“Is there any food in there?” Kevin asked.
“They could see us cross if we move now. For the girl’s sake, I don’t think it’s worth it. We’ll sit here a minute and let them all get over the top. Then we’ll provision in the lodge. I have a hunting rifle up in my room they won’t have found. It’s a beautiful gun and will outshoot anything they brought with them.”
Kevin felt the hairs on his arms stand up. There was a tone to the cowboy’s voice that said any possibility of forgiveness was gone. Whatever it took, he was going to free Summer. He’d kill them, if necessary. Kevin understood he was now party to that. They were going to hunt these men down.
John sensed Kevin’s reluctance.
“You don’t have to come along,” he said. “You’ve more than earned your keep, son. You’ve done good. I can handle this last part on my own. They’re in my country. This is my ranch-or that’s how I feel about it-and they’re about to learn what it means to do what they’ve done. You saved my life. I will get your friend back for you.”
“I’m coming,” Kevin said.
The cowboy smiled.
“How did I know that? But you and me, we have an understanding. I’m in charge. You do what I say. Exactly! And if it comes to killing, I’ll be the one doing it. It’s not falling to you, boy.”
“I want her back,” Kevin said.
“I know that. But you’re going to have a life after this. I’m not leaving you with memories you can never shake.”
“You make it sound as if you’ve done this before.”
John wouldn’t meet his eyes.
“Some men,” he said, “live in isolation because they enjoy it. Others, because they deserve it.”
The cowboy leaned back against a tree trunk and closed his eyes.
“Ten minutes,” he said, “and they’ll be over the top.”
Sometime later-it felt like half an hour or more-the cowboy was in dry clothes and wearing a pair of lace-up boots. Army boots, Kevin thought. Both he and John wore backpacks, and John carried a military-looking rifle over his shoulder. He offered Kevin a nickel-plated snub-nosed.38 revolver. Six shots in it, and a box of rounds for his pocket. John showed him how to reload it, and he warned him not to use it unless his life depended on it. “Not hers, not mine, just yours,” he’d emphasized. And Kevin had agreed.
Amid chirping squirrels and singing birds, they jogged up the narrow path to the top of the canyon wall north of the airstrip. Here, as the path continued, there were amazing views to the right of the river sixty feet below and of the forest to the left.
The cowboy ran effortlessly in the high-altitude air, unencumbered by incline or load. Kevin labored to keep up. The older man had come alive, either because Kevin rescued him or he wanted to settle with the hijackers. One thing was clear: he wasn’t going to wait for Kevin. He was on his own mission.
It was only a matter of minutes before they reached the zip line spanning the canyon walls. It was antiquated, with a galvanized-steel tower on either side supporting a thick cable from which hung an improvised chair. Two ropes were attached to the chair, one allowing the passenger to pull himself across, the other allowing the chair to be pulled back to the other side.
As planned, Kevin went first. The chair sagged, feeling feeble and dangerous. He tried not to look down as he pulled on the rope across. The cowboy pulled the chair back and followed.
Another ten minutes gone.
Until that moment, Kevin hadn’t realized how tired he was. He felt like he couldn’t move.
“You said there’s an ATV, right?” he said.
“There is,” said the cowboy, “but there’s no trail between here and Morgan Creek, so it’s no use to us. We’ll go on foot. Don’t drop behind. If you do lose me, just hold to the river as best as you can and you’ll eventually reach the zip line about three miles upstream.”
Kevin eyed the cowboy. How dare the old man suggest he might actually fall so far behind that he’d need directions.
Just then, John took off running and quickly disappeared into the woods.
82
Ten minutes after they had separated, Walt heard a horse coming up behind him and knew who it was without looking. The horses were lathered and exhaling steam by the time Walt picked up the rarely used trail. He climbed off his horse then and studied the condition of both the dry, dusty soil and the nearby vegetation. Jerry had passed the packhorse off to Brandon in order to catch up with his son.
Walt hadn’t yet told his father about the call about Sumner’s confession. He kept that in his back pocket.
Jerry had seen his son work his tracking magic before. For once, he withheld the usual cynical comments that perhaps really concealed his pride. Walt had few equals, if any, on the trail.
“It’s the same tire tracks we saw back at the creek,” Walt said.
“Okay…”
Jerry clearly hadn’t seen any tire tracks back at the creek.
“Three weeks, maybe four. The most recent tracks are headed for the river.” Walt, kneeling on one knee, looked that direction. “They don’t float in their supplies, it’s too much work. We should have thought of that.” Excitement in his voice, he added, “The dash on the map, it is man-made. It’s a cable crossing.”
As they reached the zip line a quarter of a mile later, Jerry failed to acknowledge Walt’s expertise.
“That’s Mitchum’s Ranch on the other side, isn’t it?” Jerry said it like he’d expected it. He consulted the map. “There’s two others south of here. Now, here’s what we’re going to do,” Jerry said, interrupting himself. “Tell Brandon to do an about-face and get his butt over here. He can leave the packhorse behind. We won’t be needing any of that river stuff, and if we need food, we’ll get it at the ranch. We’ll go across first and establish the perimeter, which means… What?”
Walt was back down on one knee again, shining a flashlight into the half inch of pale dust at the end of the zip line.
“The chair’s on this side,” Walt said.
“So?”
“Let me see the soles of your boots.”
Jerry obliged, balancing against a metal tower.
“Two people…” Walt said, training the flashlight toward the woods. “You see this pickling of the surface? A rain shower. These tracks are recent, the past day or so. One’s big, wearing combat boots. The other’s a kid, Dad, a running shoe, size eight, eight and a half. Any guesses who that might be?”
“If you’re trying to stop me from going over there, forget it.”
“The chair is on this side,” Walt repeated. He walked carefully to the nearby trees and studied the ground in the glare of the flashlight. “The bigger guy took off at a run.” He touched several spots. “These are fresh, incredibly fresh.”
“Why is it you don’t want to cross, don’t want to get this thing over with? Are you holding out some kind of hope that the Bureau takes this off your hands? Is that what’s going on here?”
“Yeah, that’s what’s going on here. That’s why I turned off my phone, abandoned my team. Why I’m looking at a recall vote if this all goes south.” He pointed to the tracks. “Size eight and a half, maybe nine. It’s Kevin. That’s why the chair is on this side of the river: Kevin crossed over with one of the hijackers. Not the girl. There’s only one set of running-shoe tracks. The combat boots took off at a run. Kevin’s at a walk. So maybe Kevin escaped, came across alone and was followed.”
“Let’s cross to the ranch, look around, find out what we can find out.”
“And we waste maybe an hour doing it,” Walt said. He pointed toward the woods. “Kevin went that way.”
“A hunch, that’s all it is.”
“No, an educated guess… Big difference.”