travel through the canyon we rode in on. We would have seen his sign."
Stiles nodded in agreement.
"My bet is that he came in on the Mangas road or walked down from Elderman Meadows." "Any way in by vehicle?" Kerney asked.
"An abandoned road goes to the meadows. Hardly anybody knows about it.
It's not marked on any of the maps." Jim Stiles pointed at the lowest range of foothills that curved below them, running in a broken wave.
"Mangas used to be a village around that bend. The road takes off behind the school and climbs to the meadows. Maybe he tried to drive in and got himself stuck. It happens. Last winter an old couple from someplace back east decided to take a side trip on a ranch road. Storm came up, and two weeks later they found the man dead in a snowbank and his wife frozen solid in the car. You ready to look for that mountain lion?"
"Think that's all we're going to find?" Kerney replied, putting out the small fire.
A grin broke across Jim's face.
"This is getting more interesting all the time, isn't it?" He mounted and nodded at the closest foothill.
"We'll drop below that hill and pick up the trailhead. Shouldn't be long before we know what the rest of the day will bring."
At the trailhead, it took only a few minutes for Jim to find the radio collar under a juniper tree.
"Cut," he said, picking it up with a stick.
"Somebody killed the cat." He wrapped the collar in plastic and tied it to the saddle pommel.
"We need to find the carcass." His expression turned sour.
"If there is one to find."
Kerney walked parallel to the trail, leading his horse, studying the ground.
"What's up?" Jim asked.
"ATV tracks. And some shoe prints. Give me the old man's oxfords."
Stiles dug a shoe out of his saddlebag and tossed it to Kerney. The prints matched perfectly.
"Looks like we found his trail," Kerney said.
"But which came first? The old man or the ATV? The tire tracks match the ones I saw at a black bear kill."
"You're sure?"
"Same wear on the rear tires. Same tread pattern." Kerney looked up the trail. It disappeared into a shadowy climax forest of ponderosa pines, bare of undergrowth, entrenched in the rich soil. The land rolled up and up, lofty trees masking deep ravines.
He looked back to find Stiles leaning out of the saddle studying the ATV tracks.
"You're not the only one who has seen these," Jim said.
"I took plaster casts of the same treads at a bighorn sheep kill up in the Tularosas."
"You're positive?"
"Yep. I had the state crime lab analyze the casts.
Two different brands of tires, front and back, with the same wear on the rear wheels. Looks like we got ourselves a serious poacher here."
Jim pulled a camera out of his saddlebag and gave it to Kerney. He shot some pictures while Stiles rode his horse slowly up the trail. He finished and climbed into the saddle just as Stiles called back at him.
"Come on. I want to show you Grandfather Eldennan's meadow. It's a damn pretty sight. And who knows what else might turn up?"
Kerney got on his horse and followed Stiles toward the climax forest.
"You like this stuff, don't you?" he called out.
Stiles turned and nodded his head vigorously.
"Hell yes, I like it." he called back.
"Who doesn't like a good mystery?"
The meadow looked like an outstretched hand with elongated fingers cutting into the forest at the base of the mountain. On the peak, the Mangas fire lookout station surveyed hundreds of square miles of national forest. Spring wildflowers, hot yellow and pale blue, scattered color throughout the native grass that fluttered in a mild breeze. ATV tire tracks flattened the grass in two lines, running straight toward the center of the meadow.
Jim reined in his horse at the edge of the meadow and waited for Kerney.
"Bet you a dollar we don't find the carcass," he said when Kerney pulled up next to him.
"Why do you say that?"
"Every part of a cougar is valuable. The blood. The bones. The skin.
If it's a male, even the testicles are worth significant money. It all gets ground up, cut up, boiled, or mixed with other ingredients and sold as medicine and folk remedies on the Asian market.
"Did you know poachers are killing all the tigers in China and India?"
Stiles continued.
"Most are about done in. It's at the point now that any big cat is at risk, the demand is so great."
"What about the black bear?" Kerney asked.
"A lot of that animal was left behind."
"It's still the same MO. The poachers only take what's valuable. The gallbladder is worth its weight in gold. It's used to make an aphrodisiac. With bighorn sheep, they go after the horns. It gets ground into powder and used for a medicine to treat a dozen or more illnesses."
"So this is poaching for pure profit," Kerney replied.
"Big-time," Stiles agreed, moving ahead.
"What we're gonna look for is evidence of the kill. That's the best we can hope to find."
In the middle of the field they found what Stiles expected, the remains of a partially eaten, hamstrung rabbit used to lure the cat, and a small patch of dried blood where the lion had fallen after the kill. Kerney took pictures and Stiles bagged all the evidence.
"That should do it," Stiles said as he finished.
"We have enough blood samples for a DNA comparison."
He stuck the evidence in a canvas tote bag and tied it to his saddle.
"I'll get this up to the Santa Fe crime lab tomorrow."
"How much would a poacher stand to make on a kill like this?" Kerney asked, passing the camera back to Stiles.
Stiles stuffed the camera in the saddle bag.
"Two or three thousand dollars, easy. But the profit is in retail sales. Whoever markets the product overseas stands to make four or five times that amount." He pointed behind Kerney.
"The old wagon road I talked about comes out over there, at the side of that mountain. Want to take a look? Maybe we can find out how that old man got up here."
First, they found the body of a young man thirty yards from the kill site. A coyote had chewed away most of the face and feasted on the chest cavity.
When they turned him over, they saw the exit wound from the bullet hole.
Kerney took a wallet from the dead man's pants and scanned the contents.
"Who is he?"
"The man's name was Hector M. Padilla," Kerney said.
"A Mexican citizen."
"Hector," Stiles repeated.
"Well, I'll be damned.
Isn't that what the old man called you? Let's see what other surprises we can find before we call the state police."
Then they found the truck.
All that could be done to secure the crime scene and conduct a preliminary investigation was accomplished quickly. Kerney found himself frustrated by their lack of equipment but at the same time pleased with Jim Stiles. He worked efficiently, made few mistakes, and had good cop instincts. They had a confirmed identity of the dead man and a strong suspicion, from the registration papers found in the truck, that the old man in the cave was Dr. Jose Padilla.
Positioned on a small rise with a clear view of the body. Stiles had a rifle in hand just in case the coyotes came back for another meal. He could see three of them moving in the tall grass, fifty yards away.
Kerney sat down next to him. As they waited for the state police to arrive, he started asking Stiles questions.
"What do we know, so far?"