(1995) The Oath by Frank Peretti Page B

had said to warrant such punishment, he would not tell us for fear of being attacked again. . . .
    From a letter written by Clara Beth Atkins, Jonathan’s mother, to her sister Claudia Dunsmith of Oak Springs, dated April 12, 1880

FOUR
    HYDE RIVER
    D EPUTY Tracy Ellis parked her patrol car in one of the slots outside the sheriff’s department in West Fork, some pages from her notebook filled with fresh notes and her mind full of ideas. She’d just turned thirty, and although she’d gotten away from Clark County, particularly Hyde Valley, long enough to attend college and the police academy, it hadn’t been long enough to lose the feel, the instinct, she had about this place. She knew the people; she’d grown up with many of them and now patrolled the valley as a deputy. Something was brewing in Hyde River. She was sure of it.
    The Clark County Sheriff’s Department was located in one of West Fork’s vintage stone-and-brick buildings across the street and a few blocks down from the courthouse. On the main floor, just inside the front door, was the front office where the public could talk to whichever deputy was scheduled to man the front counter. Around the corner from the front office was the examining station for driver’s licenses—the same deputy handled that, too. Just behind the front office was the cell block with its three jail cells, a rack of handcuffs handily located on the wall next to the steel door.
    Across the room from the front counter was the office of the county sheriff, Lester B. Collins, a man known and mostly liked for his laid-back practicality. His self-written job description was to keep the peace so people could go about their business without too much commotion. That didn’t mean he always enforced the laws as written, but he did keep the peace, so folks didn’t mind him too much. By now, he’d been reelected so many times he’d become an institution in Clark County.
    At the moment he was well-planted in his chair, reading some arrest reports and playing with a rubber band stretched around his fingers. He was still lean and fit in his early fifties, with a stony face and short-cropped hair that made him look like a marine, which he had never been. No matter. He liked conveying the image of a tough cop, a quality even his deputies were known to debate behind his back.
    His office door was open as it usually was. Tracy knocked on the doorjamb, and he looked up. “Come in and close the door.”
    Tracy followed his order, then sat down, her notebook and case folder in her lap.
    Collins was reading through a report and shared the news. “Phil Garrett got his ear nearly bit off last night. They’ve stitched it back on, but the doctors don’t know if they can save it or not.”
    Tracy wasn’t surprised, but she couldn’t keep herself from smiling at the thought. “Well, at least it can only happen one more time—the ear part. Was it down at the Logger?”
    “Where else? I’ve got a warrant out for—” He looked through the papers on his desk. “Ever hear of Stack Morris?”
    Tracy shook her head.
    Collins was bothered. “Neither have I. I’m not even sure what he looks like—or used to look like before last night.”
    “Phil Garrett won’t be hard to spot from now on.”
    Collins allowed himself a quick chuckle. “Anyway, what’ve you got?”
    Tracy referred to her notes. “A lot of weird pieces that aren’t coming together. I think the bear attack theory’s in trouble, and Steve Benson isn’t comfortable with it either.”
    Collins took that news with some concern. “Why? What’d he say?”
    “The autopsy on 318 was inconclusive.”
    Collins waved that off. “Well, what’d he expect almost two days after the mauling? That doesn’t mean the bear didn’t do it. The coroner seems satisfied.”
    Tracy gave a small sigh. Collins always preferred the easiest road. “Well, I’m not saying I won’t settle for the bear theory, but there are some other matters I’d