site immediately and the tigress charged them as well. After wounding
her, the inspectors tracked her, only to find she had doubled back and set
up an ambush. This is where they found her, poised to attack, covered in a
light dusting of snow. She had died waiting for them.
Trush was concerned that the Panchelaza tiger might be waiting for him,
too. The tiger knew Trush and some of his men “personally” now, and,
collectively, the team smelled of weapons, cigarettes, and dogs just as
Markov and Pochepnya had. It also seemed that his wounds were healing;
Trush noted less blood in the tracks on the Takhalo than he had observed
at Markov’s. At the same time, the right forepaw was still dragging in the
snow: the bleeding may have stopped, but the damage was done.
Sometime before noon on the previous day—the 15th—the tiger had
crossed back over the Takhalo by Tsepalev’s shelter and ascended a
steep, rocky bluff covered in ice and snow. There were easier routes
available, but the tiger chose not to use them. For a person, this would
have been a hand-over-hand scramble. The shortest day of the year was
less than a week away so night fell early, and, after following the trail for
several hundred yards, the men turned back. But they had the information
they needed. There is no easier trail to follow than fresh tracks in fresh
snow, and now, Trush had the permit, the manpower, and the motive. It
was no longer a question of if, just a question of when.
- In order to save on paper and postage, nineteenth-century
correspondents would fill a page, turn it ninety degrees, and continue,
thus crossing one line of text with another.