deadâlittle doubt that this was the same poacher he'd seen on Trail Six when Number 11-88 had been shot. Less than ten feet away, Telford clearly recognized the hulking, blocky-faced bear-killer. His whisker-stubbled features were coarse, his eyes small.
Telford tried frantically to go into reverse, but the Toyota stalled. In a few seconds the man in the red-and-black mackinaw, moving with incredible speed for someone so big, stood by the open window. His rifle aimed at Telford's head, he said, "Now, college boy, jus' ease on outta there with your hands up...."
***
AT THE lake, Chip climbed into the boat. He found it hard to believe that a year and a half had gone by since Thomas Telford came up the Feeder Ditch to announce he was going to study bears in the Powhatan. The outboard soon sputtered and caught, and Chip headed for the spillway house.
BOOK 3
G OING TOWARD HOME in the Bronco, Sam told Delilah about the noisy, sleepless night in the swamp, the terrifying swamp-walker, dogs chasing her up on the roof of the spillwayman's house. Also about Chip Clewt.
"He's been helping with that bear study. He seems very nice."
"The crippled boy with the scarred face? I've heard about him."
"He isn't really crippled. He walks with a limp, but he carried me like I was a cotton ball."
"You meet his father?"
"No, he's in New York."
"New York?" Dell said it as if New York were in Australia. "What's he doing in New York?"
"Exhibiting his paintings."
"I've heard he paints."
As they turned left on Chapanoke Road, crossing the canal bridge, heading directly toward the farm, Sam said, casually, "Chip has been in touch with the National Wildlife Conservancy to extend the ban on hunting and fishing." She didn't need to say "in the swamp."
Dell laughed in disbelief. "How old you say he was?"
"Seventeen. But I think he's a very smart seventeen, Mama. He's been in touch with them-for months."
Dell braked to a sudden stop. "He's got
those
people started?"
Dust floated in the air behind the vehicle.
Sam nodded. "Said he has."
Delilah surveyed her daughter, then turned her head toward the golden burnished fields, studying them. After a moment, she looked back at Sam. "Someone'll stop that boy. Might even be your papa, Samantha. Why, every hunter for two hundred miles is chompin' at the bit to get back in there next fall. We heard someone was pushin' for an extension but didn't know it was the Clewts. Ol' Jack Slade spread the word last year."
"Maybe it's a good thing," Sam said. Might stir up some excitement in the yawning county.
"Maybe for the game, but not for the humans. All hell broke loose around here when they put it off-limits, if you'll remember."
Sam had been twelve then, but she did vaguely remember all the commotion. Meetings, phone calls. A lot of anger.
"If your papa hadn't been in the service, he would have led it. Fish and Wildlife set a thousand-dollar fine for anyone caught with a gun or rod back there. Now they've upped it to two thousand. Besides, you lose your license for five years."
Who needed shooters, anyway? "Chip said the bear population has grown by more than a hundred since the ban."
"I don't doubt that, but there'll come a time when there are too many." Dell kept looking at the fields.
"Maybe if they extended it just two years," Sam proposed. The hunters could wait.
Dell looked over again. "The men are already talkin' 'bout deer and bear season next fall, an' if you want to see purple smoke come out of your papa's ears, just tell him it won't be open. He'll hear 'bout Chip Clewt soon enough, but don't let it be you he hears it from. Jus' tell him how nice that boy was, how helpful, an' let it go at that. All right, Samantha?"
Maybe that was best after all, Sam thought.
"That's good advice, believe me. He doesn't talk to you 'bout huntin' because he knows you're not interested. But he does to me, abed at night. He heard that State Game might run a lottery to issue a hundred permits to go
Telford tried frantically to go into reverse, but the Toyota stalled. In a few seconds the man in the red-and-black mackinaw, moving with incredible speed for someone so big, stood by the open window. His rifle aimed at Telford's head, he said, "Now, college boy, jus' ease on outta there with your hands up...."
***
AT THE lake, Chip climbed into the boat. He found it hard to believe that a year and a half had gone by since Thomas Telford came up the Feeder Ditch to announce he was going to study bears in the Powhatan. The outboard soon sputtered and caught, and Chip headed for the spillway house.
BOOK 3
G OING TOWARD HOME in the Bronco, Sam told Delilah about the noisy, sleepless night in the swamp, the terrifying swamp-walker, dogs chasing her up on the roof of the spillwayman's house. Also about Chip Clewt.
"He's been helping with that bear study. He seems very nice."
"The crippled boy with the scarred face? I've heard about him."
"He isn't really crippled. He walks with a limp, but he carried me like I was a cotton ball."
"You meet his father?"
"No, he's in New York."
"New York?" Dell said it as if New York were in Australia. "What's he doing in New York?"
"Exhibiting his paintings."
"I've heard he paints."
As they turned left on Chapanoke Road, crossing the canal bridge, heading directly toward the farm, Sam said, casually, "Chip has been in touch with the National Wildlife Conservancy to extend the ban on hunting and fishing." She didn't need to say "in the swamp."
Dell laughed in disbelief. "How old you say he was?"
"Seventeen. But I think he's a very smart seventeen, Mama. He's been in touch with them-for months."
Dell braked to a sudden stop. "He's got
those
people started?"
Dust floated in the air behind the vehicle.
Sam nodded. "Said he has."
Delilah surveyed her daughter, then turned her head toward the golden burnished fields, studying them. After a moment, she looked back at Sam. "Someone'll stop that boy. Might even be your papa, Samantha. Why, every hunter for two hundred miles is chompin' at the bit to get back in there next fall. We heard someone was pushin' for an extension but didn't know it was the Clewts. Ol' Jack Slade spread the word last year."
"Maybe it's a good thing," Sam said. Might stir up some excitement in the yawning county.
"Maybe for the game, but not for the humans. All hell broke loose around here when they put it off-limits, if you'll remember."
Sam had been twelve then, but she did vaguely remember all the commotion. Meetings, phone calls. A lot of anger.
"If your papa hadn't been in the service, he would have led it. Fish and Wildlife set a thousand-dollar fine for anyone caught with a gun or rod back there. Now they've upped it to two thousand. Besides, you lose your license for five years."
Who needed shooters, anyway? "Chip said the bear population has grown by more than a hundred since the ban."
"I don't doubt that, but there'll come a time when there are too many." Dell kept looking at the fields.
"Maybe if they extended it just two years," Sam proposed. The hunters could wait.
Dell looked over again. "The men are already talkin' 'bout deer and bear season next fall, an' if you want to see purple smoke come out of your papa's ears, just tell him it won't be open. He'll hear 'bout Chip Clewt soon enough, but don't let it be you he hears it from. Jus' tell him how nice that boy was, how helpful, an' let it go at that. All right, Samantha?"
Maybe that was best after all, Sam thought.
"That's good advice, believe me. He doesn't talk to you 'bout huntin' because he knows you're not interested. But he does to me, abed at night. He heard that State Game might run a lottery to issue a hundred permits to go
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