Part 6
Across the table, she marked a change on the plan. Her pen paused, and she drew a neat line through what she had written.
“Friday,” she said. “We roll at four-thirty in the morning. Be there ready.”
The loading crew was still setting its lights when Warren parked.
He checked the dashboard clock before switching off the engine. Four-oh-three. He left his thermos in the cab and went to ask where Elise wanted him.
Red work lamps lit the trailers without throwing white light into the crates. Both jaguars had been checked over the evening before, and each now wore its approved tracking collar. They traveled in separate compartments, close enough to hear each other shift against the walls.
There would be no announcement, no visitors, and no photographs released from the site. The convoy consisted of two vehicles.
Elise checked the transport with Tessa while Warren walked around the lead truck. When she gave the signal, he drove out ahead to inspect the road.
The pavement ended before sunrise.
He stopped at the first rough section and walked it, then radioed the conditions back. Elise approved the approach. Farther on, they transferred the crates to a low trailer suited to the old service track. The last stretch had to be traveled slowly to avoid tearing up the hillside.
Warren walked ahead with a pole, testing patches of ground stiff from an overnight freeze at that elevation. Elise stopped the procession twice to check the animals. The third time, her voice came over the radio.
“Slow your pace, Warren. The trailer crew can’t follow safely.”
He looked back. He had put more distance between himself and the others than he intended.
“Copy.”
He shortened his stride.
The release site overlooked a narrow canyon lined with sycamores. Pale dry grass lay between the oaks, and the first warmth of daylight reached the upper rocks. Beyond the ridges, suitable country continued south across a boundary no animal could see.
The team set the crates facing dense cover. Screens concealed the workers on the other sides. Elise inspected the doors and catches, checked both collar signals, and looked through the camera views before sending most of the crew back to the vehicles.
Four people remained.
Tessa watched the receivers. A federal jaguar biologist held the release line for the youngster. Warren waited behind a screen with the female’s outer latch rope in his hand. Elise stood where she could oversee both crates.
She raised two fingers toward him, then lowered them.
He pulled the rope.
The outer latch came free. Elise released the second catch, and the door slid upward with a scrape Warren felt in his teeth.
Nothing came out.
He stayed still. Dust on the screen’s lower edge moved in a faint breeze.
Then the female’s nose reached the opening.
She tested the air for several seconds before placing her good forepaw outside. The rest of her followed slowly. She stood clear of the crate, head raised, the damaged leg supporting her.
When she turned, Warren saw the delay in the paw’s placement. The shoulder dipped. She took another step, then several more, and passed into the brush.
Elise watched the receiver until the female had put about seventy yards between herself and the crates. Then she signaled the biologist.
The second door rose.
The young male appeared immediately. At ten months, he nearly filled the height of the opening. He stood with his forefeet on the threshold, his head turned toward the place his mother had entered cover.
Sunlight reached his chest and brought out the dark pattern there.
A breeze crossed the release lane from Warren’s side.
One black ear turned. The youngster stepped out and faced the narrow opening beside the screen, directly toward Warren’s boot.
Warren held his breath.
He had never given the animal a name. He had obeyed the restrictions, stayed away from the fence, kept his voice out of the recovery wing. Yet a low sound gathered in his throat, the same foolish reassurance he had offered on the snowy slope.
He swallowed it.
Then he stepped back until the screen hid him completely.
From below came a rough call.
The youngster turned and ran into the cover after his mother.
A branch moved above the trail. Tessa’s receiver registered both collars traveling south, the female’s progress steady, the younger animal ranging to either side and returning.
Elise kept them in place for ten more minutes. When the signals passed beyond the next ridge, she closed her notebook and gave the crew permission to come forward.
Warren emerged last.
The crates were empty. A few flattened stems lay beneath the female’s door. Along one wall, fresh claw marks had cut through the finish.
He reached for the latch, checked it, and let his hand drop.
Elise came alongside him.
“I saw you move back.”
He looked toward the brush.
“I almost spoke.”
“I know.”
She loosened a strap on the nearest screen. He took the other end, and they folded it between them.
Seven months later, Warren carried a field pack instead of a full duty load on the trail to a spring camera. It was his last week in uniform.
The summer rains had taken a section of the access path, leaving a washout that still had not been repaired. Elise crossed first. Warren examined the gap, rejected her line, and picked his way around a lower shelf.
She waited on the far side without reaching for him. When he joined her, she handed him the camera key.
There were several dozen clips on the card. Most showed deer, javelinas, or reeds moving in front of the lens. Warren sat on a broad stone while she loaded the files onto a tablet.
Near the end of the list, she stopped scrolling.
The female entered the frame at dusk.
She looked heavier than she had at release. Fur nearly concealed the collar around her neck. At the spring, she lowered her head and drank. When she turned, the injured paw touched lightly, and the familiar hitch passed through her shoulder.
Warren rested his hands on his knees.
At about seventeen months, her son still traveled with her, though he would soon be old enough to leave. When he finished drinking a little downstream of her, the last light caught the markings along his neck as he faced the camera.
She went south, clearing a fallen limb. He let her finish crossing before taking that same opening out of the frame.
The recording continued over the empty water.
Elise played it again. Warren watched the female’s foot find its place among the stones. He watched the youngster pause before the limb. After they disappeared, he kept watching until the clip ended.
Elise lowered the tablet.
“Shall we?”
He handed it back and stood.
She started up the path. At the washout, she slowed enough to hear which route he chose, and they continued with their footsteps in earshot of each other.
Below them, the spring ran clear over the rocks.