A Close One, Then Again, and Still, One More

A week plus ago a fellow lost his main parachute somewhere out here. Weather is coming and if Tom doesn't find it today, it's unlikely that if found, it will be useful. High up on the Anti-Cline, with full view of the area, it's not here. It's an hour and a half back to the lodge. In route, Tom finds Big Horn tracks cutting down a steep cliff. Tom decides if he can follow, he'll save an hour hike. A third of the way down he has to make a 10 foot jump onto a ledge, another third, another long jump, and finally making it to the bottom, a small five foot jump. As he lands, relieved he made it, he hears the too familiar rattle of the Faded Midget. Where is it, which way to move? In this alcove the rattle is loud, intense, and close. If he stays, he's bit, if he moves the wrong way, bit. He thinks it's behind him and moves forward. Returning 30 minutes later with a stick and bag to catch, it is gone.