Roy Starr was brushing snow away from the corpse.
"Maybe," he said softly. "A car never hit him, though. There aren't any blood tracks. The hole is in the direct center of his chest. The ribs aren't crushed on either side."
Robinson's voice was a little hushed.
"That's what I was thinking. Looks like a bear might have mauled him."
Roy Starr came slowly to his feet.
"Look," he said, "we aren't kidding ourselves. Something hit him, hard, in the chest. It wasn't a car because it didn't break in the whole bone structure. It wasn't a bear, because a bear would have done a more thorough job of it. Shooting is out. That isn't a bullet wound."
Robinson shrugged.
"What's left?"
"The same thing that's been killing hunters for the past five years," Starr said grimly. "For lack of a better name, the phantom buck."
Robinson turned away, looking toward the car.