Mitchell chuckled drily, and said, “Will you now?”

“Yes. Go back to the truck and trailer and I’ll meet you there when this is through.”

Mitchell rode along.

“I’m not kidding. It’s not a negotiation. I’ll pay you what I promised because you delivered. You got me here and pointed me where I need to go. Like I said, any idiot could follow their trail now that we’re on it.”

“And you’re the idiot?”

Cody said, “Pretty much, goddamn it. I’ve got it covered. Go back to the truck, relax, and I’ll see you tomorrow or whenever.”

“You’re sure?”

He said it in a way that led Cody to believe he might have been thinking the same thing.

“I’m absolutely sure.”

Mitchell conceded, “There is a pretty obvious trail.”

“Yes, there is.”

“An idiot could follow it.”

“Yes.”

“If I get back to the truck, you want me to call the Park Service? Tell them about the dead man?”

Cody hesitated a moment, thinking about the ramifications. He knew the Park Service would respond but probably not quickly. The logistics of ordering up rangers or a helicopter would take hours, and maybe more time than that. He should be on Justin by then. He said, “Yes, call ’em.”

Mitchell seemed to be thinking about it. He said, “You think I’m too old and feeble to finish this job?”

Cody said, “Jesus, no. But I made a promise to your daughter. I want to keep it.”

“Damn her.”

“She’s just looking out for her dad. I’d like to think Justin would someday do the same for me,” he said, wondering if that would ever happen.

Mitchell clicked his tongue and turned his horse around. Cody saw disappointment in his face. As he rode by headed the opposite direction he handed Cody the reins to the packhorse.

“Dally the rope around your saddle horn once and keep it loose,” Mitchell said. “That way, if she gets spooked she won’t take you with her or take you down. But don’t forget she’s there.”

“Okay,” Cody said, taking the rope.

“There’s four days’ worth of food in the panniers and some oats for the horses tonight. Feed them before you feed yourself and hobble them up. Make sure they get to water and brush ’em good. They haven’t been out much.”

“All right.”

“Take care of yourself,” Mitchell said, looking into Cody’s eyes. “And take this,” he said, pulling his.44 Magnum from his holster and handing it over butt first. “For bears.”

“I don’t need-”

“The hell you don’t,” Mitchell said. And rode away.

* * *

Cody was sad to see him go, and more than a little scared being completely and totally alone. Not that he didn’t do his best work by himself, but Bull Mitchell had a sense of confidence and purpose in the wilderness Cody could never match, or try to. It was as if the last of his confidence was riding away. He kept glancing back at the packhorse, willing her to behave. Willing her to pretend he knew what he was doing.

He slid the long barrel of the.44 Magnum beneath his belt on the left side of his body so he could pull it-if necessary-with a sidearm draw. It was heavy and ungainly. But if the wolves came back or a grizzly blocked him on the trail he wouldn’t hesitate to fire. Mitchell’s observation about the many animals who could eat him had resonated.

29

Jed McCarthy led his clients west through dark and close stands of timber broken up by lush mountain meadows humming with insects. The alternate trail they had taken was faint, no more than an unpopular game trail at times, but he was sure he was on the right one and he didn’t dare stop and check his materials because he didn’t want anyone behind him to doubt he knew where he was taking them. Leaders, if they were true leaders, led. They didn’t dither, they didn’t doubt themselves. They led. He’d made that point to Dakota numerous times, back when she chose to listen to him. He didn’t know what her deal was now, which was her loss, not his. And he really didn’t care.

His stomach growled with tension and his hands were cold. He didn’t slow his pace or turn around, but he raised his right hand to his face and used his teeth, one finger at a time, to loosen his leather glove. Then he tucked it between the saddle and his Wranglers. Still looking ahead, he let his bare right hand creep back to the right nylon saddlebag, where his briefcase was. He worked his fingers inside and probed for the handgrip of his weapon, found it, and squeezed. The weight and texture of it reassured him. He was glad it was in easy reach.

They emerged into another grassy meadow and he clucked his tongue and led the mules off the trail over to the side against the wall of trees to make room for the rest of the riders.

When they were gathered he smiled at them because they looked apprehensive and they didn’t know why he’d stopped or what kind of news he might have for them. Dakota squinted at him, trying to guess the reason for the pause, as she rode past the group and over to the side. Everyone dismounted.

* * *

“I’m gettin’ a little concerned about Tony and Drey,” Jed said. “I thought they would have caught back up with us by now. Least I hoped they would.”