Free Alligator by Shelley Katz

was all business now: the general mapping out a plan of action, figuring out the troops' dispersal, marshaling supplies.
    Lee knelt and took a good look at the tracks. "Not far, a mile ahead at the most. See how heavy the tracks are? He probably just ate, which should slow him up some. The problem is this damn wind. It ain't gonna be easy."
    "Well," said Randy, rubbing his hands together as if he were sitting down to a fine meal, "time's awastin'."
    Lee didn't answer. He just looked at the two men, then turned and quietly moved off into the forest. Lee decided that if that overstuffed general said that one more time, it would be him that was awastin' instead of time.
    Lopez Hummock was still sparkling with morning dew. It made the waxy green leaves shine gemlike against the slick black earth. Everything smelled green. Lee felt the soft, spongy earth under his feet and the wind brushing his face, and relaxed into the joy of movement. He slipped from the cool, sullen part of himself which he reserved for the outside and moved into the special world that he reserved for himself. It was always like that when Lee went hunting. It was when he was most alive. There was a different level of consciousness. He became sensitive to everything around him, like a child. Colors and tastes and smells were more intense and varied. Everything but the woods and the rhythm of movement faded and became muffled. Time was erratic; it expanded and contracted so that Lee could not tell if he had been tracking the bear for a few minutes or a few hours.
    Clete, however, could tell almost to the minute how long they'd been groveling through the woods, pulling burrs from their pants and sliding in mud so foul it smelled like the floor of an Army latrine. They'd been at it for a half-hour, and so far as he was concerned, if they didn't find that bear damned quick, he would personally kick that crazy's hick's teeth down his throat. He could see Lee's red shirt through the trees. It seemed to have a life of its own, bobbing up and down, sprinting over logs, and he disliked Lee more than ever for the ease with which he moved.
    Up ahead, Rab stopped and howled. It was a piercing, abject, almost human cry. Lee stood perfectly still, listening eagerly to Rab's howls, understanding the meaning of them as if they were spoken in his own tongue. He answered Rab with the hunter's cry, a strange, piercing falsetto that ended in a gasp. The moist air seemed to shudder with it.
    "He's spotted him," said Lee. "Be sure and stay back far enough."
    "Listen here, you!" snapped Clete.
    "Shut up, boy." Randy nudged Clete with his gun butt in warning.
    Lee watched Clete for a moment, showing him his best blank stare, then rushed toward the sound of Rab's howls.
    Randy and Clete tried to follow as best they could, but the mud kept making them lose their footing. Clete slipped forward, hoping that his rifle was ready, trying to remember if he had done everything he should have but unable to think clearly because of the logs and rocks under his feet.
    Lee stopped. Ahead, through the fierce tangle of jungle, he saw the massive, locomotive-shaped bear. The first sight of an animal he was tracking was always a thrill, and this one didn't disappoint him. The bear was big, bigger than most. Its hunched body was like a great black hole cut out of the green forest. It was pacing back and forth with strong, decisive strides, and its fur shone with dew and the effort of movement.
    Clete ran up and, seeing the outline of the bear through the trees, aimed his rifle. "Lemme get him."
    Lee grabbed the butt and forced it down. "You wouldn't stand a chance from here. Wound a black bear and he's as mean as a grizzly."
    Clete turned beet red, but he didn't lift the rifle again.
    "What do you suggest?" asked Randy. This was not quite how he'd tell the story back in Coral Gables when all his friends were gaping at the head. In that version, Lee would be asking the general what to do, and the general