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anyway.”
    â€œExcept there’s a problem with your theory,” Morgan broke in. “Nobody shoots big game with a shotgun.” When they all looked at him, he said, “I have an online friend named Snipe. I’ve learned about guns. Anything large is taken out with a rifle.”
    â€œSnipe?” Ashley mouthed to Jack, but Jack shook his head at her.
    â€œYou’re absolutely right about that, Morgan,” Shawn agreed. “It doesn’t make sense that one large animal was killed with a bunch of shotguns and left to rot. Shotguns are normally used for birds—duck hunting, that sort of thing. But a group of condors are not going to feed on a single dead duck, so that’s not the answer.” He sighed a long sigh as though he’d gone over every possibility.
    Ashley’s hand darted up with anticipation. “Oh, I have an idea! Couldn’t one shell be filled up with those different-size pellets?”
    â€œNo way,” Morgan answered. “You can’t mix pellets together in one shell, or the gun will blow up in your hand.” When they all looked at him, he said, “What?”
    â€œYour friend Snipe sure taught you a lot about guns,” Ashley stated.
    Morgan’s eyebrows moved up. “Your point is…?”
    â€œLet’s get back to what we know. What’s the largest number of pellets any condor has ingested so far?” Olivia asked.
    Shawn answered without missing a beat. “Seventeen.”
    â€œSeventeen!” Olivia gasped. “That’s a lot of lead!”
    â€œRight. Unfortunately, we didn’t find the pellets until after the bird was dead.” Shawn went on to tell them about a condor called 65—none of the condors had names, only numbers.
    â€œWhen we did the necropsy—”
    Morgan murmured to Jack, “That means an autopsy on animals.”
    â€œâ€”it turned up 17 lead pellets in 65’s intestinal tract. It’s a similar story with all the others.” Shawn looked grim, then brightened to say, “On a happier note, we’ve rehabilitated number 87, and if you like, Olivia, you can come see him. He’s ready to be released, but we have to keep him penned up until we find the source of the lead. We can’t risk another death.”
    Olivia answered, “All of us would love to see a condor. The kids have been dying to get a look at one since we got here.”
    â€œIt’s a rare treat,” Shawn agreed. “I only hope the magic of these condors will never end—they belong in the Grand Canyon.”
    They’d have to ride with him, Shawn said, in The Peregrine Fund’s big Ford sports utility four-by-four, because the Landons’ rental car would never make it up the rugged back road to the release site. The dirt road turned out to be rough, for sure—a bumpy, dusty, rutted washboard that snaked and twisted as it climbed, gaining 2,000 feet in altitude from the base of the cliffs to the top. During the long drive, Shawn told them how every day, the team members stayed out in the field from dawn to dusk, changing their locations as they held up antennas to try to track signals from the condors’ radio transmitters.
    â€œSome condors wear their transmitters on their wings,” he said. “We bolt them in place.”
    â€œBolt them!” Ashley exclaimed. “You mean you use real bolts? If I were a condor, that would make me really mad.”
    â€œWell, maybe you’d like the other method better. Guess how we attach the transmitters when we put them on the tails.”
    â€œI don’t know. How?”
    Shawn grinned at her in the SUV’s rear-view mirror. “With dental floss and Super Glue. Real high-tech.” That made all of them laugh, even Morgan.
    â€œIf you’ve got transmitters, can’t you track where they’re eating the poison meat?” Jack asked suddenly.
    â€œI wish we could. These