feet before sliding back to the flat, shingle showering around him.
âHeâs gone,â Cobb yelled, making his way out of the arroyo. âWeâll find him another day.â
It was only then that Quinn saw how ashen was the manâs face and the pain in his eyes. The front of Cobbâs shirt was a bloody mess.
âIâd better get you home, You look all used up.â
âAn angry bear can do that to a man.â Cobb collapsed and Quinn had to help him into the saddle.
C HAPTER S IXTEEN
For a week, Frank Cobb hovered between life and death, Kate at his side constantly. Jazmin Salas, whose father had been a respected village healer, prepared various potions and salves from herbs, trees, and cactus that seemed to help Cobbâs pain.
On the eighth day after the bear attack, his fever broke and that night Kate was able to feed him a little beef broth.
As Quinnâs worry about Frank faded, he and Trace had other concerns. They had discovered bear tracks and scat their side of the Brazosâonce not a hundred yards from the cabinâand an abandoned bed in a clump of wild oak that the bear had made comfortable with a mattress of leaves and tree bark. They found no sign that the animal had eaten recently, even ignoring some rotten tree trunks it would normally have torn apart to feast on carpenter ants.
âChances are that itâs not the same bear,â Trace said.
âItâs the same bear,â Quinn said. âHeâs got Frankâs bullet in him and he followed us here.â
Trace looked into his brotherâs eyes and saw a glint of fear that couldnât be explained away as just the teenagerâs vivid imagination.
âAll right. We hunt him,â Trace said. âIf heâs been shot already, heâll want to hole up and heâs got a comfortable bed right here.â
âDonât tell Ma, Trace,â Quinn said. âSheâs already worried enough about Frank.â
Trace nodded. âWe wonât tell her until we kill your bear.â
âFrank calls him Ephraim.â
âThat was the name the old mountain men gave to a big male grizzly.â
Quinn pulled a face. âThis bear is a lot more dangerous than any grizzly.â
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Because of the overcrowding in the cabin, Trace and Quinn spread their blankets outside. The nights were not yet too cold and made for comfortable sleeping weather.
An hour before dawn, Trace shook Quinn awake and held a forefinger to his lips.
Quinn rolled out of his blankets and grabbed his rifle. When they were out of earshot of the house, he said, âIf heâs in bed, we can shoot him while heâs asleep.â
Trace smiled and his teeth gleamed white in the waning moonlight. âNot very sporting, is it?â
âThis isnât sport,â Quinn said. âThis is kill or be killed.â
âThis bear really has you spooked, young brother,â Trace said, still smiling.
âYouâll see, Trace. Youâll see.â
The bed was empty, but the feral, musky smell of the bear hung in the air. Trace kneeled and placed his hand on the leafy mattress. âItâs still warm. Damn bruin heard us coming and lit a shuck.â
Quinnâs hands were white knuckled on his Henry. âHeâs close. I can sense him.â
âLook.â Trace held out his hand palm up, showing a smear of blood from the base of his thumb to his middle finger. âFrank shot him all right. Heâs still bleeding.â
From somewhere among the shadowed trees, came a growl, low, menacing . . . and close.
Trace lifted his rifle into a firing position. âWhere the hell is he?â
âI donât know. His growl is coming from everywhere,â Quinn said.
The two young men stood together, their rifles at the ready. A thin dawn light filtered through the trees, but shadows still lay like inkblots on the landâdark, mysterious, and hinting of unseen