Harlan could feel the rage boil within him. He looked up and down for Jake MacKinnon and saw him waving from the far end of the hall. MacKinnon stood there a moment, then ducked into the library and out of sight.

Harlan picked up his books and began striding down the corridor intent on tearing Jake MacKinnon to pieces.

Suddenly a hand grasped his shoulder, slowing him down. He took two more steps before a second hand grabbed his arm.

“Don’t,” said Noble, tightening his grip on Harlan’s shoulder.

“I want to hurt him,” Harlan seethed. “Bad.”

“We all do,” said Argus, keeping a firm grip on Harlan’s arm.

“You’ll get your chance,” Noble promised. “Just not now.”

Chapter 4

Ranger Brock pulled to a stop on the side of the dirt road directly behind Sergeant Martin’s cruiser. There were two other vehicles besides the ranger’s 4 × 4, the first belonging to one of Sergeant Martin’s constables, and the other, a minivan driven by the naturalist and artist, Donna Hughson. The sergeant had tried to tell the old woman to stay home and let the authorities handle the situation. But she’d been skeptical, citing their inability to stop that crackpot TV scientist, Doctor Edward Monk, from trying to steal a wolf from the forest several months earlier.

Ranger Brock liked Donna and had even bought one of her paintings for a wall in his living room at home. While the sergeant had been concerned that the old woman might get in the way, or maybe even hinder their efforts to find out what was going on, Ranger Brock was glad she’d tagged along. First of all, there was no one feistier than Donna when it came to preserving the forest, and having a civilian watch over the meeting between the police and the forestry company might help keep things from getting out of hand.

Ranger Brock turned off his engine and got out of his 4 × 4. Their little convoy had kicked up a fair amount of dust and the Conservco site supervisor was already out on the road ready to meet with them, along with a dozen or more of his biggest lumbermen.

“This should be fun,” Sergeant Martin said as the ranger caught up to him.

“Maybe,” said Ranger Brock. “But I think they’ll need at least six more men to make it an even fight.”

The sergeant smiled, greeted his constable, a young man named Neavis, and together the three of them headed for the wall of lumbermen lined up across the road.

“They’re not supposed to be here,” Donna Hughson said, bringing up the rear, several paces behind the two men.

Without warning, Sergeant Martin turned on his heels and put up his hand. “Look Donna, I appreciate getting your call, but you asked us to handle the situation, so let us handle it. I don’t want to hear anything more from you.”