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to search the house.
    It was against Oregon law to keep wild animals in captivity without a special permit. Ben had received a hefty fine for his infraction and been told he would go to jail if he broke the law again. None too thrilled at the prospect, he had tried the legal route, applying to the state for a special permit, but his application had been turned down, a result, he felt sure, of Bobby Lee’s blackballing him. For Ben, the choice of either abiding by the law or breaking it was no choice at all. He couldn’t condemn Methuselah to a slow death by starvation out in the wild, and he couldn’t turn his back on the other animals that came to him for help, either.
    Eventually his illegal veterinary practice would land him in jail. He understood that and was willing to pay the price. He just hoped to postpone the inevitable for as long as possible, and that meant keeping people off the ridge, including small boys who came to him with sick puppies.
    “I’m not a vet anymore,” Ben said firmly. “And I don’t like being pestered.”
    “Don’t you still know vet stuff?” Those big brown eyes welled with tears. “Please? He’s gonna die, Mr. Longtree. He needs your help.”
    The child’s body suddenly snapped taut, and what little color remained in his face drained away. Ben realized he was gaping at something behind him. Not Methuselah, he thought. Please, God, don’t let it be Methuselah.
    But, of course, it was. Just as Ben turned to look, the cougar stumbled over a six-pack cooler in the carport and sent it flying. The resultant clatter might have startled a less stalwart feline, but Methusaleh was accustomed to bumping into things.
    Ben was tempted to let loose with a string of curses to turn the air blue. Only what good would it do? The cat was out of the bag now. The kid would race home to tell his mother. She’d grab up the phone to tell a friend. By this time tomorrow, everyone in Jack Pine, including Bobby Lee Schuck, would have heard the story. Ben didn’t kid himself. If the deputy saw an opportunity to cause him more grief, he’d jump at it, and the old cougar’s fate would be sealed.
    To Ben’s surprise and even greater dismay, the boy suddenly started wheezing—an awful whining sound that rattled up from his narrow chest. Clutching his throat with one hand, he began fumbling in the pocket of his jeans. Ben realized he was groping for an inhaler and hurried over to help.
    “Easy, son, easy.” Ben plucked the canister from the child’s pocket and pressed the orange mouthpiece to his lips. “The cougar won’t hurt you, I promise.” He depressed the cap to release a blast of medication. The boy tried to breathe it in but the inhalant didn’t help. Growing truly alarmed, Ben dropped to one knee to get a better angle and released more medicine. “What is it, asthma? Calm down, son. Try to relax.”
    Easy to say, but not so easily done. The boy dragged in a whistling breath of the mist, gulped, and grabbed frantically for more. A small eternity and several doses later, his wind passages finally cleared. Whether that was due to the medicine or simply because he began to calm down, Ben didn’t know.
    Exhausted by the ordeal, Jeremy leaned his weight against the circle of Ben’s arm as the last of thespasms abated. His wide, wary gaze remained fixed on the cougar.
    “Does that happen to you often?” Ben asked.
    The boy nodded. “I got asthma,” he said, his voice gone hoarse from wheezing. “The doctor says it’ll go ’way someday.”
    In most cases, asthma was an allergic disorder, but Jeremy’s attack had clearly been brought on by panic. “Not being able to breathe can’t be much fun.”
    “Nope.”
    The cougar, intrigued by Jeremy’s high-pitched voice, moved closer. Almost blind from a slight stroke, the cat had a perpetually bewildered look on his face. “This old fellow is Methuselah, Jeremy. I know he looks scary, but he’s a friend of mine.”
    “Will he eat