“He doesnt have to be traveling on foot, Jim said. “Too early for snowmobiles, but maybe a four-wheeler?

Liam shook his head again. “True, but the terrain is up and down a lot of mountains and over and around a lot of creeks and rivers between Kagati and Nenevok. Itd probably take him just as long to walk as ride. Plus, a different weapon was used the second time, too, although theres no law says he has to use the same one twice.

He paused. “Wy, you said you felt sorry for Rebecca Hanover. Why?

Wy made a face. “From what I could see, her husband had the gold bug bad. She was the one who met the plane because he was always hip deep in the creek, washing that dirt. She seemed lonely. Wy thought for a moment and added, “She seemed bored.

“Did she ever seem resentful? Liam suggested. “Angry, maybe?

“No, Wy said. “Like I said. Lonely. She looked tired every time I saw her, too, like she wasnt used to doing without Chugach Electric. She speared her last bite of moose with her fork and smeared up the last of the sauce, cooling now and a little congealed but still delicious.

The fork paused halfway to her mouth. “Wait a minute, she said, a sick feeling beginning in the pit of her stomach. “Nenevok Creek?

Liam looked at her, alert to the sense of strain in her voice. “Yeah. Nenevok Creek, or rather the airstrip about halfway between Nenevok Lake and Nuklunek Bluff. Why?

She put down the fork, rose to her feet and walked over to the wall map, tracing the same route Liam had the day before. She located the creek without difficulty, and estimated the distance between the airstrip at Nenevok Creek and the airstrip on Nuklunek Bluff at a little less than ten air miles. For someone hiking the same distance, say going from the bluff to the creek, he could follow a relatively easy slope down the bluff, wade through about a mile of swamp, the most difficult portion of the route, and then pick up the creek and follow it the rest of the way. The airstrip was right on the creek, and the gold mining camp was a two-minute walk from the airstrip. It wouldnt have been a particularly difficult hike, especially if the hiker was someone who knew the area.

Someone, say, like John Kvichak. Or Teddy Engebretsen.

Wy thought back to the last trip she had made into Nuklunek that afternoon. John Kvichak had waited with the last of the moose meat, and had helped load it into the Cessna with swift efficiency. Wy couldnt remember a time when John hadnt had a smile and a joke ready to share. This afternoon, hed been silent and serious. He had also been in a hurry, so much so that hed dropped his pack when he went to put it into the airplane. The zipper of the flap pocket had been open, and out had spilled a copy of Riders of the Purple Sage, a spoon smeared with peanut butter, and a cell phone.