Soundtrack: Jimi Hendrix, All Along the Watchtower
The heat of the sun broke through the trees. It was going be another hot day; perhaps hotter than yesterday.
Sam crept to a patch of cedars and manzanita atop a low rise above Rifle Creek. He could see a camp below. He could see two men standing by the campfire.
He had watched the camp for hours upon hours when a crashing sound came from above the camp, somewhere in the forest northwest of his position. Two of the men ran upslope to the sounds, picking up their rifles as they went. Sam stalked the hunters from above.
The heat of the day mounted. Then the afternoon clouds began to appear.
He heard the hunting party through the trees. “We’ve got fresh tracks,” he heard one of the hunters shout. Moments later he saw Ranger Searles with the hunters, following the tracks.
Armen heard the distant voices, and began a rapid descent into the bowl from the east.
Sam began to diagonal up slope to try to keep above the rangers. He flanked the rangers from above for the better part of a mile. All the while a breeze began whipping up the slope. The clouds continued to darken and boil.
One of the hunters led his party after the tracks. The other hunter, a younger man, covered him with his rifle, steadily swinging it back and forth as if surrounded by enemy combatants. The ranger, flanking the hunters, gestured to the young hunter, and the hunter lowered his rifle. The older hunter climbed up an outcrop. When he reached the top he cursed. The other two followed him up, then began to mill around, trying to pick up the trail.
A heavy thunderclap shook the mountainside.
It was then that Sam looked out through the tops of the trees. Smoke. Sam looked down over the rangers, and the lightning began.
Lightning sprang all over the mountainside. Small fires were ignited, and the wind rising up from the valley fed each fire and brought the fires together. Sam could see the fire climbing up slope below. He hadn’t spotted Cindy. Then he saw a figure downslope approach the hunters. He held out something—a canteen—to the hunters, and they passed him one by one, then he continued the way he’d been going.
“No thanks,” answered the hunter, and shot a puzzled look at the other.
Armen tipped his head and shrugged his shoulder. “You just look like you could use a drink.”
“Well,” he continued, “I hope you all have a good hunt,” and he proceeded down the mountain.
When He came to the corral, he sat for a moment at their dying campfire. He turned an ear to it. It seemed to whisper to him. He pulled a branch out of the coals, then looked again to the coals for a response. Then he looked at the branch in his hand, and tossed it over into a pile of loose wood.