Black Hills

them would have been fish-in-barrel time, and that wasn’t worth his skill. He had considered killing three of the four, then hunting down the last.
    It never hurt to practice.
    But taking out four campers would have the cops and rangers covering the hills like ants. Not that he couldn’t evade them, as his forefathers had for so long. One day he would be a one-man war party, hunting and killing those who desecrated the land at his whim and his will.
    One day they would speak his name with fear and reverence.
    But for now he had bigger fish to fry, fish that weren’t in the barrel.
    He took out his field glasses to scan the compound below. His pride still surged from his observation of the guards placed around the perimeters through the night.
    Because of him.
    His prey scented him, and feared. Nothing he’d done before had given him such satisfaction.
    How easy, and how exciting, it would have been to have taken them out. All of them. Moving silent as a ghost, slitting throats, one by one, blood warm and wet on his hands.
    All that game bagged in one night.
    And what would his prize have felt in the morning, when she’d come out of the cabin to see the carnage he’d left behind?
    Would she have run, run screaming in terror?
    He loved it when they ran, when they screamed. And more, when they had no breath left to scream.
    But he’d snapped control firmly into place. It wasn’t time.
    He could send her a message, he considered. Yes, he could. Something that made it very personal. The more there was at stake, the deeper the competition when the time came.
    He didn’t just want her fear—fear was easy to come by.
    He watched her for another moment as she crossed the compound toward the cabin that held the offices.
    No, not just her fear, he thought, lowering the glasses, licking chocolate off his fingers. He wanted her involved as none of the others had been. As none of the others had deserved.
    He turned away, and hitching his pack on his shoulders, began a circular hike back to his den, whistling a tune.
    When the lone hiker, puffing a bit, crossed his path, he smiled.
    “Lost?” he asked.
    “No. Not exactly. Glad to see a friendly face, though. I was on Crow Peak, heading toward the summit. I think I got off the mark a little.” He pulled a bottle of water out of his belt harness. “I guess I should’ve stuck with one of the easier trails. It’s been a while.”
    “Mmm-hmm.” This one looked healthy enough, fit enough. And lost, just enough. “You’re making the trip alone?”
    “Yeah. The wife headed back at the junction. I’da done the same except she said I couldn’t do the seven miles. You know how it is. Gotta prove them wrong.”
    “I’m heading that way myself. I can get you back on track.”
    “That’d be great. Wouldn’t mind the company either. Jim Tyler,” he said, offering a hand. “From St. Paul.”
    “Ethan Swift Cat.”
    “Nice to meet you. You from around here?”
    “That’s right, I’m from around.”
    He started off, leading Jim Tyler from St. Paul farther off the trail, away from the blazes on pines, the signs, the posts, and deeper into the wilderness. He kept the pace moderate. Didn’t want to wear Jim out before the games began. He watched for signs of others, and listened to the man talk about his wife, his kids, his business—real estate—back in St. Paul.
    He pointed out tracks to keep the man entertained, waited while Jim took pictures with a nice little digital Canon.
    “You’re better than my guidebook,” Jim said with real pleasure. “Wait until I show off these pictures, and my wife sees what she missed. I’m lucky I ran into you.”
    “Lucky.” He gave Jim a big smile as he pulled out his revolver.
    “Run, rabbit,” he said, grinning. “Run.”
     
     
     
    LIL RUSHED OUT of the cabin when Farley pulled in. Staff, volunteers, interns dropped what they were doing to hurry over. Before Farley came to a full stop, Lil boosted herself onto the running board on Tansy’s side and grinned at her friend.
    “How’d it go?”
    “Fine. Good. She’s getting a little restless back there. As if she knew we were getting close. You’re going to be very happy with her, Lil. She’s a beauty.”
    “You have all her medical records?” Matt asked her.
    “Yeah, and I spoke with her vet personally. She’s got a clean bill of health. She’d had some intestinal problems a few months ago. Her owner liked to feed her chocolate truffles—I swear. Godiva