Webb knew where he was, even if no one else did. It was a simple matter of making it back to the Canol Trail and then seeing if George was anywhere nearby.
It took him twenty minutes to fight his way back over those couple of hundred meters, twenty minutes of ducking branches, stepping in soggy soil, splashing through water, squeezing between bushes. Twenty minutes of thinking about how each step took him closer to the spot where a grizzly bear might still be crouched over Brent’s body.
He couldn’t escape the thought of the grizzly protecting its kill from scavengers. Or returning to it every few hours. The closer he got to the spot, the closer he was to the grizzly.
When he saw the path that went up to the clifftop, all he wanted to do was make a dash in the direction of the Canol Trail, just in case the grizzly was up there and had heard him crashing through the underbrush.
But there was this nagging doubt that he couldn’t push aside.
What if Brent wasn’t dead? Webb was only a few minutes away from the top of the cliff. What if Webb was walking away from a man he could rescue by taking those few minutes to see if Brent was alive?
Webb stood at the base of the cliff, head craned upward, trying to hear any kind of sound that would let him know if the grizzly was still up there. It was impossible to hear anything above the roar of the river.
When he made his decision, it was because he imagined a conversation with his grandfather.
“Webby, if you walk away from this, for the rest of your life you’ll wonder if you left someone to die. Is that something you want to take with you to your grave?”
“Compared to you knowing you killed a man and buried him with your knife still in his ribs—didn’t you take that with you to your grave?”
“It’s not about me, Webby. I am in my grave. What’s done is done. It’s about you now. How will you feel if you leave him scared and alone, getting weaker and weaker?”
Webb shook his head.
His grandfather would have been right.
Webb threw away his first assumption that Brent was dead, and slowly and carefully began to climb again.
Brent was a crumpled and bloody mess near the pile of stones that hid the skeleton. The rifle was on the ground beside Brent’s broken body.
But there was no sign of the grizzly.
His own terrified breath rasping, Webb advanced to Brent and knelt beside him. It was difficult to take in how much damage the grizzly had done. Webb fought the impulse to puke.
Then he saw something he could barely believe: the slightest movement in the soft part of Brent’s exposed throat.
“You alive?” Webb whispered, leaning in.
Brent opened an eye. The white of his eye was a startling contrast to the bloody red of his face.
Brent groaned. “It’s back.”
Webb’s skin prickled. He put his hand on the rifle. He heard that horrible roar again and spun around.
Ten paces away, the grizzly was swaying its head back and forth. Sniffing.
Webb knew that while a grizzly didn’t have vision as sharp as an eagle or fox, it certainly wasn’t blind. The grizzly would easily see movement. He realized the wind was blowing from the grizzly toward him. Grizzlies have such a keen sense of smell, even with the wind in the wrong direction, any second it might pick up his scent.
Webb commanded himself to keep calm. The rifle was in his hand, but if he lifted it and then tried to check the safety, the grizzly would be on him in a flash.
Staring at the grizzly, holding his breath, Webb felt along the rifle until his fingers hit the safety. He glanced down. The safety was still on.
He clicked it off.
That slight sound was all it took.
The grizzly roared and lunged again, so close now that Webb saw saliva spraying from its jaws.
On his knees, Webb lifted and fired. Once. He tried again, but the trigger didn’t move. Not enough time to hit the pump action and reload, as George had taught him.
Webb knew he was dead.
Still on his knees, all he could do was jam the butt of the rifle into the ground and cower beneath it. It was about as much protection as an umbrella.
The grizzly fell, its full weight on the tip of rifle, landing on it like it was a spear.
Webb rolled to one side as a huge paw slammed down and hit his shoulder. But that was it. Nothing else. No mauling, no slashing. No jaws snapping shut on his skull. Just an overwhelming stench.
The bear was silent.
As the rifle toppled sideways, so did the grizzly.
Dead.
Huddled in a ball, Webb only managed to say one word. “Crap.”
He stood up and saw part of the grizzly’s chest torn open.
One bullet. One very lucky bullet. He’d hit the grizzly with his first and only shot, and even as it died, the bear’s momentum and power had almost been enough to kill Webb.
Beside him, Brent groaned again. “Water.”
Webb struggled to focus on the situation.
Brent needed immediate medical help. No way could Webb carry him. That meant he’d have to bring the others to this spot.
They’d find another body buried under a rock pile and ask too many questions about it. They’d ask him what had led him there. They’d try to identify the body, and sooner or later they’d link Webb to his grandfather and learn that his grandfather had sent him here, and then they’d reach the obvious conclusion. At some point David McLean had been in the Northwest Territories, and at some point David McLean had put a knife into the ribs of a man and buried him just off the Canol Trail. There could be no other reason David McLean had not once mentioned the Northwest Territories in all his travel stories. The entire world would know that his grandfather was a murderer.
Then why had his grandfather gone to all the trouble to send Webb to this spot?
Each of these requests, these tasks, his grandfather had said from beyond the grave, has been specifically selected for you to fulfill. All of the things you will need to complete your task will be provided—money, tickets, guides—everything…It is so sad that I will not be there to watch you all grow into the incredible men I know you will be. But I don’t need to be there to know that will happen. I am so certain of that. As certain as I am that I will be there with you as you complete my last requests, as you continue your life journeys.
Remembering those words, Webb felt like his grandfather was right beside him. If Webb was to grow into an incredible man, then Webb couldn’t make the journey by hiding a secret like this.
Webb had always trusted his grandfather. He wasn’t going to stop now.
Webb took the rifle and pointed it at the sky. He cocked and fired it, the thunder of the shot reverberating around him. He cocked and fired again. Then a third time.
Three shots. The universal signal for help.
Webb set down the rifle. He took off his jacket and used it to make a pillow beneath Brent’s head.
Then Webb headed down the path to the river.
Brent needed water. Webb would get it by soaking his shirt in the river and squeezing the water into Brent’s mouth.
Webb gave a tight smile. He was doing this because Brent was alive. As for the other long-dead body and his grandfather’s long-buried secret?
Let the dead take care of the dead.