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bears.
    Majer sat looking at him, or at least looking in his direction, the bear’s eyes filmed in milk and Bill returning that vacant stare. A blind bear in a cage. You can feel the tug of the heart in those gray pools. It is the pull of other worlds within this one, where time and memory and vision have meanings you cannot begin to understand.
    All right, now, Bill said. Grace’s coming this week to look at you, so you’d better not be cranky with her.
    The bear’s head rocked slowly from side to side, a thin stream of drool suspended in a silver strand from his lip.
    I’m off to pay more bills. If you all would just stop eating, this whole thing would get a lot cheaper.
    He slid off the stump. Below him, an olive-green SUV had appeared in the parking lot and a man in a similarly colored uniform had just stepped out onto the gravel. Shit, Bill said. He looked around quickly and when he saw Chuck coming down the path he said, Hey, go find Bess. The new Fish and Game guy’s here.
    Gotcha, Chuck said, turning on his heel and heading back in the direction from which he had come.
    The officer had passed through the public gate below and Bill walked down to meet him, his jaws clenched. Morning, he said.
    Morning. He was older than Bill, perhaps fifty, thin and fit with salt-and-pepper hair and a dark mustache. His official title, the title on the business card Bill had been handed a month earlier when the man first walked up the path, was District Conservation Officer, but Bill thought of him as a game warden. Around his torso was zipped a down vest that matched the rest of his uniform.
    It’s Steve, right?
    Steve Colman, the warden said. He reached his hand out, and Bill took it gravely.
    Right, Bill said. What can I do for you?
    Just came by to talk about a couple things.
    What things?
    Well, that moose hit down by Ponderay for one. Sheriff says you dispatched it.
    Bill looked at him. Their breathing was visible as white smoke upon the air. Yeah, he said.
    Well, it creates a mess of paperwork when a citizen does it on their own. Better if you could just call me next time. I told the sheriff the same thing.
    Bill stood staring at him, saying nothing. Having the warden there at all sent a thin shiver of nervousness through him. The badge. The sidearm. The authority he seemed to assume.
    Anyway, let’s say we just look the other way on that, this one time. This is assuming next time you’ll call me if something like this comes up again.
    It’s not like I did it for fun, Bill said.
    Why did you do it at all?
    Someone had to.
    I get that but why you?
    He shrugged now, and when the warden spoke again it was into the long drift of silence that had risen between them.
    All right, all right, he said, lifting his hands in a gesture of surrender. Behind him, Cinder, the rescue’s resident mountain lion, watched them both, her one undamaged eye expressionless, outsize paws resting on the stone beneath her head. Look, that’s not even the real reason I came out here, the warden said. I need to talk to you more about all that permitting stuff.
    I was afraid you were gonna say that.
    Like I told you before, that’s the job. Part of it anyway.
    Bill thought the warden might say something more but there was nothing and so Bill said, I guess we’d better head up to the office. He turned and walked back up the hill then, the warden behind him, Bess appearing at a distance, a look of concern upon her face. The animals were all at their fences now, pacing, watching them as they came up the trail between the enclosures: the mountain lion first and then the badgers and raccoons, the raptors hopping about on their perches. It’s all right, Bill said to them. He expected the warden to comment but again there was nothing. Farther up the trail, Bill could see Majer’s back as the bear moved toward the rear of the enclosure, a vast mountain sinking slowly from view.
    You want a coffee or something? Bill said as they entered the office.
    No