Blood lure

The sun was not yet overhead. Far from shining helpfully into the cave's mouth, it cast a black shadow there. A

Though the morning proved quiet, memory of the boulder reminded her not to dawdle. Her guess was the roller of rocks and filleter of faces had moved on after using the time she'd cowered in her crevice to clean all trace of himself out of the cave. Still, he might return. To kill her, if for no better reason.

She sniffed again. Traces of human food, certainly, but something more. The odor was exceedingly familiar but she couldn't place it; sweetish. Hay? Dustier, flatter. A

Combing the tidy dirt on the floor she came up with half a peanut, a dime and a piece of what looked like dog biscuit. She sniffed it and found the source of the mysterious sweetish, hay-like, dusty, flat odor. A

Evidence bags had been stolen along with film, radio, water and notes. A

It took over three hours to get back to Highline Trail. Knowing she had no water made A

On Highline she had the good luck to meet up with two women who'd hiked in from Going to the Sun Road. For the first time in her life, A

"Drink as much as you like," a hippy blond with wonderful eyes and badly sunburned cheeks said. "We'll top off at the next creek."

A

"Now we've got you," the blond said, and A

"Two good stories today," the other woman said. Emma or Ella- A

"There's a story right there," the blond said happily. "I mean, I'm sorry he was crying. He seemed like a sweet guy, but you've got to admit it's got 'story' written all over it."

"No picture though," the possibly-Emma woman said.

"Maybe he was ashamed." A

"Oh, we didn't shove the camera in his weepy little face like some demented newswomen," the blond said. "We believe in leaving no trace, not even footprints."

"Especially on people's faces," the other woman threw in and laughed, a boisterous, barroom laugh that tickled A

"Till the camera came out. Then he became Mr. Freaky."

The story was begi

"Around five-ten. Young, exceedingly young. Too young to be out without his momma. He couldn't have been more than fifteen or sixteen, tops. What do the you think, Emma? Fifteen?"

"Thereabouts," Emma concurred.

"Soft, soft brown hair. Some wave. Big old hazel eyes with lashes out to here." The blond held a stubby forefinger adorned with chipped burgundy polish a couple of inches beyond her nose.

"Boxy jaw," Emma said. "Square guy. Not fat, square. Looked strong."

It was about the best description of a person A

She compared the description with her memory and decided they had seen the elusive Geoffrey Mickelson

Nicholson. "Did he wear a length of chain wrapped around his waist and have a smile like St. Francis of Assisi?" A

"How long ago?" A