If there was one thing Wyatt's years under the badge had given him, it was the sense to know he was being eyeballed even when he couldn't get a fix on where it was coming from.

Casually he moved to rest the heel of his hand on the handle of his knife, which he'd tucked into his strange floating belt, and turned slowly to the trees.

"Well," he drawled at the wall of shifting green. "Come on out then. You've been had, no sense draggin' it out."