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many have heard what happened to him?”
    “I don’t know, sir,” Joe said.
    “I’m issuing a direct order,” Pope said. “This is to you and Kiner. Don’t give any statements to anybody until I get there. Don’t talk with anyone or tell anybody what happened. Got that?”
    As had happened many times before when Pope was on the radio, Joe held the mike away from him and looked at it for answers that never presented themselves.
    “Affirmative,” Kiner finally said, “no public statements until you’re on the scene.”
    “You got that, Joe?” Pope asked.
    “I got it,” Joe said, “but we’ve got the sheriff behind us, and anybody listening to the scanner will know we’ve got a situation here.”
    “Look,” Pope said, his voice rising, “I can only control my own people. I can’t control anything else. All I ask is that you follow my direct goddamned order, Joe. Can you do that?”
    “Of course, sir,” Joe said, feeling his ears get hot.
    “Good. I’ll call when we land. In the meantime, you two keep off the radio. And I’ll politely ask Sheriff McLanahan to do the same.”
    McLanahan broke in. “Shit, I heard you. Everybody did.”
    “Everybody?”
    “We’re on SALECS—the State Assisted Law Enforcement Communications System,” McLanahan said. “If you want to go private you need to switch to another channel.”
    Pope didn’t respond and Joe pictured him stammering and angrily hanging up. Joe waited awhile before cradling the mike. When he looked in his rearview mirror he could see Kiner signaling him with two fingers, meaning he wanted Joe to switch to the car-to-car band so no one could hear them. The frequency worked as long as the vehicles were in sight of each other, and not much farther than that.
    “Joe,” Kiner said, “do you have any idea what’s going on with Pope? I’ve never heard him like this.”
    “I have,” Joe said.
    “So what’s up? Why in the hell is the director flying up from Cheyenne for this? Since when does he get personally involved in a case? And especially since you two avoid each other like the plague?”
    “I was wondering that myself,” Joe said.
    “There’s something going on here we don’t know about, that’s for damned sure.”
    Joe nodded. “I agree.”
    “Me too,” McLanahan said.
    “What are you doing on our channel?” Kiner asked McLanahan. Joe held his tongue.
    “Just remindin’ you boys who’s in charge of this investigation,” McLanahan drawled.
     
 
JOE WAS struck immediately by the three hunters waiting for them at the camp. They looked young, hard, fit, and intense, and they started walking up the rough two-track to meet the convoy of law-enforcement vehicles as soon as Joe cleared the rim and saw them. Many of the hunters Joe encountered were older and softer. These three reminded him of an elite commando unit on patrol. All three had their rifles with them and carried them naturally. Joe and Kiner pulled over so Sheriff McLanahan could take the lead.
    The sheriff stopped and got out of his Blazer to meet the hunters. They introduced themselves as Chris Urman, Craig Hysell, and Jake Dempster. Urman appeared to be in charge, and Joe stood with Kiner and listened as the hunters described what had happened.
    “Uncle Frank wanted to scout elk on his own this morning,” Urman, Frank’s nephew, told McLanahan. Urman was tall, with a long face and steady eyes. While he spoke he slung his rifle from one shoulder to the other with a fluid, well-practiced movement and without pausing. Joe thought, Military . “He said he’d be back by breakfast unless he got his bull. I made him take a radio so he could call in either way. He was supposed to be back here by oh-eight-hundred hours at the latest, and when he didn’t show up by oh-eight-thirty we tried to call him. Craig here said he heard a shot around oh-seven-thirty,” Urman said, gesturing to one of the other hunters, who stepped forward.
    The hunter held out his hand, said,