Track of the Cat by Nevada Barr Page B

the religious fervor, Anna found herself hoping for an Old Testament God to visit the peak with one of His famous scourges: a lightning storm that would blast the rock clean of cloying humanity.
    Near three o'clock, as she led Gideon down the trail, a thirteen-year-old girl with a sprained ankle rigid in the saddle, as pale as if she rode on the back of Lucifer himself, Anna gave the last of her water to a red-faced woman, obviously pregnant and obviously over-heated.
    "Praise the Lord," the girl said.
    "Go down," Anna returned. "Forget the peak. Remember that baby. Turn around now. Go down."

    "If we suffer, we'll offer it up. Christ suffered on the cross for us,"
    her husband said. He looked to be all of nineteen or twenty.
    Anna stood for a moment, Gideon nuzzling her hand where it held the halter rope, and marveled at the beatific stupidity that radiated from the two flushed faces.
    "There's no safe way for you to get past this horse," Anna said finally.
    "He's got a thing about anybody crowding him on the trail. Turn around and go down."
    "Honey..." The girl laid a hand on her husband's arm. Anna could tell she was glad their pilgrimage was to be cut short.
    The boy looked up from his wife's face.
    "No way," Anna lied. "Hooves like sledgehammers. Scares me even to think about it."
    "Next year," the boy promised.
    "Next year," Anna repeated.
    With a truly beautiful smile, he handed her back the empty water bottle.
    "Thank you for the water, sister."
    "You're welcome," Anna said mechanically. She was suddenly transfixed by the squared, white, one-quart, government-issue water bottle in its canvas holster. They were ubiquitous at GUMO: in fire packs, pickups, on saddles, on belts, car seats. But not in Sheila Drury's backpack. It wasn't the missing camera that had set off the alarms in Anna's head. It was the simple fact Sheila had been carrying no water.
    In June, in the desert, no one, least of all an experienced hiker, carried a heavy pack eight miles without water. It couldn't be done. Not in June. Not with the heat and the wind. Anna had drunk three-quarters of a gallon that day.
    Sheila had not been lured down Middle McKittrick. She had been forced. Or carried. Probably on short notice. The pack was just a prop-like a stage prop-to make it look as though she'd gone on her own.
    "Holy smoke!" Anna breathed.
    "What's wrong? What's happening?" the girl squeaked from Gideon's back and Anna was sorry she had frightened her.
    "Nothing, Mary. You're okay. I just remembered something I need to do."
    Anna turned and smiled reassuringly. "Another twenty minutes and we'll be down. Hang in there."

    "That's an interesting theory, Anna," Paul was saying. Anna had delivered the girl into the hands of her church group leader, and given Gideon four carrots and a quarter-cup of horse vitamins he was particularly fond of.
    Now she sat in Paul's cool cluttered office in the old Frijole ranch house. "For the sake of argument, let's say you're right on all counts.
    Who do you think forced Sheila to hike up out of Dog Canyon and down Middle McKittrick?"
    It had been on the tip of Anna's tongue to tell him: Karl. Karl wanted the Dog Canyon District Ranger position, he resented Sheila for getting it. He had the strength. He knew the park better than anyone. But Paul was looking at her shrewdly. Not unlike a psychiatrist testing the waters to see just exactly what kind of crazy the patient was. Under that gentle, blue gaze she said only: "In a closed area, without water, strange paw prints, no saw grass cuts. I think we should get our hands on the autopsy report ASAP."
    "The FBI-" Paul began.

    "Fuck the FBI!" Anna snapped. "They've no idea what lions do or don't do.
    Unless there are bags of cocaine on the corpse they don't give a damn."
    Paul said nothing.
    "Sorry," Anna said. She almost meant it.
    "I know you're wound up over this thing, Anna. It's not going to get any better. You may as well know some of the ranchers are lobbying for the