Prologue

A hunter’s moon hung low over the mountains, its light searching through the pines like a powerful beacon. Swirling gusts of wind ruffled the aspens as two men crouched in the shadows of the trees. Rock and roll blared from the nightclub nearby, the song ending in one long riff from the lead guitar. Above, in the ancient cottonwood, a horned owl hooted once … twice.

A cloud slipped over the moon, slowly cloaking the small area behind the nightclub in darkness. When the last ray of light vanished, the men vaulted out of the shadows. The older man eased open the door to the bear’s shed even though the rusty hinges could never have been heard above the band now playing a country tune. Looking over his shoulder to the back door of the club, the tall, younger man with a shaggy beard kept watch.

Outside, the June air was cool and laced with the scent of pine, but from the shed came an oppressive odor of moldering straw and dank fur. The bear snuffled, sensing danger as the men tiptoed into the shed. The beast hunkered down on his haunches, instinctively baring teeth that weren’t there.

“Grab his chain,” commanded the older man.

A second later, the thick chain clinked in the bearded man’s powerful hand. The bear stiffened, knowing what the sound meant. It cowered, anticipating a blow to the head. When it didn’t come, and the chain again clinked and pulled, the bear took a tentative step forward.

“Come on,” the older man urged. “We haven’t got much time”

With another jingle of the chain, the bear followed, too terrified to disobey. The older man checked to be certain someone hadn’t emerged from one of the adobe bungalows next door to the nightclub—known as The Hideaway. The bungalows were usually rented by the hour. The moon had reappeared, flooding the area with light, but no one had come out of the club or The Hideaway.

“We’re outta here,” whispered the younger man, tugging the bear along.

They headed toward the pickup truck hidden in the pine trees, the bear lumbering along, too frightened to ignore the rattle of the chain. It took both men to boost the animal into the pickup. They hooked the chain to a special latch, then quickly tied the bear down. With a thumbs-up sign, the other man hopped into the cab.

The bearded man stood behind the truck and checked to make sure the tailgate was locked as the motor kicked into gear. Then he said to the bear, “The worst is over big guy.”

Clouds scudded across the moon as the pickup shot into the darkness without turning on its lights. The owl called again, shrill, lonely hoots that seemed to reach the whirlpool of stars overhead. The band began a new tune, and the bearded man paused, listening to his favorite song, “The Devil Went Down to Georgia.” The night’s work done, he couldn’t resist humming along.

Fire on the mountain! Run, boy, run!

The devil’s in the house of the rising sun.