The fuel needle danced dangerously low. He parked his motorbike near a clump of sage, his weary bones groaning in the increasing chill. The detour to avoid the police check-post had cost him. But his treasure was safe. He felt the rucksack for the spoils of the hunt; two freshly skinned pelts of the snow leopard. He had stalked them patiently. Once trapped, he had bashed their skulls in, careful to leave the beautiful skin intact. They would fetch good money. But right now he