Hank Dawson’s hunting lodge, high in the Lost River Mountains of Idaho, was the first house Sandy had ever been in where no woman had ever set foot. In every way it was a man’s paradise—designed exclusively for male society.
No chintz curtains cluttered the view. There were no pictures, prints or china figurines on side tables, no hooked rugs underfoot, no attempt to cover wooden walls with plaster or, even worse, with decorative wallpaper. Hank Dawson had built himself a straightforward, sturdy house. Massive, seasoned beams supported the roof. Half-rounded logs formed the walls and the floor. All wood surfaces were scraped, sanded and still fresh with the fragrant smell of the forest.
An enormous forty-foot main room looked out on a breath-taking view of jutting peaks and misty valleys. Behind the lodge bulged a huge rock bluff, dotted with clusters of vivid green jackpine and traced by a thin finger of crystal-clear water that trickled musically down its rough, gray surface.
One end of the living room was completely faced with a stone wall that held the biggest fireplace Sandy had ever seen. Splendid heads of elk, mule deer, mountain goats and pronghorn antelope filled up the rest of the space. One animal, though, was significantly missing. Mike was the first to notice it.
“How come no mountain lions, Hank?” he asked.
They were stretched out in front of the fireplace, deep in comfortable chairs, relaxing as the stiffness of a hard day in the saddle drained slowly out of their tired bodies. A full meal and the warm glow of the fire had made them all pleasantly drowsy.
Mr. Cook and Hank Dawson were both drawing thoughtfully on their pipes. Joe sat with his head thrown back against the stone wall, the smoke from his cigarette curling lazily through his fingers. Mike was propped up on one elbow, staring into the fire with glazed fascination. Sandy was lying on a large, overstuffed sofa, one hand absent-mindedly scratching the floppy ear of a big-chested tan-and-black dog.
The dog, Drum—Hank’s favorite lion hound—had adopted Sandy the first moment they met. Ignoring everyone else, even Hank, he insisted on padding around after him all evening and was now settled happily by his side.
Mike’s question broke a contented, peaceful silence that had lasted for nearly ten minutes.
“What’s that, Mike?” Hank said.