Page 8 of Battle Mountain

“I need to hook you up with Spike Rankin,” he had added while patting his pockets for the location of his cell phone. “Spike’s a good friend of mine.”

Eisele had agreed, and later blamed the three Coors beers he’d had prior to the conversation. He’d been both surprised and dismayed that his wife, Megan, had encouraged him to do it, even though it meant he’d be gone for much of the fall.

“What about my job?” he’d asked her.

Megan had laughed. “You always say that nobody reads your reports anyway,” she’d said. “Just send in the same reports you did last year and see if anyone notices.”

So far, they hadn’t. Working remotely did have its advantages.

—

Eisele was breathinghard again when they breached the line of brilliant red buckbrush that marked the edge of a flat overlooking the distant valley below. He pushed through it, trying not to snag his clothing on the branches. He wished it was cooler and he thought he’d probably overdressed for the hike. Time to peel off a layer, he thought.

As he was reaching for the zipper on his new outer shell, Rankin stopped midway through the brush and turned around.

“We’ll cross this flat and drop over,” he whispered. “There’s a great place on the other side where we can hunker down and scope the entire valley all the way to the river. This is where I’ve seen more big six-by-six bulls than anywhere else in this country. Sometimes, I’ve seen three or four of them at the same time. Thetrick is to note where they are and not let them seeyou. We want them to stick around until our hunters show up.”

“Got it,” Eisele said.

“Stay low when you go over the edge so you don’t skyline yourself. And when we get to our scouting location, don’t stand up so the elk can notice you.”

Eisele nodded.

Rankin indicated with a jerk of his chin that he wanted Eisele to follow him. They cleared the bank of buckbrush and crab-walked across the grassy clearing. Eisele stayed about four feet behind Rankin. The high-altitude sun warmed his back as he followed.

When Rankin reached the edge of the flat, he stopped again, then stood up to full height. To Eisele, it seemed as if Rankin had suddenly given up on the hunt.

“Shit,” he snorted. “It looks like somebody’s got our spot.”

“What?”

“Somebody’s in our goddamned scouting location. I’veneverseen anybody up here before.”

Eisele shouldered around Rankin and stood next to him on the rim. The view was absolutely magnificent. Far below the massive sloping hills was a single ribbon of silver snaking through the valley floor: the North Platte River. A distant ranch complex with a slew of outbuildings hugged its banks and Eisele could make out a bridge across the river and a network of roads between the structures. Several corrals held large herds of horses. In the center of the outbuildings was a three-story dark lodge of some kind with a green roof.

“Man, that place looks fancy,” Eisele said.

“It is,” Rankin grumbled. “It’s the B-Lazy-U Ranch. Have you ever heard of it?”

Eisele said, “I’ve heard of it, but I never thought I’d actually see it, much less spend a night there. It’s like two thousand dollars a night or something.”

“More than that,” Rankin said brusquely. “This is the closest you’ll probably ever get to it. But the ranch isn’t our problem.”

He pointed directly below them down the slope. “Thatis our problem.”

Eisele followed Rankin’s finger to see movement behind a breastwork of fallen spruce trees about a hundred yards below them. As he focused on the movement, five figures became clear. They were dressed all in camo and they blended into the terrain so well that, for a moment, it looked like the ground was undulating. To the side of the breastwork were two ATVs partially hidden beneath cut pine branches.

One of the figures abruptly turned and stared right at them. The man wore green and black face paint and his eyes looked sharply white as they widened with the discovery of the two guides standing on top of the ridge. The man said something and the other four quickly turned as well. Eisele could make out four men and a woman, all in their late twenties or early thirties, all brandishing what looked like semiautomatic rifles. Spotting scopes mounted on short tripods extended above the breastwork and were aimed at the ranch below.

There was something in their movements that suggested military training, Eisele thought. They moved with precision and had an ease with their weapons and gear that Eisele knew he couldn’t replicate. What kind of elk hunters were these?

The man who’d seen them first swung his weapon up and shouldered it and threw the bolt back with a metallic click. Eisele felt his stomach clutch and his eyes widen.

“Whoa there,” Rankin called down. “No need for that. We didn’t know you were up here and we didn’t mean to surprise you. I use this place to scout elk every season, and I didn’t see a vehicle parked down on the road. We didn’t know anyone was up here.”

Rankin was trying to sound friendly, but Eisele noted the alarm in his voice.

“Like I said, we’re just up here scouting elk,” Rankin said. “We can easily move to the other side of the mountain, since you folks got here first. It’s a big mountain and we can all share it.”

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