Since they had ridden up on him that day, Tibbs always referred to Tod Marchand as "the lawyer." He had never once spoken his actual name.
The Old Man felt sick. He had waved away the offers of jerky and iced tea by saying he thought he thought he was coming down with the flu.
"If folks just knew that the lawyer vanished and not that he was attacked by the grizzlies he saved, it would be a shame," Tibbs said.
"I understood the first time," the Old Man said with irritation.
Tibbs's face had a way of going dead that had unnerved a lot of people. It unnerved the Old Man now
"I just don't like this, Charlie," the Old Man said.
"It's nature at work, is all," Tibbs said, his face assuming life again. Nature and four pounds of bacon, the Old Man thought.
"Far as I can tell those cubs gobbled that horse hair straight away," Tibbs said, still peering through the binoculars. "No one'll ever know he was tied up."
I wonder who is impersonating Stewie Woods?" Tibbs asked suddenly lowering the binoculars. It had become so dark that the Old Man could no longer make out the individual forms of the bears in the clearing, but he knew that Tibbs's glasses gathered what little light there was, so he could still see. Tibbs also had a night-vision scope in his saddlebag. "Whoever he is, he was trying to draw the lawyer into some kind of situation."
It was so still that the Old Man could hear the bears feeding, hear bones crunching.
"Who would do a thing like that?" the Old Man asked. His mouth was dry and he had trouble speaking. If Tibbs knew what he had been thinking, the Old Man figured he'd be in danger.
"Don't know," Tibbs shrugged.
"We couldn't have screwed up with Stewie Woods, could we?"
Tibbs snorted. The question was beneath him.
From the clearing they could hear the sound of the two cubs fighting over something.
"I like this," Tibbs said. "Great Grizzly Bear Savior Eaten by Bears in Yellowstone Park."
"Yup," the Old Man said, not agreeing, not disagreeing. He slowly
stood up.
"Charlie, how much longer you going to wait here?"
"Couple a hours. Just to make sure."
"Make sure of what?"
Tibbs didn't answer. Long enough to make sure you see everything there is to see, the Old Man thought.
"I think I might ride back and get some sleep in the truck. My stomach's doin' flip-flops and I think I'm coming down with something."
Tibbs leveled his gaze on the Old Man. The Old Man was glad it was almost dark, but knew he looked miserable anyway
"It's not a good idea to split up," Tibbs said.
"Yeah, I know," the Old Man said. "But it's not a good idea to move in on that pretender tomorrow with me feeling like I do now I need some rest." The Old Man sensed Tibbs giving consideration to the argument.
Then without a word, Tibbs turned back to the bears.
"See you in a little while," the Old Man said. "I'll just stretch out in the horse trailer in some blankets. Don't forget to wake me up."
Tibbs said nothing. They both knew that the Old Man wasn't going to get away, that he was in this until Charlie let him go. Charlie Tibbs had the keys to the truck, and the Old Man had never had a set. Tibbs didn't offer them now, and the Old Man didn't ask. They also knew how unlikely it would be for the Old Man to try to ride the horse away Charlie was twice the tracker and horseman the Old Man was, and would be upon him within a few hours.
The Old Man mounted after being sure his horse had calmed down and likely wouldn't bolt because of the bears. The horse was still spooked and white-eyed, but was under control.
Before he left, he looked over his shoulder. He could see Charlie Tibbs's wide back in the moonlight, his shirt stretched tight between his shoulder blades. For a brief moment, the Old Man thought of how easy it would be right then to put a bullet in Tibbs's back. Right into his spine, between the shoulder blades. Then he considered the possibility of the horse bolting as he fired, or of simply missing. He knew if either happened, it would be his last act on earth.
The Old Man had literally felt himself cross over a line and truly become evil. He knew it for a fact. There was nothing he could do to redeem himself in full. But he could, at least temporarily stop the killing. He wasn't doing it for Stewie Woods or Hayden Powell or Peter Sollito or Emily Betts or Tod Marchand. He still didn't like what any of them stood for. He was doing it for himself.
Someday in some place, he would need to answer for what he had done these past two months. He at least wanted to be able to tell the inquisitor about one good thing. He shifted in his saddle and rubbed the right thigh of his trousers. The keys for Tod Marchand's green Mercedes SUV that the Old Man had found back at the Nez Perce Creek campsite, made a hard little ball in his pocket.
***
EARLY ON SATURDAY MORNING, Joe Pickett finished his monthly report for his area supervisor, Trey Crump. In it, he dutifully explained the status of the situation regarding Jim Finotta. At the conclusion of the report, after a summary of elk herd trend counts and citations issued, he wrote that he had reason to believe that someone impersonating the environmental terrorist Stewie Woods was holed up in a remote cabin somewhere in the Bighorn Mountains. He said he planned to investigate the possibility later that day
When the report was complete, he attached it to an e-mail and sent it to Crump's office in Cody
Joe rolled his chair back and exited his tiny home office. Both Lucy and April had been picked up earlier for a weekend church camp, leaving ten-year-old Sheridan (whose age group would go to the camp in the next week) alone and in front of the television watching morning cartoons and enjoying her solitude.
Marybeth was descending the stairs, Joe stopped and watched her, then whistled. She waved him away She had already been out to the stables to feed the horses. She had returned, showered, and changed clothes. Her hair was up and she wore a white blouse and pleated khakis. She would be working at the library today until three. She looked concerned.
"Is it still your plan to see if you can find that cabin today?" She didn't say "Stewie" or "Stewie's cabin," Joe noted. She spoke low enough not to be overhead by Sheridan in the other room.
"I'm going to leave as soon as I finish getting ready," he said.
She met him at the base of the stairs and stopped on the last step. "I don't like the idea of you going up there alone."
He reached for her and put his hands on her hips. "Are you afraid I'm going to punch him in the nose? I just might, you know"
"Joe, I'm not kidding. He's expecting me and if you show up ... well, who knows?"
Joe sized up Marybeth. "You look good today," he said. "What time do you need to leave for the library?"
"We don't have time for that." A look of exasperation came over Marybeth's face. "I'm not kidding you, Joe. It's not a good idea for you to go up there without any backup. You know that."
Joe thought about it for a moment.
"You're letting your feelings cloud your judgment." Marybeth said. "That's not like you."
Joe had to agree. "I'll call Sheriff Barnum."
She nodded. "Good."
"And I'll run it by Trey in Cody"
"Better still."
He stepped aside so Marybeth could get her purse and sack lunch for her day at the library.
Before she left, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him deeply It was much more than a morning good-bye kiss.
"I've never seen you jealous before, Joe, and don't get me wrong .. .it's flattering," she said, holding his face inches from hers. "But you have nothing to worry about. You're my man." Then she smiled.
Slightly flustered, Joe smiled back. "I should be back by dark," he said. "I'll call as soon as I'm back in cell phone range."
She fluttered her eyes coquettishly "I'll be waiting."