When Hunter becomes Prey

Pete had kept his pistol handy and out of sight the entire time they had been out, and he kept it close when they went to bed. The old cabin floors creaked and the beds (just frames that had a plywood bottom and were off the ground) that they put their sleeping bags on to sleep, made noise anytime someone moved.

Pete slept with one ear listening all night. It wasn't the most restful sleep he'd ever had, but he knew that Randy hadn't stirred all night. If Randy had gone for his rifle, Pete would have just shot him before Randy had a chance to kill him in his sleep. He was thankful that he hadn't needed to.

Morning came early at that time of year, long before dawn.

The two hunters rose and dressed, and Pete made some coffee and cooked breakfast--pre-cooked breakfast burritos that only needed to be reheated. As they ate, they talked about the hunt for the day.

"So, Randy, what do you think? Where should we go?" Pete asked.

"I think we ought to go up to where we saw that herd yesterday. It's higher up and in some rugged country, but they are most likely still hanging around there. There's good eating for them there at this time of the year."

"Okay, that seems like a plan. Just remember though, if we get an elk up there, we are going to have to carry it out. That could take a couple trips."

Randy smiled, "I'm okay with that, if it's not too much for you."

"Hey, I'm still fifty; I'm not in my seventies or something."

"I was just joking. I know you're in good condition, so it shouldn't be too much for you."

Randy kept smiling as he added to himself, 'old man.'

It was like Pete was reading his mind.

"And don't you be thinking of me as an old man, either you young whippersnapper."

They both laughed.

Once again, Randy picked up his coat and pack and put them on, and as they exited the cabin, he picked up his lever action rifle without checking it to make sure it was loaded.

It was still dark for about the first hour that they walked, but it was on a clearly visible trail. As the dawn broke, they left the easy trail and began taking a path that rapidly increased in elevation. As their elevation rose, the path was often narrow, and the side of the mountain became steep and rocky. To get where the elk herd had been, they had to pass over this trail; it was the only way.

It was still only mid-morning when they reached the high point on the trail, the rest of the way would be down. Of course, if they harvested an elk, they would be coming back the same way, maybe multiple times.

"Hey, Randy," Pete quietly whispered, since sound carries so far and he didn't want to spook the elk, if they were still where they had been the day before. "Let's take a break before we start down the other direction."

"Fine by me, Mr. Pearson," he said as he stopped and took off his backpack. They both sat down on a couple of large flat rocks.

"Randy," Pete said, no longer worrying about the elk, "we've got to talk.

"I saw you and my wife messing around the other day. After I left for the barn I came back, and I heard you and her, and watched as you fondled and sucked her tits and she gave you a hand-job.

"Has that ever happened before before?"

Randy was almost in tears.

"No, Mr. Pearson. She told me that, well, you weren't able to perform your husbandly duties anymore, and that after you weren't with her anymore, we would go 'all the way'. She even promised me a blowjob. Yesterday was the first time she EVER let me touch her, or that she touched me."

"Okay, I believe you, and to tell you the truth, I don't care. But I am really upset that she asked you to kill me."

Randy began sobbing again,

"She wanted me to do something. She said maybe I could make it look like an accident. I never wanted to do that. I even asked her why she didn't just get a divorce, but she said you had all the money and a paper that would let you kick her out without a dime to her name. I felt kinda sorry for her. If I wanted to be with her, I needed to kill you. She promised me that then she would give me a stake big enough to start my own guiding business. That we could run it together out of your ranch, even."

"Did you think about it? You know, killing me?"

Randy looked down, the shame evident on his face.

"Yeah, I did. But I knew I couldn't do it. I'd go to hell for it. Plus, I wouldn't get away with it. I always get caught when I do something wrong."

Pete relaxed a bit. He had been sitting there on that rock with his coat folded over his lap, with his pistol hidden underneath. If Randy had made a move for the rifle, he would have shot him. He would have used every bullet in the gun to be sure he was dead. He considered that 'defending himself'.

"Randy," Pete said to get his attention, "Let me tell you about the reality you need to face. I'm going to tell you the truth, no lies. You were being conned. You know what that means?"

Randy nodded his head.

"First, Jean didn't love you and she lied to you about a lot of stuff.

"For one thing, she lied about the money. Jean is well off on her own. She got a lot of insurance money when her first husband was killed in an accident, plus more from the company that made his car. She claimed that the crash was due to a manufacturing defect. Rather than fight it in court, the company settled. Her story about how I would kick her out without a penny is just bunk. You know me, and you have to know I wouldn't do that to anybody. I guess that Jean is a lot greedier than I thought.

"The second thing is, people would have searched for my body, and you would have been arrested for murder. Now that I understand what Jean's plan was, I can almost tell you in advance what would happen. It would have been one of three things.

"You would come back and report my 'accidental' death to the Sheriff. He and his deputies would investigate, but behind your back, Jean would be throwing you under the bus, telling the Sheriff how you told her you didn't like me and that you joked about killing me and running off with her. She'd say she never believed that you would really do it, but that you must have. She'd make up a story that would make you look guilty. Then they would keep looking until they found enough evidence to convict you.

"The second possibility is: you would have an 'accident' yourself. If she was successful in getting you to kill me, then she probably has some other sucker waiting in the wings ready to take you out of the picture too.

"The third, and most likely scenario, because it's the lowest risk is: after you'd killed me, she would tell you that you couldn't be together until after the estate was settled. That wouldn't happen until my business was sold, so it could be quite a while. She'd tell you that you and she would have to wait for some period of time, so it wouldn't look suspicious, the new widow getting together with the young guy who was there when her husband died. She would tell you not to let anyone know that there was something between you, and that she couldn't even talk to you, unless you met in town or the like.

"You wouldn't hear from her for quite a while, and one day, you might drive out to the ranch, just to see if she was all right. When you got to the ranch, though, you would find it had been sold, and Jean was nowhere to be found.

"By the time you figured out that she had double-crossed you, it would be too late, and you would have no clue where to start looking for her. She'd be long gone.

"And what could you do then? Go to the police and confess?

"No, you would just have to keep your mouth shut, and never trust anyone again."

Randy looked at Pete, "I guess I've been pretty stupid."

Pete looked back at him, a grim half-smile on his lips.

"Don't feel bad, she had me conned for a lot longer than she conned you.

"But now we both know better."

They fell into a quiet pause for several minutes before Pete spoke again.

"You know that idea of setting you up to do professional guiding out of my ranch actually isn't a bad one. If you talked to me, we might have been able to work something out without Jean being involved.

"In fact, when we get back from this hunt, we can go into town and have my lawyer set us up as partners in a hunting guide business. I provide the money for the equipment and all, and I could have a lodge and couple of cabins built on the property for the hunters to stay. You think that could work?"

That concrete proposal got Randy excited.

"That would be really cool, Mr. Pearson."

"Randy, if we are going to be partners, you can call me Pete."

Randy had a grin on his face from one side to the other.

"Yes, sir, I mean Pete."

"Well, we've spent enough time getting things right between us. Let's get out the binocs and see what we can find out there."

They got out their binoculars to start scanning the meadows below for the elk herd they seen the day before.

"Hey, Randy," Pete said, looking at Randy's old beaten-up looking 8X binocs, "As our first act together as business partners, let me give you my Zeiss 10X binocs."

Randy happily took them, "Gee, thanks... Pete."

"Tell you what, Randy, you look to the left, and I'll use your old glasses and look to the right, okay?"

"Sure."

Because of the way that the trail wound around, to get a clear view out to the left, Randy had to step out, close to the edge of the cliff.

When he got the new (for him) binocs up to his face and started looking through them, he told Pete, "Damn, these are great. Everything is so bright and clear..."

Right then, Pete stepped up behind him and gave him a hard shove that took him over the edge. He stood there and watched as Randy dropped hundreds of feet down onto the old rockslides at the base of the cliff. He never even made a sound until Pete heard the thump of his body at the bottom.

~~~*~~~

As he looked at Randy's broken body below, Pete talked to himself.

"Oh, Randy. It's too bad, but I could never have trusted you to keep your mouth shut about what I'm going to do, so you had to go."

Pete thought about it. Randy was supposed to arrange an 'accident' for Pete, instead Pete created an accident for Randy. Some sort of karma there.

Pete picked up Randy's lever rifle, took the cartridges from his pocket and loaded them back into the tubular magazine, and then worked the lever action once to put a shell into the chamber. Then the rifle followed Randy over the cliff. Pete left Randy's backpack by the side of the trail.

Pete thought through his story, and what might help it work.

He found a branch from one of the nearby fir trees and used it to wipe out any tracks that might be seen at the edge of the cliff. He tossed the branch over, as well. He took off one of his boots, and using just the back edge of the boot, he made a couple tracks that looked slip marks, one long and the other a couple of broken tracks, like someone trying to regain their footing. He put his boot back on and walked around, up to the edge and back and forth, leaving tracks as if he had been looking down to find where Randy had landed.

Pete figured that if there was a real expert looking at the tracks, they might find something amiss, but that would be questionable, and the country didn't have anyone THAT experienced at reading tracks. There would undoubtedly be photos taken of the area, but he was sure that nothing would conclusively point at him.

Up on the top of the mountain, miles beyond any cell tower range, Pete was in no rush to go back. He took Randy's binocs and checked on Randy's body over the next two hours. He didn't see any movement or sign of life. After some time, crows found Randy's body and began checking it for life. They didn't find any and began to get serious about picking at it, until a bobcat appeared and chased them away. There was still no movement from Randy's body. Pete finally accepted that he was well and truly dead.

He'd spent the two hours thinking about what he had to do and how to do it. People were going to pay.

It wasn't as if he was happy about what he had done. Pete regarded it as self-defense, something he had to do when faced with a murderous conspiracy. He was suddenly made aware, just the day before, that people who he implicitly trusted were willing to kill him to get his money.

His heart was breaking that the woman he had loved revealed her true nature, and she was a psychopath. He was also completely abashed that he had been taken in so easily, been so easily manipulated. It was all so new to him. Tears ran down his face for what he had discovered, what he had done already, and what he knew he would have to do.

Pete began the long walk back to the cabin and threw his gear into the truck, turned off the power, locked up the cabin behind him, and then started back down the roads until he finally reached the improved state highway.

There, he had cell service, so he called the Sheriff's office.

The call was answered by the dispatcher, Sarah Simons, someone from their small town who Pete knew well.

"Sheriff's department, may I help you?"

"Yeah," Pete said, taking short, uneven breaths to transmit emotional distress, "Sarah? It's Pete Pearson. Could I talk to Nate?" Nathan Jameson was the Sheriff's name; another person Pete knew well.

"Sure, Pete. Let me transfer you. Is everything all right?" she asked, hearing his breathing over the phone.

"No, it isn't. But let me talk to Nate about it."

Pete could hear the phone being transferred and ringing at an extension.

"Sheriff Jameson here, can I help you?"

"Nate, it's Pete Pearson. Look, I was out hunting with Randy Sitwell this morning, and there was an accident. We were going up Bobcat canyon to get to the high country, up that side trail, you know it?"

"Yeah."

"Well, we were close to the top, and I lent Randy my binocs to look over the country for an elk herd we spotted yesterday. And... damn, damn, damn. He got up close to the edge, and he must have slipped or something, 'cause he just disappeared over the side. God, it must be a 250, 300 or more-foot drop to the bottom. I looked down there and I could see his body. I think he must be dead, but maybe not, I hope. I think we need to get out the mountain rescue team up here as quick as you can. Oh, god, what am I supposed to do..."

"Okay Pete, okay. Just calm down.

"Where are you?"

"I'm in my truck down where the turn-off from County Road 1117 where I turn off to get to my cabin. I didn't have any cell signal any closer. What should I do?"

"You just stay where you are and I'll come out with a couple units. I'll round up the mountain search and rescue folks before I leave and tell them to meet us there."

"Great. Thanks Nate."

"It's my job, Pete. Even when it's a tragedy like this, it's my job, and my responsibility. It will probably take at least an hour-and-a-half for me to get there, so just sit tight. Drink a lot of water, Pete, you sound like you may be in shock. If you need to, lie down in your truck. We'll be there ASAP."

Then they broke contact.

~~~*~~~

It was almost two hours before the Sheriff and a couple of his Deputies arrived at the junction of County Road 1117 and the turn-off up Bobcat Canyon. It was another hour before the rescue team arrived.

They caravanned back up the roads to Pete's cabin, but by then it was too close to sundown to start a search and rescue effort. They would have to camp out and start again in the morning.

The Sheriff and his men had noticed the dried-out tracks where tears had come down Pete's face and seen his drawn, pale color. They were sure that Pete had been in state of shock after the accident. At this point, all of them knowing Pete, assumed that it was an accident. The thought of murder didn't even enter their heads. After all, why would Pete Pearson murder a nobody like Randy Sitwell? Sitwell was one of the least offensive young men in the county. Not too bright, but not a troublemaker, either.

"Pete," the Sheriff asked, "How you doing?"

"Okay, I guess. Asking myself whether or not there was anything I could have done to keep this from happening. Maybe I should have been the one glassing, instead of asking Randy to do it.

"And another thing: I've thought about getting one of those satellite phones for a while. I might not have been able to stop the fall, but at least I could have called quicker. I wouldn't have had to spend hours walking all the way back here and driving down to the county road to call you."

"Pete," the Sheriff said, "Look, we've all been there before. Something goes wrong and you twist yourself inside out trying to figure out what you wouldda or couldda done, but there's no payoff there. We all just do the best we can and keep on moving forward."

"To be honest, I was sitting up there debating whether I should have gone down the trail until I could get down to the bottom, and then come back to where Randy was. But if he was dead, like I was pretty sure he was, that would add another five or six hours before I could have called you. I figured that was more important and that you could bring more resources to bear."

"I think, everything considered, you did the best thing that could have been done," the Sheriff agreed.

It was tight in the cabin with ten people in it, but at some point, they were all talked out and went to sleep. The morning would come soon. And it did.

They all got up early the next morning. Thankfully, between the food that Pete had brought up (he'd normally expect a three- or four-day hunt for him and the other hunter), and some additional food brought up by the S&R team, they had enough for a good breakfast. Pete always had plenty of coffee for everyone, although some of them had to use their camping cups that they brought with them as part of their packs.

The dawn had just broken enough that the group could see its way safely up the trail when they left.

"Do you want to come back with us?" the Sheriff asked Pete.

"No, I'll just stay here. I don't think I could stand seeing what I think you may find up there.

"It should be easy for you to find where he went over. We were right at the top of the trail, and there are a couple big flat rocks where we sat down and took a breather. I left Randy's pack right where it was, so find the pack, unless some animal has moved it, and the place that he went over is right there."

With that, the Sheriff, his Deputies and the men in the S&R crew took off up the trail.

They were moving carefully and there were, after all, nine of them, so it took a little over two hours to reach the crest of the trail. Just as Pete had described to them, there were the two flat rocks and leaning up against one of the rocks was a backpack--presumably Randy's.

One of the Deputies started toward the edge of the trail where it dropped off before the Sheriff called out, "Jim, keep back there for a minute. We don't want you going over just like the kid!"

Jim laughed, but he did back up.

"Did you see the kid's body down there?"

"Yes, sir. I think Mr. Pearson was right. He looks dead down there."

The Sheriff first took photos of the entire area, showing the trail coming and going, the little widening of the trail with the rocks, and finally the ground close to the edge where they had spotted tracks.

"Larry?" the Sheriff called to one of the S&R people, "You're a hunter and a pretty fair tracker, aren't you?"

Larry nodded agreeably.

"Never lost an animal I shot, Sheriff."

"Good. Come over here and take a look at this area."

Larry came over and spent a minute or two examining it.

"Well, what do you see?"

"There are some skid marks where it looks like the kid lost his footing. You can see a few places where he tried to stop his forward momentum. Then there are boot tracks that must be Mr. Pearson's, where he came up and looked down the cliff. He moved around a little, like he was trying to get a better view. Then he turned and looked up the trail, and when he figured it was too far for him to go, he turned back towards his cabin and left."