They nodded and started to move away. “One thing more,” Hank added. “Don’t take any chances. He’s wounded and he’s dangerous. This storm has made him nervous and he’s probably plenty mad. Sandy, you take the north side of the shed. Mike, you cover the west.”
It was then that Sandy noticed for the first time that Joe wasn’t with them. He started to ask why, but checked himself. There would be plenty of time for that later. Thumbing the safety catch back, he curled his finger around the trigger and moved cautiously into position.
The rain was letting up a little, but it was still difficult to see. Massive dark clouds continued to roll overhead. Trees, heavy with rainwater, bent and rustled under the force of a snarling wind that slashed at loose leaves and stirred bushes into sudden motion.
Or was that the wind?
Sandy froze and took a closer look. The top leaves of a bush about seventy-five yards away trembled slightly and then settled back into immobility. Crouched under the tangled stems of the bush was what looked like a long, lean shape, hugging flatly against the ground.
Sandy’s heart thumped under the pressure of pounding blood as he knelt slowly to pick up a handful of stones. How long, he wondered, did it take for a mountain lion in full charge to cover seventy-five yards? The thought crossed his mind that he should shoot first, but he rejected it almost immediately as being too risky. The first shot, Hank had told him once, was the one that counted. Every competent hunter waited for his quarry to present itself before he pulled the trigger. Shooting at shadows was wasteful and dangerous.
Sandy took a deep breath and heaved the stones into the bush. As they whistled through the leaves and branches, he yanked his rifle up to his shoulder and tensed himself for a flash of yellow fury.
But nothing happened.
The long, menacing shape under the bush hadn’t moved. Sandy’s hand was shaking as he lowered the rifle. Breathing in short, dry gasps, he forced himself to relax. There was nothing under the bush more dangerous than a dead, half-rotted log.
Feeling embarrassed and a little foolish, he turned to see how the others were doing. Over to his right, Mike was sweeping carefully in toward the shed, his body bent slightly forward in an attitude of absorbed concentration.