Black Hills

boot prints, coming and going. Crossing the grassland, going into the trees on the other side.
    From the size of the boot, the length of the stride, he’d estimate the vandal—if that’s what he was—at about six feet, with a boot size between ten and twelve. But he’d need more than eyeballing to be sure he was even in the ballpark.
    He scanned the flatland, the trees, the brush, the rocks. There was, he knew, a lot of backcountry, some park, some private. A lot of places someone could camp without crossing paths with anyone else.
    Cats weren’t the only species who stalked and ambushed.
    “Camera’s back up.” She studied the tracks as Cooper had. “He’s at home up here,” she commented, then turned to walk to a weathered green tarp staked to the ground. “I hope he didn’t mess with the cage.”
    She unhooked the tarp, flung it back. The cage was intact, but for the door she’d packed on the horse. “We remove the door, just in case somebody tries to use it, or an animal’s curious enough to get in, then can’t get out. I leave one up here because I’ve had luck in this section. Easier than hauling the cage up every time. Not much human traffic up here through the winter.”
    She jerked her chin. “He came from the same direction we did, on foot, at least for the last half mile.”
    “I got that much myself. From behind the camera.”
    “I guess he’s shy. Since you’re here, you might as well help me set this up.”
    He hauled the cage while she retrieved the door. On the edge of the grassland he watched her attach it with quick, practiced efficiency. She checked the trap several times, then baited it with bloody hunks of beef.
    She noted the time, nodded. “A little more than two hours before dusk. If she’s hunting here, the bait should bring her in.”
    She washed the blood off her hands with snow, put her gloves on. “We can watch from camp.”
    “Can we?”
    She grinned. “I have the technology.”
    They started back toward the campsite, but she veered off—as he’d suspected she would—to follow the human trail.
    “He’s crossing into the park,” she said. “If he keeps going in this direction, he’s going to hit the trailhead. Alone and on foot.”
    “We can follow it in, but eventually you’re going to lose the origin in other traffic.”
    “No point anyway. He didn’t go back this way. He went on. Probably one of those survivalist types, or extreme hikers. Search and Rescue’s pulled two small groups out this winter. Dad told me. People think they know what it is—the wilderness, the winter. But they don’t. Most just don’t. He does, I think. Even stride, steady pace. He knows.”
    “You should report the camera.”
    “For what? Officer, somebody broke my ten-dollar padlock and turned off my camera. Organize a posse.”
    “It doesn’t hurt to have it on record.”
    “You’ve been away too long. By the time I get back home, my staff would’ve told the delivery guy and the volunteers, who’ll mention it to their boss, neighbor, coworker, and so on. It’s already on record. South Dakota-style.”
    But she turned in the saddle, looked back the way they’d come.
    Back at camp she unpacked a small laptop, sat on her pop-up stool, and set to work. Coop stayed in his area, turned on his camp stove, and made coffee. He’d forgotten the small pleasure of that, of brewing a pot of coffee over a camp stove, the extra kick from the taste of it. He sat enjoying it, watching while the water in the stream fought and shoved its way over rocks and ice.
    From Lil’s neighborhood it was business, as far as he could tell. She spoke on the radio phone, working with someone on coordinates and data.
    “If you share that coffee so I don’t have to make some right this minute, I’ll share my beef stew.” She glanced over his way. “It’s not from a can. It’s my mother’s.”
    He sipped his coffee, glanced her way, and said nothing.
    “I know what I said, but it’s stupid. Plus, I’m finished being annoyed with you. For now.”
    She set the laptop on the stool after she rose, and went to her saddle-bags for the sealed bag of stew. “It’s a good trade.”
    He couldn’t argue with that. In any case, he wanted to see what she was doing on the computer. He poured a second cup of coffee, doctored it as he remembered she liked it, then walked it over to her campsite.
    They drank coffee standing on the snowy banks of the stream.
    “The computer’s linked with