The first tracker fell victim to a broken leg, courtesy of a falling tree limb. An unfortunate accident which would make for a fine story at the inn, assuming the tracker was able to make it to an inn.
The second tracker was less fortunate than the first, and fell into a pit which had been dug specifically for the capture of bears. Even more unfortunately, it was not made for the capture of live bears. It would have seemed strange to an outside observer that such an experienced tracker would have failed to see the signs of a bear trap, but considering how deep in the woods the trap was, there wouldn’t be any outside observers to comment.
The third and final tracker was shot through the eye with a crossbow bolt which—rather impressively, Dabrose thought—pinned him to a tree. It was significantly less subtle than the other two, but the pit had been a right bastard to set up and wasn’t quite as rewarding as he’d hoped, so subtlety could fuck off for once.
The nearest bolthole was five miles west.