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hesitated, about to say something else, then nodded his thanks and closed the door behind him.
    Mulder didn’t move for a long time.

FIVE
    Sheriff Chuck Sparrow took off his hat, wiped a forearm over what was left of his hair, and slapped the hat back into place, yanking the brim down hard. “What do you think?” the woman beside him asked, her voice tight with the effort not to lose her dinner.
    Sparrow shook his head. The best he could figure, either somebody was in sore desperate need to practice his tanning skills, or there was another one of those damn cults holed up in the hills again. Either way, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to see that he was in for a hell of a lot more work than his inclination wanted.
    They stood side by side near the mouth of a small cave, on the west side of a solitary low hill two miles west of the Hatch ranch. Sprawled in front of it was what was left of a steer, ants and flies now vying for the right to rid the dead animal of whatever they could take.
    â€œWhat do you think?”
    â€œDonna,” he said, “I wish to hell I knew.”
    She was a tall woman, her figure hidden in boots, baggy jeans, and a man’s shirt about a size too large. Her short brown hair was brushed back over her ears, and on her right hand she wore the biggest silver ring Sparrow had ever seen. Her Cherokee was parked on the shoulder, fifty yards away; his patrol car was behind it.
    She jutted her chin toward the cave. “You look in there?”
    â€œYes,” he answered with exaggerated patience. “Yes, I looked in there.”
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œAnd fourteen different kinds of shit is all what I found, all right? Bones. Little bones,” he added hastily. “The usual crap.”
    â€œI read that they use them, you know. Kind of temporary, so to speak.”
    He scanned the hillside, squinted at the vehicles. “Now don’t take this wrong, all right? But there hasn’t been a damn mountain lion around here for nearly as long as I’ve been working this job. And in case you hadn’t noticed, they don’tgenerally skin their meals before they eat them.”
    â€œI don’t need your sarcasm, Chuck.”
    No, he thought; what you need is a good swat upside the head, keep you from bothering the hell outta me.
    The trouble was, this was the fourth animal he’d come across in just over a week slaughtered like this, and not a single sign, not a single print, not a single goddamn hint of what had killed them. Or rather, what had stripped off their hides. For no reason he could put a finger on, he didn’t think they had been killed first. He reckoned the creatures had either died of the shock or had bled to death.
    Just like he was about to die of the smell if he didn’t get out of here.
    He brushed a hand over his mouth as he turned and walked back to the car. Donna followed him slowly, humming to herself and snapping her fingers.
    The thing of it was, Sparrow thought as he slid down the shallow ditch and took two grunting strides up the other side, if this was confined to just animals, there wouldn’t be such a stink of another kind in the office.
    That there were also three people dead, obviously of the same thing—whatever the hell that was—had put the fire on. So to speak. And every time someone called in with another claim, it was Sparrow who personally checked it out. It wasn’tthat he didn’t trust any of his deputies. Thirty-five years roaming the side roads of the desert, talking to the Indians in Santo Domingo, San Felipe and the other pueblos, getting to know the hills and mountains until he could walk them practically blindfolded, did that to a man—made him the so-called area expert, even when he didn’t want to be, hadn’t asked to be, and would have given his right arm just to be plain stupid.
    He reached in the driver’s-side window and grabbed the mike, called in and told the