The river cut the land clean.
Cold water. Fast enough to matter. Shallow enough to lie about.
Cole slowed the mule on the rise above it and watched.
Two people stood at the crossing.
A man past his strength but not past his habits. Shoulders set like he'd carried weight most of his life. Beard gone gray in patches, hands scarred the way tools left them when you didn't own gloves long enough to care.
A young woman beside him. Not a girl. Old enough to know better. Young enough to still hope the world might bend if you asked it right. Rifle slung but not cradled. Alert, but not hunting.
They weren't hiding.
That mattered.
Cole stayed mounted. Let the mule pick its way down until the water whispered around its hooves.
Dusty moved ahead, sniffed the bank, then sat. Watched the pair with flat eyes.
The man lifted a hand. Open palm. Empty.
"Afternoon," he said.
Cole nodded once.
The woman's eyes tracked the hide first. Then the head. She didn't flinch. Just recalculated.
The man swallowed. Looked back at Cole.
"That bear?" he asked.
"Was," Cole said.
The man nodded like he'd expected that answer.
They stood there a moment with the river doing the talking for them.
The woman broke first. "You looking to move it?"
Cole didn't answer right away. He studied them. The way the man stood slightly forward. The way the woman watched Dusty more than him.
"Depends," Cole said.
She glanced at the man. He gave a small shrug.
"We've got food," the man said. "Jerky. Dried berries. Clean. No mold."
Cole's eyes stayed on the river.
"How much."
The man hesitated. "A day. Maybe two."
Cole considered. A day's food meant movement. Meant not having to hunt where he didn't want to stop.
"Alright," he said.
The woman blinked. "Alright?"
"That's what I said."
The man reached for his pack.
Then stopped.
The woman put a hand on his arm. Leaned close. Whispered something Cole didn't catch.
The man's face tightened. Then he sighed.
"We'd do more," he said. "If you want it."
Cole finally looked at him.
"How much more."
"A month," the man said quietly.
The river seemed to slow.
Dusty's ears twitched.
Cole felt it then—not pressure. Not text.
Attention.
He kept his face still.
"A month's food for a hide," Cole said.
"And the head," the woman added.
The man nodded. "And the head."
Cole studied them again.
They weren't desperate.
That worried him.
"Why," Cole asked.
The woman met his eyes. Didn't look away.
"Because that thing you killed," she said, "wasn't sick."
The man exhaled slow. "It was made."
Cole felt the Ace shift cold under his coat. Not warning. Recognition.
"A month's food is a lot," Cole said.
The man shrugged. "So is surviving winter."
Silence stretched.
Cole could walk away. Keep the hide. Keep the questions.
But food was weight too. And movement burned calories faster than bullets.
"Alright," he said again. "A month."
The woman moved first this time. Efficient. No ceremony. She opened packs, laid things out on a flat stone. Strips of meat wrapped in waxed cloth. Berries dark and shriveled, but clean. No rot. No chemical tang.
Good work.
The man took the hide without flinching. Grunted at the weight. His hands traced one of the warped symbols without meaning to.
He stopped himself.
"Where you headed," he asked.
Cole adjusted the mule's load. "East."
Both of them went still.
The woman nodded once. "Figures."
They finished the exchange without shaking hands.
Cole tied the food down, checked the knots, then swung up into the saddle.
As he turned to go, the man spoke again.
"Ranger."
Cole paused.
The man hesitated. Chose his words careful.
"If someone asks you about the bear," he said, "you didn't meet us."
Cole didn't turn around.
"Wasn't planning to."
He nudged the mule forward and crossed the river.
The water was cold enough to bite.
On the far bank, Dusty shook himself and waited.
Cole rode on.
Didn't look back.
But the question followed him.
A month's food.
For something he'd thought was just weight.
The House didn't comment.
That bothered him most of all.