Free The Lawless by William W. Johnstone

collapsed.
    Cobb was shooting!
    Quinn ran to the entrance of the arroyo where the man was up on one knee, firing his revolver. Quinn stepped into the canyon, his rifle ready. About thirty yards away, almost lost in gloom, he caught a fleeting glimpse of a huge, black, shambling shape. Quinn tried a snap shot, but his bullet hit off a wall and chipped rock. S paaang!
    From somewhere in the distance, the black bear roared its defiance.
    A man doesn’t track a game animal cross-country without learning something about him, and there was nothing about this bear Quinn liked. The roar had an unusual quality, as though the big boar had yelled, “Here I am. Come get me or I’ll come get you.”
    He was a bear to be reckoned with.
    Cobb got to his feet. The front of his faded blue shirt was ripped to shreds and scarlet with blood. He fed paper cartridges into his Colt, then looked at Quinn, no blame in his eyes. “You shot the wrong bear, kid. You killed Ephraim’s mate.”
    â€œIt’s early fall and mating season is well over,” Quinn pointed out. “They shouldn’t have still been together.”
    â€œNo, they shouldn’t. This is a mighty unusual bear.” Cobb holstered his revolver then picked up his rifle. “I think I got a bullet into him. Let’s finish it.”
    The shadowed arroyo was dank. At the base of its walls olive green ferns grew, the like that Quinn had never seen before. Ahead of him the canyon narrowed and then stopped at a wall of rock before making a sharp turn to the right. Fed by an underground stream, a thin trickle of water ran down the rock face and splashed into a natural rock tank that was green with algae.
    Feeling the effects of his mauling, Cobb slowed his step as he turned to his right and followed the course of the arroyo. Each breath he took was shallow—as though it pained him—and every now and then, he leaned a hand on the wall for support. Quinn grew anxious. He knew the segundo was almost out on his feet and needed medical help that he could not give.
    Gradually the arroyo grew wider and then opened up into a circular area about half an acre in extent. A gnarled mesquite grew to the right of an undercut in the rock that was about eight feet high, the same wide and seemed to be several feet deep.
    â€œBones,” Quinn said. “It looks like a graveyard.”
    Bones—some white, most yellowed—carpeted the area in front of the cut. A few still had streaks of red meat and shredded tendon clinging to them. Quinn identified deer, pronghorn antelope, jackrabbit, birds, cattle and . . . a human skull and partial rib cage.
    Cobb took a knee next to the human remains. “A fairly recent kill, but some of the animal bones are years old. We’re looking for a mighty elderly bear.”
    â€œIs that why he killed a human?” Quinn swallowed hard. “And ate him.”
    â€œYeah. Seems like Ephraim is growing too old to hunt his regular prey. Young cows and humans are easy to kill.” Cobb studied the skull. “It’s a woman in this case. She was probably Mexican or Lipan.”
    Cobb slowly . . . very slowly . . . lifted his head . . . then his eyes . . . “Oh my God,” he whispered.
    Quinn followed the man’s gaze to the top of the arroyo rim. The bear’s head was in plain sight. Its emotionless black eyes stared hard at Quinn as though marking him, remembering every aspect of his features.
    â€œDamn you!” Cobb yelled. He dropped his rifle, drew, and hammered five shots at the rim. But the bear was already gone.
    All Cobb managed to do was shoot holes in the wind.
    Quinn quickly made his way to the entrance of the arroyo and ran outside, his Henry at the ready. His eyes searched the top of the ridge, but he saw nothing except a broad swath of blue sky. The ancient talus slope was close and he tried to climb it, but the incline was too steep and he managed to only scrabble a few