valley, it  is  generally   believed    that    if  a   tiger   has decided to  attack  you,
you will    not be  able    to  see it. With    the exception   of  the polar   bear,   which
also     hunts   by  stealth,    there   is  no  other   land    mammal  this    big     whose
survival    depends on  its ability to  disappear.
Yuri    Trush   appreciated and respected   these   qualities   in  the tiger.  While
investigating   the site    of  the Markov  attack, and while   writing his report
that    weekend,    he  had made    a   sincere effort  to  understand  this    animal—to
place    himself     inside  the     tiger’s     umwelt  and     imagine     his     world   as  it
pertained   to  Markov  and those   around  him.    He  did the same    with    Markov,
working hard    to  reconstruct both    his umwelt  and his last    days.   Trush   is
generally   cautious    and disciplined in  his thinking    and,    when    he  is  not
sure,    or  just    guessing,   he  is  not     afraid  to  say     so.     However,    on  one
particular  point,  he  was unequivocal:    “I  am  one hundred percent sure,”  he
said,   “that   Markov  shot    at  the tiger   from    the caravan at  close   range.”
It  would   have    looked  something   like    this:   on  December    1   or  2,  a   day or
two before  his death,  Markov  went    out hunting with    his dogs.   He  could
have    been    alone   or  with    Andrei  Onofreychuk;    the possibility of  other
people  being   present as  well    is  not out of  the question.   The dogs    would
have    been    running up  ahead,  searching   for a   scent   trail,  and may well
have     been    following   one     when    they    came    upon    a   freshly     killed  boar.
Markov  is  in  hunting mode,   so  he  is  traveling   with    a   gun,    a   rucksack,   and
perhaps a   hatchet.    When    he  catches up  to  the dogs,   he  sees    the boar,   and it
is  obvious that    it  has been    killed  by  a   tiger.  He  looks   around, takes   note    of
the dogs’   behavior,   and decides the coast   is  clear.  He  can’t   take    the whole
carcass,    and he  knows   better  than    to  do  so, but he  takes   a   haunch—maybe
two,    if  he  can carry   that    much.   Then    he  hurries back    to  his cabin,  feeling
lucky:  in  the Panchelaza, this    windfall    was more    fungible    than    mid-1990s
rubles.  Upon    his     return,     Markov  stores  a   portion     of  the     meat    in  the
beehive wellhead,   which   doubles as  a   food    cache   and is  a   safe    distance
from    his cabin.  Then    he  packs   the rest    of  it  down    to  the road    workers’
