You all right? the sheriff said.
What? He coughed. Bess had climbed out of the station wagon and was walking toward them now, her body a near-formless mass of down jacket, round face peering out from under the black hood. Yeah, I’m all right, he said. What were you saying?
The moose that got run into down near Ponderay?
What about it?
Well, first of all, I guess Steve Colman came to talk to you about it.
Yeah, that and some other stuff.
Well, heck, Bill, I’m real sorry about that.
I didn’t exactly ask for permission.
Still more my fault than yours, the sheriff said. I got an earful from Fish and Game about it. I can tell you that.
They’re really flexing their muscles, I guess.
That’s not the way I’d put it but yeah, the sheriff said. He looked over at Cinder. The lion had come up to the front of the enclosure and stood looking at them, one eye permanently closed, the other a yellow disc.
Well, so look, the real reason I’m here is that the Connor boys were the ones who butchered that moose and they thought maybe you might want the bones and stuff. For the animals, I mean.
He pulled the door open at last to reveal a series of plastic bags packed with ice and the red of moose meat, long bent legs and bits of bone and ribs. The frozen carcass after the steaks had been cut away.
Jack Connor? Bill said.
Yeah, Jack and his brother. Frank or whatever his name is.
They’ve been here a couple of times with their kids, Bess said. She stood next to Bill now, looking down into the open trunk. The red meat. Some wet and partially frozen tufts of brown fur.
That’s what they said. They knew it was you who dispatched her.
Him, Bill said.
OK then, the sheriff said. Him. Anyway, they wanted you to have it.
We can use it, Bess said.
Yeah, he said. He stood there in a kind of exhausted silence, breathing out a long slow hiss of steam. Dang right we can, he said.
I wasn’t really sure you’d want it, the sheriff said. I mean, you didn’t look too happy about what happened with that. How it turned out, I mean.
Who would be? he said.
True. Anyway, I told them I might better bring it up myself, in case there were any hard feelings or anything.
I’m always glad to get meat, Bill said. A smile spread across his face despite himself because he realized at last what was in the trunk and what was not. From one tragedy to another.
I’ll go get the cart, Bess said, turning to walk back up the path.
Thank them for me, would you? he said.
The sheriff nodded.
How’s the guy that ran into him? Bill asked.
He’ll be fine. Broke some ribs and banged up his face some against the steering wheel.
Well, that’s good I guess. That he’ll heal up, I mean.
You said Grace’s up there?
In the office, Bill said. She’ll get mad if I let you leave without saying hello.
Let’s not let that happen, then.
The hum of the golf cart now, coming down the path through the enclosures, all of which he could see from the parking lot: boxes of wire fronted by wooden platforms for viewing, wooden buildings, the portable rectangle of his office trailer and the equipment shed where he stored food and medical supplies and fuel. Midway up the hill, he could see Majer’s dark shape moving slowly across his own loop of wire. From where he stood he could not help but feel that it looked more like a concentration camp than a rescue.
THEY TRANSFERRED the remains of the carcass from the sheriff’s SUV to a box on the cart and then to the freezers at the top of the trail loop. The sheriff had disappeared inside the office to visit with Grace, an event Majer watched with apparent anticipation, nose pressed to the fencing and milky eyes staring out at the closed office door. When at last the two of them emerged from the office, Grace spoke to the bear and he waggled his head in apparent joy and followed the sound of her voice down the fence line.
He’s looking like an old man, the sheriff said.
He’s only thirty-eight but that’s pretty old for a griz, Grace said.
The sheriff nodded and they talked a bit more about bears and then about his horses until the radio at the sheriff’s belt crackled and he turned and answered it and then told them that he had to go.
Come bring the grandkids some time, Bill said.
We’re due for that, the sheriff said. So look, Bill, Grace told me a little about what you’re up against with the IFG. I know a couple of people. Maybe we can work out a way to help you out some.
Really? he said.
No guarantees but Judge Holcomb is my duck-hunting buddy. Maybe he can slow this process down. At least give you time.
I’d appreciate that, Bill said. Anything you can do.
They shook hands and then the sheriff walked down the trail toward the parking lot, talking into his radio all the while.
I told you we’d figure out a way, Grace said.
You’re amazing.
Yes, she said. Yes, I am.
The bear huffed twice, a loud exhalation.
All right, you, Grace said, turning to him. I’m going to get your medicine and then I’ll meet you in the den.
Majer’s mouth curled in a grin.
He’s got a crush on you, Bill said to her.
Well, I’ve got a crush on him too, Grace said.
The words of the sheriff had confused him. He had been anxious for the man to leave, only because part of him still believed that the past would flood back over him like the river’s current and that the sheriff would suddenly reveal the true purpose of his visit. But maybe that was all over now. Maybe his past had been over all the while and he had worked himself up for no reason at all, the forest its own separate world broken off from everywhere he had come from and from everything he had done.
They mixed up a slurry of ice cream and fruit with a blender in the barn and she returned to the access door in Majer’s enclosure, holding the glass pitcher in her gloved hand.
A way to a man’s heart is through his stomach.
True, Bill said.
Then Bess’s voice from down the path: Hey, Bill, telephone.
Who is it?