From "THE LAST JAGUAR"-- "Finally, after riding through the rain for nearly three hours, John Bowden pulled up. On their right, below them, the stream had swollen to more than twice its normal size. Bowden pointed ahead and slightly above them. Through the trees, Tom could just make out a portion of the slope of a roof. He nodded vigorously and the three men moved for-ward. When they were fifty feet from the structure they stopped again. Lightning flashed. Tom looked at Bowden. "What's wrong?" he yelled. "Something's not right." Bowden returned. "Someone's living here-or was until recently. Look at the woodpile and the yard. This place has been kept up!" He was right. Brush and grass had been recently cut back from around the house. Wood stacked neatly alongside the house had not yet been darkened by weather. The axe was not in sight. A window along one side of the cabin showed no sign of neglect. Curtains hung there, but no light came from the win-dow. No smoke came from the chimney. The door was ajar. One of the hinges was broken. Slowly, the men walked their horses through the rain. Lightning flashed again. The eerie feeling Tom had the night before came back to him. He shivered-not only from the wet and cold, but also from something unknown. Ten paces from the front porch, they stopped again. Bowden looked at Jesus. The Mexican nodded back. Taking his rifle from its scabbard, he got off his horse and walked to the house. The first thing Jesus noticed was the buzzing of dozens of flies. Then he stepped onto the porch and the death-smell struck him. Pushing the broken door open with his rifle barrel, he peered inside. A moment later, gagging, he backed off the porch, his hand covering his nose and mouth. "Mother of God!" he choked. "Amigos, it is bad." He swallowed hard. "It is much bad!" Tom glanced at John Bowden. "Jaguar?" he asked Jesus. "No, Senor Tom. It is not El Tigre." Together, Tom Allison and John Bowden dismounted. Handing their reins to Jesus, they moved forward. Bowden pulled a handkerchief from his coat, motioning for Tom to do the same. The door was open; the way Jesus had left it. Inside, flies swarmed about. Even with their noses and mouths covered, the stench was almost too much for the two men. The cabin had only one room. To the right of the door, under a crude table that was yet covered with a tablecloth, the body of a man lay in a heap. Covered in blood and gore, it looked as though the man's head had been split with an axe. Blood had pooled around him, then seeped through the floor-boards of the cabin, leaving a rusty stain. He had been the lucky one..." It's 1858--and the Sierra mining towns of Grass Valley and Nevada City are booming with gold. Ranchers Tom Allison and John Bowden have a BIG problem--an enormous cat has begun to ravage their herds. The two men organize a hunt. but the hunt is cut short when they stumble onto a horrific scene of torture, rape and murder. The only clue left behind is a half-print of a moccasin, but that half-print is larger than any normal footprint. Lorelei Crane, a young woman who works at the Morehouse Café in Grass Valley, has encountered the cat and has no fear of it. Warned of the clear danger it represents, she cannot resist the temptation to go back into the woods to see it again, ignoring the fact that a vicious killer is also in the area. When a young miner named Sean Palin sees her alone in the woods, he becomes furious with her and sparks fly... Meanwhile, after five years of struggle, the Palin family--Richard, Anne and their two sons, Sean and Lyle--have found gold. Keeping that gold and getting it safely into town will be another matter entirely, for men are out to take it from them--and murder is just part of a day's work for them.
About the Author: Bruce Bradley made the decision to become a writer at age nine, while living in a half-finished house, thirty-five miles out of Fairbanks, Alaska. At a young age he formed a list of jobs that he thought would help to make him a better writer. Over the years he has been, by turns a Cook, Salesman, Reporter, Photographer, Private Investigator, Taxi Driver, Bartender-and a number of other things as well. With all that, he still managed to log more than thirty years in winemaking, with half of that as either Assistant Winemaker or Winemaker. His wines have won consistent Gold and Double-Gold Medals, Best of Class and scores in the mid-nineties. His first book "Hugh Glass" was published in 1999.