“I’m the old dude and this is the kid.”
He squinted at Patrick, then Perry. “Whoa, yeah. I remember you now. Sorry.”
“When did you say you gave it to her?”
The stocking cap man was wringing his hands, then rubbing them together, then wringing them again. “Like, this morning. Pretty early.”
“Why?”
“Why what, man?”
“Why did you go to her camp?”
His dad sounded like a cop. Perry sat up straighter in his saddle.
“We didn’t, like, go there. We were driving by on our way here and she was outside. She liked the picture.” His voice was defensive, and his hand-rubbing grew faster.
“Was anyone else with her?”
The bandanna guy cut in again. “Just a couple of horses. If you count them, which we do.”
The two men grinned at each other.
“What have you been taking, gentlemen?” Patrick’s voice cracked with authority.
The bandanna man stepped back. “Whaaat?”
“Drugs. What drugs are you taking?”
Perry’s jaw dropped. His dad thought these men were on drugs? His mom had told him only bad people did drugs, and that the worst of all were drug dealers. His pulse pounded in his throat. Were they drug dealers?
The stocking-cap man’s face cracked into a smile. “You can get speed from the dudes from California in the silver trailer back by Ranger Creek, man. Cheap.” He frowned. “Except I think they’re gone. We’re running low and were going to restock, but they weren’t there when we drove through.”
“They were selling speed there?”
“Making it, too. Great shit, man.”
“What time was it when you noticed they were gone?”
He laughed. “Don’t be so intense, man. Relax.”
Patrick cocked his pistol but didn’t raise it. “My daughter is missing. You have no idea how intense that makes me.”
Four hands lifted in the air. Two heads dipped.
The stocking-cap man shrank back. “Dad, you handle this.”
Dad? Perry couldn’t believe a father and son would do drugs together. It was so wrong.
The father—bandanna guy—said, “Uh, missing what?”
“Missing. Gone. Disappeared. We’re trying to find her.”
“Shit, man. We didn’t know. That sucks.”
“Yes, it does.”
“Sorry.” His brows collapsed in on each other, drawing a straight line above his eyes. “What was the question?”
Patrick spoke through clenched teeth. “What time did you notice the silver trailer was gone?”
“Oh, maybe around noon. After we gave that picture to your daughter.”
Patrick gestured at the woods where the men had appeared with their dirt bikes. “What were you doing back there?”
“We were going to take a siesta. After the, uh, last round of speed wore off, we were pretty beat. But since the spot is already taken, we just took a leak instead.” He grinned.
“Was anyone else back there?”
“Nah, just a truck and trailer way back in the trees.” He laughed. “Like, how they got them in there is a mystery.”
Patrick holstered his gun. “If you see that girl again, her name is Trish Flint. Let the Forest Service know immediately.”
“Okay. And if I were you, I’d be looking for that silver trailer.”
Patrick walked back to Reno. He took the reins from Perry and handed him the picture. “And that stuff is bad for you. I’d lay off of it.”
The stocking cap guy laughed. “Says who?”
“Says me. I’m a doctor, and we’ve had way too many people in the emergency room lately coming down from it.”
The father didn’t look convinced. “Okay. Listen, we’ve got to boogie. Find a place to catch a little shut-eye. I hope you find her.”
Patrick didn’t answer. He just watched the two men drive out toward Red Grade. Patrick and Perry didn’t speak to each other until the sounds of the dirt bikes were faint and distant, but Patrick’s lips were moving the whole time.
Perry said, “Well, at least Trish was here.”
Patrick nodded. “But there’s no one here now. Let me just go check to be sure it’s our truck back there. Give me two minutes.”
“Do you want the picture back?” Perry still had it in his hand.
“Stick it in your pocket. We need to keep it.”
Perry lifted his slicker and stuffed the picture in his jeans pocket. It didn’t fit very good and folded where his hip and leg met up. His hand felt slick. He wiped it on his jeans. It didn’t help much since they were damp, too.
Patrick mounted and rode Reno into the trees. Perry didn’t want to ride out to Red Grade alone, and he silently urged his dad to hurry. He started measuring seconds like his mom had taught him. One one thousand. Two one thousand. Three one thousand. Four one thousand. His dad was back before he reached one minute.
Patrick was nodding. “It’s ours. And no one is there.”
“Where do you think they went?”
“Let’s see if we can figure it out. Starting from where Trish left the picture.” Patrick paced back and forth, his head tilted as he examined the ground. “Lots of hoofprints.” He walked to the right then the left, then faced hulking Dome Mountain, which Perry could see now that his eyes had adjusted. “I think they went this way.” He crossed the road, his steps slow and careful, and his full attention on the hoofprints. “This is definitely the trail. But it isn’t going to be easy, son.”
“Why?”
“I think they’re headed up into Cloud Peak Wilderness.” Patrick pointed to the right of Dome Mountain.
Perry bit the inside of his lip. He was tired, he was thirsty, he was hungry and sleepy, and he needed to pee. Duke probably felt the same way. All except for the peeing part, because he could go anytime he wanted to. Horses were luckier than boys in some ways, but then again, they had to carry people and gear on their backs and boys didn’t. Perry didn’t mind short hikes or rides, but this would be way more than that. And there were no beds, food, or bathrooms up there.
Patrick was already in the saddle. Perry decided to hold it until their next stop, since he couldn’t get on Duke by himself. His dad made him practice holding it all the time, anyway. On road trips, Patrick wouldn’t stop except when they needed gas. He carried a mason jar which he’d offer to anyone in the family who asked for extra stops. Perry had used it once, but Trish and his mom never had. His dad could be kind of a hard-ass. One time he’d refused to pull over for his mom until she started crying. Come to think of it, when they’d gotten home, that was one of the times she’d thrown a coffee mug at him. It had missed his dad and shattered against the wall. “Look at your mother throwing a temper tantrum,” he had said to Trish and Perry. She’d thrown another cup, which only missed his head by a hair, then had grabbed the keys and driven to her friend Vangie’s house. The next day, a delivery van pulled up at their house with a dozen yellow roses for his mom. Perry had snuck and read the card. I promise we can stop whenever you need to, for the rest of our lives. I love you. Patrick.
Perry decided he could tough it out. Whatever or whoever came their way. Trish needed them, and he was no baby.
He touched his pocket, where he’d stashed the moose picture, and tried to push the two dirt-bike guys from his mind. “No problem, Dad.”
Chapter Thirty: Pursue
Big Goose Ranger Station, Bighorn National Forest, Wyoming
September 20, 1976, 10:30 p.m.
Susanne
Ronnie put the truck in reverse as soon as Susanne opened the door. Susanne had to jump and pull herself in to keep from being dumped back out and left behind.
She used both hands to wrestle the door closed. “Hey, what’s going on?”
Ronnie glanced in her side-view mirrors and frowned. “I thought you wanted the search to start tonight.”
The truck whirled around to face the other dir
ection so fast it reminded Susanne of the teacup ride at Disneyland. She and Patrick had taken the kids there last year to break up the harsh Wyoming winter. Southern California experienced record low temperatures and rain the whole time they were there—so much so that they slept four-in-the-bed under all of the blankets in their unheated beach bungalow—but they by-golly rode every ride anyway. The spinning teacups had made Trish motion sick.
“I do,” Susanne said.
The truck heaved forward with the trailer and horses, gathering speed quickly. Susanne caught one last glimpse of the blurry humps of the ranger station. Ronnie didn’t slow down for the cattle guard, and the truck jittered to the side and almost went airborne. She turned north on Red Grade, accelerating. Gravel shot from under the back tires. Susanne heard it ping against the trailer, which was pulling on the truck as it fishtailed.
“Sorry, horses,” Ronnie muttered. The truck found traction and the trailer stabilized. To Susanne, she said, “Well, if you want us to search tonight, we’ve got to get moving.”
“Us?”
“See anyone else in the truck I could be talking to?”
“But what about the search party? The plan?”
“Let’s leave that to the Forest Service and the counties with jurisdiction here. I’ve got a lifetime of experience in these mountains, two good horses, and you, the expert on your family. We’ll start tonight.”
Susanne felt a lightness in her chest. “Thank you.”
The truck and trailer rattled and skittered over the washboards in the road. Ronnie seemed to have the route memorized. In the pitch dark, she raced up the straightaways and anticipated the turns just enough to careen around them.
Susanne steadied herself with her feet on the floor and hands on the dash and door. “You’re going to kill us. Or the horses.”
“I’m going to catch up to your husband and son.”
“But we don’t know where they are.”
“We know he went north on Red Grade. On horseback. Following your daughter in your truck pulling your trailer.”
“True.”
“And we know their trail starts at Forest Road 312. We’re almost there now. I’ll stop and get a good look at the ground.”
“The ground?”
“Yep. Tracking in the dark isn’t easy, but it’s not impossible.”
“I didn’t know you were a tracker.”
“I’m a little of everything. I grew up on a ranch, fishing, hunting, and trailing cows. And I’ve had training since I started up with the county. I can track good enough.” Ronnie pulled the truck over in front of a forest road sign with the number 312 on it. She positioned her lights across the road where it T-ed into Red Grade.
She got out, then leaned back in. “The fewer footprints the better. Could you stay inside?”
“That’s fine.”
Ronnie used a flashlight to study the ground. She traipsed about one hundred feet past the intersection, then doubled back. Susanne bounced her knee. The windshield wipers were off because the rain had stopped, but she noticed damp spots on the glass. She leaned toward the dash to get a closer look. Fat snowflakes were wafting into the beams of the headlights. She wrapped her arms around herself. Patrick. Perry. Trish. In this weather. Soon she’d be out with Ronnie, riding in this, too. She shivered.
Ronnie hopped back in the truck. “Patrick’s on that big-ass horse of his with hooves the size of dinner plates. Perry’s horse wears toe-clip shoes. Lotta tire tracks, but I actually noticed something the other day at your place. Your truck has different tires on the two front wheels. Hence, different treads. It’s definitely one of the sets I saw. Piece of cake.” She threw the truck into gear, and they shot forward.
“In the dark?”
Ronnie pointed ahead of them. “We have headlights. We’ll do fine as long as nothing comes along to mess up our trail.”
The truck’s lights illuminated a tiny cone in front of them, with the night pressing in hard from all around it. The snow was light and intermittent, but not sticking. Yet. That’s good. But they were driving on the left.
Susanne said, “You’re driving on the wrong side of the road.”
Ronnie nodded. “Their prints are on right. I’m not going to be the jackass that messes up the trail for the rest of the search party.”
Neither woman spoke again, and as fast as Ronnie drove, it still felt to Susanne like they were frozen in time, making no progress. Around every corner, she braced herself for mayhem. An overturned truck and trailer. A man with his arm around her daughter’s neck, with a gun to her head. Her husband and son, shot and left for dead. It got to the point where she dreaded every new straightaway. Forget the teacups. This was like the Runaway Mine Train rollercoaster at Six Flags Over Texas. She’d vowed never to ride it again after her first time, but it seemed like every year they lived in Irving one or both of the kids would go on an excursion that needed a chaperone. She somehow always ended up the sucker that signed up for heart-stopping dips, neck-jarring turns, and plunges into darkness.
Now here she was, doing it one better, in the dark with no rails.
After about thirty white-knuckled minutes, Ronnie slammed on the brakes.
Susanne put her arms out too late and crashed into the dashboard. “What is it?”
Ronnie put the truck in reverse and backed up twenty yards. “Something happened here.”
“What do you mean?”
“The horses. Wait here.” Ronnie jumped out of the truck and slammed the door. She lifted her flashlight to her shoulder overhand and examined the tracks. The floating snow was spooky in the headlights and flashlight beam.
“Okay,” Susanne said in the suddenly empty truck.
Her worries about her family intensified with each moment alone in the truck, until she felt like a powder keg. She wished she understood tracks and that she knew what Ronnie had seen and what that meant. Zoning out as she recycled on her fears, she lost track of time. A light in her eyes blinded her. Startled, she looked up. Ronnie was stalking back to the truck, hunched against the cold. She switched the beam off and got in.
“Are they okay? Where are they?” Susanne demanded.
Ronnie wiped melted flakes off her face, then shook her hand. “I can’t answer those questions. But I can tell you the horses bolted off the road that way.” She pointed to her right, then moved her hand in a loop. “They circled around but didn’t come all the way back to this road.” She eased the truck forward.
“Where’d they go?”
“It appears they joined a little two-track that cuts back into the woods.”
Susanne’s voice pitched up. “Aren’t we going to follow them?”
“We can’t turn here. There’s a gully. I’m looking for a place to cross. Vehicles have to get over there somehow.”
“How do you know that?”
“Because I saw the truck tracks, too.”
Susanne turned to Ronnie, bouncing a little on the seat. “They’re up there! They’re all up there!”
Ronnie held up a hand. “We don’t know that.” Then she swung the steering wheel to the right. “Here’s the road. And those, my dear, are the tracks to your truck and trailer. See them?”
“I do.” Susanne leaned onto the dash, trying to get a closer look and urge the truck to go faster.
Once they were on the little road, Ronnie stopped again. “I have to radio this in. And we need to get our weapons ready.”
“I didn’t bring a weapon.” Kemecke had taken everything except the bowie knife. But honestly, it wouldn’t have occurred to Susanne to pack weapons anyway.
“Lucky you’re with me.” Ronnie smiled at her. “Because I have two guns.” She spread a Bighorn National Forest map out on the seat between them and played her flashlight over it. She nodded, then snatched her radio from its holster. “Deputy Harcourt to Base. Come in, Base.” Silence. She repeated her call. Still silence.
To Susanne, she said, “I may be out of range. Let’s try one mo
re time.” Which she did.
Scratchy sounds filled the air, then a likely-male voice said, “This is Base. Come in, Deputy Harcourt.”
“Virgil, I’m off of Red Grade between FR 520 and 226, following the tracks of a truck and trailer and some horses, along with a teenage girl, Trish Flint. They’ve been reported missing by the Forest Service to Sheridan and Big Horn Counties. Coincidentally, I’m with the mother, Susanne Flint, who is my neighbor. The father, Patrick Flint, and the brother are in pursuit, but we are not in contact with them yet. The tracks turn off to the right on a little unmarked road. I’m going to take it a little ways and provide some backup to Dr. Flint.”
“Copy that, Deputy Harcourt. We have personnel en route to Big Goose Ranger Station to assist in that search now. Hold on.”
More scratchy sounds. They grated at Susanne’s ears. Then the man came back on. “The sheriff has asked that you return to Big Goose to meet the team.”
Susanne grabbed Ronnie’s wrist. “No.”
Ronnie bit her lip. To Susanne she said, “We’d be better off with more people, in case there’s trouble.”
Susanne shook her head. “Please. Patrick and Perry don’t have anyone with them. And Trish . . . it could be too late by then.” Her voice broke.
Ronnie locked eyes with Susanne, then clicked the radio’s speaker button several times. “Hello? Hello? Come in, Base. Come in, Base.” She clicked again. “I think I’ve lost you. Deputy Harcourt, over and out.” Then she replaced the radio mic in its holster and reached under the seat. “If that didn’t work, I may be back to working as a cashier at the supermarket. This is for you. A Thirty-eight Special.” She showed Susanne a revolver that looked a little like the one Patrick used. “Do you shoot?”
Susanne waggled her hand. “I can aim and pull the trigger. I haven’t done much more than that.”
Ronnie checked the cylinder. It was full. She popped it back into place. “It’s a long-pull trigger. No safety. You’ve got six rounds. Does that make sense?”
“Yes, I understand you.”
“Don’t shoot unless you’re close, say ten to fifteen feet. I know that sounds scary, but most people can’t hit the broad side of a barn from any farther away than that, much less in the rain and dark, under pressure.”
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