She bolted up the trail, running for at least twenty minutes before she looked over her shoulder and saw no one. The man had given up. She slowed to a jog. Now that she was safe, her only thought was to help Zane.
Aware that another pursuer might be lying in wait, she stumbled toward where she’d seen the young men drag Zane. There were at least three men, two that had taken Zane and one who had come after her. Even if one of them had been the shooter, what about the other men and boys they’d seen? Just how many people were after them? With each turn in the trail, she feared she’d be caught in another violent encounter.
But after wandering for what seemed like ages, she was less worried about a confrontation and more worried about never finding anyone at all. All the trees along the trail looked the same. If she could find the log that had fallen across the trail, she might be able to figure out where Zane had been taken. But she did not know these woods. Zane was the navigator.
A heaviness descended on her. Zane could be miles from here by now, or worse...he could be dead. Her stomach knotted at the thought. She wiped it from her mind. Giving in to fear would only make things harder.
She pushed off the tree and jogged out to the path. If she worked her way back to the clearing where Zane’s mule was shot, she might be able to retrace her steps to where Zane had been taken.
As she followed the trail, she fought against the images that threatened to make her shut down. Pictures of Zane shot and left for dead played through her mind.
She stumbled into the clearing where the dead mule still lay. Her stomach roiled at the sight, and she thought she might vomit. She whirled away, but not before she noticed that the saddlebags and Zane’s rifle had been taken.
Turning in a half circle, she wondered if she was being watched. Her own intense heartbeat drummed in her ears.
At least from here, she thought she could find her way back to the fallen log. The memory of fleeing after the shots were fired was blurred by trauma. All the same, she took off in the general direction she remembered going. She’d gone only a short distance when she heard a crashing noise to the side of her. Scrambling to find cover, she slipped behind a tree. Heather pressed her back against the rough bark as her heart thudded at breakneck pace.
She held her breath. The noise of someone moving toward her intensified. Her muscles tensed. The forest fell silent. She waited. Then she heard a familiar clomp clomp clomp.
Heather almost laughed as she raised her head. Clarence stood on the path. He jerked his head at her. The metal on his bridle jangled.
“Hello, old friend.” She rose to her feet. The saddlebags were askew, but still intact. She opened one and took out the little wooden box that contained her father’s ashes. She placed it in the inside pocket of her coat where it pressed against her stomach so she could feel that it was safe. She had been only a short time away from closing this chapter of her life. So much had changed so quickly. Tears welled up. Why had her father wanted her to come back to Montana anyway? She wiped her eyes.
Come on, Heather, pull it together.
Her eyes were drawn to a bloody gash on Clarence’s neck. The mule sidestepped when she placed her hand near the injury. She couldn’t discern the cause of the wound. It could be a bullet had grazed him, or maybe he’d scraped it on some brush. She straightened the saddlebags and placed her foot in the stirrup. Heather rode a short way when she saw smoke rising off in the distance. A camp.
She spurred Clarence to go faster.
Once they’d gotten close, she slipped off Clarence’s back. It could be another hunters’ camp doing some scouting or it could be where Zane was being held. Or the men who had been after them might be there without Zane. It could be a chance for help or she could be stepping into danger. Either way, she had to find out.
She let the reins fall to the ground, opting not to tie Clarence up. At least if she did not come back, the mule would be able to find his way back to civilization. And not coming back was a high probability.
She pressed her boots lightly on the crunchy snow, moving toward the rising smoke. Before she even arrived at the camp, she heard voices. Though she couldn’t discern the words, it was clear a heated discussion was taking place. She slowed her pace even more, choosing where she stepped carefully. The scent of wood smoke filled the air. The argument stopped and the voices fell silent.
Flashes of color and movement caught her attention. She sank to the ground to take in the scene. Though the trees obscured some of her view, she caught a glimpse of a young man pacing, the hue of his greasy light blue coat distinctive enough to separate him from the forest colors.
Her throat constricted with fear. She recognized him as one of the men who had taken Zane. And there was another boy there, too, though she couldn’t see him—she just heard the sound of his voice, mingled with the static of a radio transmitting.
The young man in the blue coat was clearly distressed, hunched, moving in an erratic pattern and slapping his forehead with his hands. She shifted her position, hoping to spot Zane.
Bluecoat tossed another log on the fire and stood close to it. At first, she thought the man had on red gloves, but then she saw that his hands were red from the cold. His tennis shoes probably didn’t do much to keep the autumn chill out either.
Bluecoat turned and spoke to a spot that was just outside of Heather’s field of vision. “What did he say?”
The other boy replied. “He doesn’t trust us to bring him in. He’s sending Mason and Long to come and get him. He’s mad we didn’t get the girl.”
Heather breathed a sigh of relief. They had to be talking about Zane. And from what they’d said, it sounded as if Zane was still alive. And even better, it looked like there were only two young men guarding him for now. The third one, the one who had chased her, must have taken off.
Bluecoat threw up his hands. “Oh, sure, and then they get all the credit. While we have to go back out on patrol.”
“You know what Willis says. You gotta earn it.” The second kid stepped closer to the fire. He was taller than Bluecoat, though just as ragged looking in a tattered brown parka and worn combat boots. At least he had some gloves. Heather guessed he might be eighteen or nineteen years old. “They’ll be down here in seven to ten minutes.”
Heather moved in a little closer. Her foot cracked a twig. Both boys stiffened, stepped away from the fire and glanced around nervously.
Though she was in an uncomfortable position, she tucked her arms close to her body and didn’t move. Her heart beat so loudly, she was afraid it would give her away. Her front foot strained to maintain balance.
Both boys skirted the camp, searching the area before returning to the fire.
Heather exhaled. She waited until they started talking again before she crept in a circle around their camp trying to find Zane. She hurried from tree to tree to remain hidden.
“How long before they get here?” Bluecoat stepped even closer to the fire.
“A few minutes. I told you that. They’re coming on the ATVs to haul him up,” said Browncoat.
Both young men had handguns in holsters fastened to their belts. She recognized Zane’s pistol on the second man. She edged a little closer, finally spotting Zane far from the fire. The pillowcase was still on his head. His hands were tied behind his back. He wasn’t slumped over, which she hoped meant that he was conscious.
She moved farther away from the center of the camp and then circled around to where Zane was. The rumble of the ATVs filled the air. Still some distance away, but she knew she didn’t have much time.
She scooted through the evergreens until she was lined up with the tree where Zane was tied. Each time she took a step forward, she waited until the conversation intensified