John examined the front of the cages. Each was secured with hanger wire woven in between metal bars. He watched the cub as he untwisted the wire, making sure baby bear wasn’t going to nip him. The bear sat at the far end of the cage, its rump against the bars, a curious expression in its eyes. As he fought the wire it sliced into his thumb, lubricating his fingers and making it difficult to grip the wire. John winced away the pain, and instead listened to the panting cubs and their little claws clacked against the floor. Urine and feces odor wafted from the cages, and a heady whiff of desperation.

Finally loose, he set the hangar wire so it could be pulled free in one swipe. He wanted to release the bears at the same time to avoid splitting them up. The bears came as a family, and he wanted them released as a family. As he untwisted the next wire, he listened for motors or footfalls, but heard nothing except the panting of the bears and the whispering Black far below. Their breath was a rotten gift spewed right into his face. John grinned, and for a moment relished the danger of being caught.

Caught. Interesting word. He realized he didn’t care. He’d like to have a few words with the poachers, and maybe punch them in the face, too.

John took a break from untwisting and reached along his belt, near the right hip pocket. His fingers found a snap and he slid out a foldable buck knife. He unlocked the blade, all seven inches flashing in the morning sun. John set the knife onto the trailer, blade pointed away.

When he finished unraveling the wire on the second cage he walked over to the last. As he reached towards the wire, the bear thrust a paw through the metal bars at him. John jumped back, his heart pounding. The mangy little cub flashed its teeth and followed John with its eyes, anticipating the best moment to bite him.

Hey there fella, John said. Calm down okay? If you go and sit back in the corner there I can get you out of here.

John checked the woods for the poachers, sure they’d surprise him at any moment, but there was only the sound of the Black. He wiped his bloody fingers on his jeans, leaving a dark streak.

The aggressive cub withdrew its paw through the bars and retreated to the back of the cage. John untwisted the wire as drops of blood mixed with his sweat on the wooden trailer. The cub stared at him, head tilted to the side, tongue lolling. The bugger could jump at him any second and it contained an unpredictable fire in its eyes—true wildness if he ever saw it.

This is one I would not mess with, ever, he thought. Bear has spunk.