Page 46 of Three-Inch Teeth

Shadows lengthened across the footpath as she made her way back to the house. This was the time of day she loved the most: when the wind died down and the sun ballooned before ducking behind the Snowy Range.

As she passed the barbed-wire gate in the fence about a half mile from home, Dulcie noticed that the wire loop that held the gate to the post on the top was askew. It was latched, but not horizontally. Her dad, she knew, was a stickler for closing gates the same way every time. This wasn’t like him.

Dulcie looked carefully at the two-track road that led from the gate into the thick willows in front of her. Was there a new tire track? She couldn’t be sure. The dirt was hard and packed down, and there hadn’t been any rain in weeks.

It was possible, she knew, that someone had accessed the ranch by the side border fence. It happened, especially during hunting season, which was now. If someone had come on their place during the day, they’d closed the gate behind them. Meaning they were still somewhere inside, or they’d left and tried to make it look like they’d never been there.

While hoping it was the latter, she reached back and patted the Ruger for assurance, then drew her cell phone and held it in her right hand before proceeding.

Since it was nearly six in the evening, she knew her seventy-five-year-old father, Vernon, would be settling into his recliner to watch Fox News. But if he received a call from Dulcie, he’d freeze his program, grab a Winchester or Ruger Ranch Rifle, and be there in minutes. He’d always looked out for his own, and especially so when it came to his only daughter.

*

THE WILLOWS WERE thick and tall on each side of the path and shrouded in shadow. Buster led the way and Dulcie followed. Then the dog stopped and backed up, growling.

This had happened before when a cow moose and her calf were hiding in the thick brush. They’d nearly scared Dulcie to death when the two animals busted out of the cover and loped away down the road.

“What is it, Buster?” she asked.

The fur on the back of Buster’s neck was up and stiff.

“Either go forward or come back,” she said. “We can go around the willows and get to the house the long way.”

Apparently because he was ready to eat, Buster continued on the two-track. But his stride was wary. She wished she could trust his instincts more than she did.

Dulcie followed Buster into the willows as the path took a sharp left.

As she rounded the corner, it happened all too fast.

She got a glimpse of something big, boxy, and dense hidden in the high brush to her right.

When she turned to face it there was a sharp snapping sound and a tremendous WHOOSH, and the last thing she ever saw were open jaws with daggerlike teeth coming straight for her face.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

Bighorn National Forest

JOE SPENT THE morning doing game warden things, but his mind was elsewhere. He’d left before dawn with Daisy in the cab of his pickup and a sack lunch. For four hours, he checked hunters for proper licenses, had cups of coffee at elk camps with guides angry that their clients had canceled at the last minute, and tried to calm down nervous landowners. All anyone wanted to talk about was the grizzly bear attacks, and Joe didn’t blame them.

There was no news from Jennie Gordon.

*

WHEN HE RECEIVED a call from dispatch that a hunter on the hotline had excitedly reported that he and his buddies had “killed the beast,” Joe pulled over to the side of the Forest Service road and opened his notepad.

“Could you please repeat that?” he said.

The dispatcher had a tinny voice, and she said, “The RP claims that they encountered the target grizzly bear this morning and that they killed it and took the carcass back to their camp. They’re going to remain there until you arrive and provide confirmation.”

Joe’s heart leapt. “What’s their location?”

“Crazy Woman Campground.”

“Let them know I’m about fifteen minutes away.”

“Ten-four.”

*

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