Blood lure

"That's a good question," Joan replied. "I don't see why not. Their nervous systems are not so radically different from a dog's or a human's. But every time there's a bear attack, we check and I've never heard of it happening. Probably because of their size. Bats, dogs, skunks-nothing bites bears."

"This bear sounded sure-footed," A

"Your arm, did he bite you or scratch you?" Joan asked suddenly.

"I was wondering when you'd think of that," A

"If you start frothing at the mouth, can I shoot you?"

"No gun."

"I'll be creative."

They thought about that for a while, A

"We may yet," Joan said. Put in the future instead of the past, the concept wasn't nearly so attractive.

They waited through the false dawn in silence. By half past five the light grew strong enough to again think about the boy and the bear.

Both tents were destroyed. A

The ground around the tents had been dug up. A stuff sack containing fencing tools was torn to pieces, the tools scattered in the grass. Rory's day pack, clothes and sleeping bag had been dragged from his tent and littered the clearing.

Having gathered what they could find of the young Earthwatcher's belongings, they took inventory: the clothes he'd worn the previous day, his boots, baseball cap, three and a half pairs of socks, four of underpants, shorts, T-shirts, te

If he had escaped the bear, the wilderness could kill him if they didn't find him fairly soon. Dressed in pajamas and slippers and without food, the nights in the fifties, he would have a rough time of it. Had they been in the desert, his time would be even shorter. Glacier's high country had water. If he was lucky and didn't panic, he wouldn't die of thirst.

Joan radioed park dispatch. In short, efficient sentences she gave them the information they'd need to plan the search for Rory Van Slyke. Radio traffic built in volume as one ranger after another was dragged out of bed by the phone and called in service over the radio. Come sunup, the search was park business as usual. A

Given the night's events, odds were good Rory was either dead or would be found close to camp in fairly short order. The machinery was set in motion because if he was truly lost or alive and injured, time was the single most important commodity they had to offer.

By six-thirty it was light enough to track. A

In the clear gray light, unencumbered as yet by the shadows of the rising sun, the two women stood by the rock, day packs full of food, water and first-aid supplies.

"There." Joan pointed southwest.

"I see it." Faint elongated depressions, which would vanish as soon as the sun's heat reached the dew, formed an irregular line in the grass between the circle of trees and where they'd packed up the scrapped tents; the bear traveling through high grass.

Moving slowly, one to either side of the ephemeral trail, they walked, eyes to the ground.

"No scat," Joan said.

"Is that odd?"

"Everything about this bear is odd. Pooping-" A

"Bears plural?" A

"Mother and two two-year-old cubs. We had to kill them all. They had all partaken of the feast." Joan seemed to remember that maybe this time Rory Van Slyke and not some nameless stranger was the main course. She shook her head as if ridding herself of bad thoughts. "Anyway, I thought our bear might have left a mark, is all."

Not conversant with how grizzlies left their calling cards, A

Items from Rory's tent were dropped along the way as if flung aside by a spoiled child. "Flashlight," Joan said, stooping to pluck the named item out of the grass. She held it up to the first rays of the rising sun. "Teethmarks."

"The bear took a flashlight?" A

"I doubt it."

A bear wouldn't take it, wouldn't carry it. Rory would. The bear would have taken it from Rory. Maybe as the boy batted at him with it. A

In the morning light the woods weren't nearly as formidable as they had been the night before. At the higher elevations the undergrowth wasn't as dense. Trees were tall and widely spaced, the ground between waist-deep in fern.

Hope of tracking the bear or the boy was quickly laid to rest. No scat, no hair, no blood; the big animal had slipped invisibly into its element like Br'er Rabbit into his briar patch. Likewise had Rory Van Slyke disappeared, either carried in the bear's jaws or of his own volition, the soft, slick soles of his Chinese slippers leaving no trace.

A

They spent two hours searching the woods around the camp. Calling Rory's name repeatedly they hoped to scare off the bear if it was still nearby, or scare up a response from a lost or injured boy.

Their homemade racket was assisted by the almost constant commentary from Joan's radio. The usual business of the park went on: an illegally parked horse trailer on the north side, a rockslide east of the weeping wall, but most of the talk regarded the search.

The number one-oh-two came up repeatedly. "District ranger?" A

"Chief and, till we get a new one, acting superintendent."