Another minute passed. The fire popped and the wood shifted.
Then I told him about something Glade had once said, how archaeology was the purest study of man. “We want to find out who we are,” I said. “After Brody died, I lost my fulcrum. I guess in coming out here I was trying to find out what my new fulcrum was. Your father was a part of that.”
—
About a half mile from the shelter, Kona and I came across cougar tracks, as well as lion scat. The tracks were fresh. Only two weeks before, the photo of what was probably the same lion had been triggered and sent to my computer. I remembered what Breton had said about lion only staying in the same area when protecting kittens or a cache, and that lion could breed anytime during the year. He’d also said that a cougar didn’t wean her kittens until after the first three to four weeks, and the only time she’d leave her kittens during that time was to hunt and feed from her cache. I was probably dealing with a female cougar.
Once I’d checked the camera and made sure it was secure, I decided to explore the area further while I still had good daylight. Having accompanied Breton and Hank into the search area, I had a better idea of what to look for when exploring a lion’s territory. Maybe it was instinct, or pure curiosity, but I found myself heading in the direction I’d mapped out after talking with Jeff. I’d covered several miles and had checked out a number of potential cache sites, when I came upon about seven magpies cleaning up the remains of what looked like a fairly recent deer carcass. I flailed my arms when I approached and made a ruckus. The birds squawked at an obnoxious volume, making a louder ruckus than I, and a couple flew after me. I yelled that much louder and waved them away. As I examined the carcass, the birds continued to screech and fly directly above me. They were an aggressive breed, but given the threat to their food supply, I didn’t blame them.
I knelt beside what was left of the deer. Even though most of the flesh was gone, there were still some cartilage and tendons holding the larger bones together. The smaller bones, including the ribs, had already been broken open for the marrow. Despite some strewn branches, the area hardly looked like a cache site. But when I observed the bones more closely, there was no doubt a cougar had killed the deer.
I was examining one of the ribs when the sun’s rays reflected off something on the ground a couple of feet in front of me from the carcass and almost hidden beneath a branch. Within seconds I was holding a gold wedding band in the palm of my right hand and staring at that ring with all of the disbelief in the world.
WILD SPACES
Joseph had already left for the founder’s day concert in Rangely. I’d just come in from taking Kona on a run when Colm called.
“He’s driving over first thing in the morning,” Colm said.
“Did you tell him why you wanted to see him?”
“I told him we might have some new evidence. That it would help if we could talk to him.”
“How did he sound?”
“He sounded hopeful, and I hate to think of what it’s going to do to him when he sees that ring.”
Colm and I had met with Hank and Breton that morning. Breton talked about how lion leave scratch piles for the purpose of marking their territory, particularly around a den or a cache site. Using her hind feet, the cougar will scrape the ground, creating a small mound of dirt or snow and debris. Then the lion will defecate on the scratch pile, creating a territorial marker.
I hadn’t remembered seeing scat. There was snow and a collection of branches, and scavengers had already gotten to the carcass and disturbed the area. But Breton pointed to a scratch pile in one of the photos. He believed the cougar had recently come upon Amy Raye’s remains, which could have been preserved in the snow. As the layer of snow began to melt, her body would have been exposed, he’d said. The ring would have passed through the lion. Breton believed if we were to return to the site of the deer carcass and examine the scat, we’d probably find more human evidence. It was a sobering morning. Colm congratulated me on my work. So did Breton.
When Colm got in touch with me, he said he would be at the office for a couple more hours. He told me he was going to be on call that night, as well.
Then Colm said, “Pru, I don’t know how you did it. I know you’re not feeling real good right now, but you’ve done one hell of a job, and I respect you for it. If you need anything—”
“I’ll be okay. Let me know how tomorrow goes?”
“I will.”
—
It was sometime after ten o’clock when Colm called me back. I was sitting by the fire reading.
“Guess who I spent the past hour talking with?” Colm said.
“Don’t make me guess,” I said.
“Farrell Latour stopped in to see me. He just left with Darlene to get some coffee.”
Darlene was one of the dispatchers. “I thought he was driving over in the morning.”