His partner was a much larger man with a long, lank ponytail and a weathered face. He smiled as I drew near, displaying gaps that once held teeth. I suspected he?d be the more loquacious of the two.

?Bonjour. Comment #231;a va?? The French equivalent of ?Hi. How are you??

?Bien. Bien.? Simultaneous head nods. Fine. Fine.

I identified myself, asked if they?d reported finding the bones. More nods.

?Tell me about it.? As I spoke I withdrew a small spiral notebook from my backpack, flipped back the cover, and clicked a ballpoint into readiness. I smiled encouragingly.

Ponytail spoke eagerly, his words racing out like children released for recess. He was enjoying the adventure. His French was heavily accented, the words running together and the endings swallowed in the fashion of the upriver Qu #233;becois. I had to listen carefully.

?We were clearing brush, it?s part of our job.? He pointed at overhead power lines, then did a sweep of the ground. ?We must keep the lines clear.?

I nodded.

?When I got down into that trench over there?-he turned and pointed in the direction of a wooded area running the length of the property-?I smelled something funny.? He stopped, his eyes locked in the direction of the trees, arm extended, index finger piercing the air.

?Funny??

He turned back. ?Well, not exactly funny.? He paused, sucking in his lower lip as he searched his personal lexicon for the right word. ?Dead,? he said. ?You know, dead??

I waited for him to go on.

?You know, like an animal that crawls in somewhere and dies?? He gave a slight shrug of the shoulders as he said it, then looked at me for confirmation. I did know. I?m on a first-name basis with the odor of death. I nodded again.