else’s expense. “If a bear got after you, you wouldn’t have to worry about unzipping,” he said to Chad.
“I don’t imagine any of us would,” Angie interjected. If the two men had been friends, the comment would have been funny, but it was obvious they weren’t friends at all. Even worse, Davis seemed to be downright hostile toward Chad, which made this outing not only strange, but downright uncomfortable.
“The difference between hunting bear and hunting elk is that the elk won’t try to drag you off and eat you,” she continued. “Have either of you ever used bear spray before?”
“Of course,” Davis said, sounding bored, but Chad turned the canister over in his hand and was reading the directions.
“I can’t show you when we get to the camp,” Angie said, “because the spray itself contains food scents that can lead a bear toyou. Right here is as good a place as any.” She showed him how to aim it. “Spray a cloud between you and the bear, and don’t wait until it’s actually charging or it may be through the cloud and on you before the spray settles low enough. Never, never spray if the wind is blowing toward you, because then you’re blind and you still have a bear after you. And always have two cans on you, because one might not be enough.”
Chad gave her a disbelieving look. “I thought bear were shy, and ran away unless you just stumble onto one.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ray said. “Bears are predators. Now, I wouldn’t want to startle a grizzly, especially a sow with a cub, but if you ever look back and see a black bear trailing you, you’d better pray you have a rifle and that you’re a good shot, because it’s coming after you and two things are certain: It can run faster, and climb better, than you can. If you don’t get it, it’s going to get you.”
That was pretty much bears in a nutshell, so Angie didn’t add to it right then. When they reached the camp she’d institute the camp safety rules, but all of that was better done when they could see the actual layout of the camp.
They were wasting daylight, time in which they might actually do some hunting and, please God, bag a bear right away, so she said, “Let’s ride.”
Chapter Eight
Mitchell Davis dismounted, looked around the camp she’d leased, and surveyed the portable toilet set off to the side. He turned and looked at her, an incredulous expression in his cold eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in a tone so sarcastic that Chad flinched and turned red yet again; on the ride up, he’d been the target over and over again of Davis’s serrated tongue, which chewed up and shredded rather than destroyed with a fast, clean slice. Davis had something to say, none of it good, about how Chad rode, the brand of rifle he owned, the cheapness of his scope, even the newness of his boots.
During the ride Angie had thought several times that if she’d been Chad, she’d have dug in her heels, told Davis to kiss her ass, and gone back to the truck. Now, with that hostility turned on her, she bit her tongue and silently apologized to Chad, because he’d no doubt kept his silence for the same reason she was keeping hers: She needed the money. This was her payback for feeling superior, when she wasn’t at all; she was in the same boat Chad was in, paddling for all she was worth.
“Maybe I’ll take up meditation,” she mused aloud, earning a covert chuckle from Chad that he quickly turned into a cough.
She didn’t know what the big deal was about the camp. Exactly what had Davis been expecting? A lodge, maybe? She had no idea what Chad had told him, how he’d described the accommodations to Davis, but she’d been completely honest with Chad about the camp when she had leased it. It wasn’t the best she’d ever been at, but neither was it the worst. At least they weren’t sleeping on the ground, and she’d done that more times than she cared to remember.
The campsite was in a
“I don’t imagine any of us would,” Angie interjected. If the two men had been friends, the comment would have been funny, but it was obvious they weren’t friends at all. Even worse, Davis seemed to be downright hostile toward Chad, which made this outing not only strange, but downright uncomfortable.
“The difference between hunting bear and hunting elk is that the elk won’t try to drag you off and eat you,” she continued. “Have either of you ever used bear spray before?”
“Of course,” Davis said, sounding bored, but Chad turned the canister over in his hand and was reading the directions.
“I can’t show you when we get to the camp,” Angie said, “because the spray itself contains food scents that can lead a bear toyou. Right here is as good a place as any.” She showed him how to aim it. “Spray a cloud between you and the bear, and don’t wait until it’s actually charging or it may be through the cloud and on you before the spray settles low enough. Never, never spray if the wind is blowing toward you, because then you’re blind and you still have a bear after you. And always have two cans on you, because one might not be enough.”
Chad gave her a disbelieving look. “I thought bear were shy, and ran away unless you just stumble onto one.”
“Don’t you believe it,” Ray said. “Bears are predators. Now, I wouldn’t want to startle a grizzly, especially a sow with a cub, but if you ever look back and see a black bear trailing you, you’d better pray you have a rifle and that you’re a good shot, because it’s coming after you and two things are certain: It can run faster, and climb better, than you can. If you don’t get it, it’s going to get you.”
That was pretty much bears in a nutshell, so Angie didn’t add to it right then. When they reached the camp she’d institute the camp safety rules, but all of that was better done when they could see the actual layout of the camp.
They were wasting daylight, time in which they might actually do some hunting and, please God, bag a bear right away, so she said, “Let’s ride.”
Chapter Eight
Mitchell Davis dismounted, looked around the camp she’d leased, and surveyed the portable toilet set off to the side. He turned and looked at her, an incredulous expression in his cold eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” he said in a tone so sarcastic that Chad flinched and turned red yet again; on the ride up, he’d been the target over and over again of Davis’s serrated tongue, which chewed up and shredded rather than destroyed with a fast, clean slice. Davis had something to say, none of it good, about how Chad rode, the brand of rifle he owned, the cheapness of his scope, even the newness of his boots.
During the ride Angie had thought several times that if she’d been Chad, she’d have dug in her heels, told Davis to kiss her ass, and gone back to the truck. Now, with that hostility turned on her, she bit her tongue and silently apologized to Chad, because he’d no doubt kept his silence for the same reason she was keeping hers: She needed the money. This was her payback for feeling superior, when she wasn’t at all; she was in the same boat Chad was in, paddling for all she was worth.
“Maybe I’ll take up meditation,” she mused aloud, earning a covert chuckle from Chad that he quickly turned into a cough.
She didn’t know what the big deal was about the camp. Exactly what had Davis been expecting? A lodge, maybe? She had no idea what Chad had told him, how he’d described the accommodations to Davis, but she’d been completely honest with Chad about the camp when she had leased it. It wasn’t the best she’d ever been at, but neither was it the worst. At least they weren’t sleeping on the ground, and she’d done that more times than she cared to remember.
The campsite was in a
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