Or a kid‘s, Matt said, handing back the round. Rifle or revolver, not designed for auto or semiauto. Range maybe a mile with a tail wind. Not a lot of oomph, not very loud, used mostly for plinking and taking out your local feral squirrel. Six, six-fifty a box, a hundred rounds per.

And, you‘ll notice, not fired, Dan said. Probably dropped it when he was trying to load the gun so he could shoot himself. Really sucks how that didn‘t work out. Can we go find this jackoff now or what?

He looked at Kate. She wasn‘t listening to him, her head cocked, concentrating. Did you hear that? she said.

His head whipped around and he looked hard at the dense wall of brush lining the side of the trail. One hand unsnapped his holster, the other half-raised his rifle. What?

They all listened then. An eagle called in the distance, a full, piercing cry, answered by a raven‘s malicious croak nearer by.

Nope, Matt said, didn‘t hear anything. He didn‘t make fun of Dan‘s nervousness. None of them did. No Park rat with the most minimal sense of self-preservation would dream of making fun of anyone on the alert for hungry bears in the spring. I don‘t know, Kate said, I thought I heard a shot. She looked at Mutt, who had those parabolic antennas that passed for her ears up and scanning for intelligent life in the universe. Alert but not alarmed. Of course a gunshot in the Park was like the smell of dope at a Jimmy Buffett concert, familiar and expected. Probably my imagination.

She bagged and tagged the bullet, more because she knew what Jim would say if she didn‘t than from any real conviction that the unspent round was evidence of anything other than a strong tendency toward melodrama. Odds were that somewhere between the truck and wherever he was now, Mr. Gammons had rediscovered the will to live. There was a story she remembered reading about people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge who had survived, every one of whom reported having changed their minds on the way down.

On the other hand, it was spring, the moose were in calf and the bears were up and hungry. There were plenty of ways to die in the Park without shooting yourself. Okay, she said, which way, do you think?

They surveyed the thick, impenetrable brush with less than enthusiasm, even the Grosdidiers. Bushwhacking was not a fun way to spend an afternoon. Let‘s spread up and down the road, Kate said, look for where he went in.

Luke found crushed fireweed and a bent alder branch about ten feet from the pickup‘s front bumper. Mutt took point, nose sensing something the rest of them would never be able to smell. Kate, holding her .30-06 at the ready in front of her, went in next, followed by Dan and the brothers. Smith, with the smug air of one who had done his duty by God and country, had left them to finish his interrupted walk home.