Free Hunted by William W. Johnstone

run. Not just yet. He was weary of running. He’d stick around as long as possible. Maybe he could bluff his way through. He’d done it before.
    But the manhunters didn’t worry him nearly as much as the TV reporter. He could not allow his face to be shown nationwide. Somebody in his past would recognize him. Then there would be hell to pay.
    Darry stood up and checked the valley below. The manhunters had moved on, tiny dots in the distance slowly working their way west.
    He looked up at the sun. High noon. What was it that Afrikaner had told him during the Boer War? Yes. It was always high noon in Africa. The same could be said for Darry’s situation.
    Then Darry remembered something about the manhunters. They all had a short, tubelike object carried on a strap. What the hell was that? What was inside that tube? Some sort of weapon? He’d better find out. He decided to pace his predators. They had to camp somewhere. And when they did, he’d be there.

7
    Both damaged tires on Johnny’s truck held air. No nails or tacks or bits of stiff wire had punctured and flattened them. Odd, Rick thought. Very odd. If Chuck had noticed, he said nothing about it, and Rick kept his suspicions to himself. But warning bells were ringing silently in the ranger’s head.
    Rick, Chuck, and Johnny McBroon sat on the front porch of the one-man ranger station and drank coffee and chatted for a time after the “flats” had been inflated.
    â€œSo you’re here to photograph wildlife, hey?” Chuck asked.
    â€œYes. I heard that the wolf is making a comeback in this area and wanted to see if I could get some on film.”
    â€œOdds are, you won’t,” Rick told him. “They’ll see you, but your seeing them is iffy. Wolves tend to shy away from human contact.”
    â€œAnd you sure can’t blame the critters, neither,” Chuck said. “They’ve been hunted and poisoned damn near to extinction. And they sure as hell don’t deserve the bad reputation they got hung on them.”
    Rick was one of only a handful of people who knew that Chuck was not exactly what he appeared to be. Chuck was a descendant of the Lost Tribe. Several years back, a group of not-quite-human beings had been found in the wilderness of Idaho, many of them caught midway in the evolutionary chain. The government had promised to protect them, but as so often happened whenever the government got involved in anything, everything got all fucked up. A handful of scientists from the U.S. and Canada quietly moved the Lost Tribe out and into a new area. Few people knew where they had been relocated. But many descendants of the Lost Tribe still lived in the area. 1
    â€œYou seem to know a great deal about wolves, Chuck,” Johnny remarked.
    â€œI been close to them a time or two,” the older man said drily.
    Rick smiled at that.
    â€œAm I apt to run into many people out there?” Johnny asked, waving a hand toward the wilderness area.
    â€œA few live there year-round,” Rick said. “But it’s a little early in the season for many tourists. The nights still get chilly.”
    â€œI see,” Johnny said. He looked at Chuck. “You say you’re all out of riding horses and pack animals?”
    â€œOh, I reckon I could outfit you, Mr. Mack. You seem like a right nice fellow.” He told him how to get to his place and said he’d be right behind him. After Johnny had left, Chuck said, “He’s another goddamn fed, Rick. But at least he ain’t as arrogant as some of those others.”
    * * *
    Darry had worked in close to the manhunters’ noon camp and was listening as they rested and talked. Their location was a good one, with plenty of shade and water. But it also showed the men had no idea they were being trailed. Darry had slipped up on them with relative ease.
    â€œWhat’s the matter, George?” one asked. “You’re sure