Following the men at least presented a chance for him to get helpful information about the lost botanists.
But he was starting to think these tracks belonged to the worst prospectors in all of history.
Any prospector who knew what he was doing would have gotten out of the mountains yesterday when the weather started to turn, realizing that snow was sure to follow.
But these men were moving deeper and deeper into the mountains. It was almost enough to make him turn around, but the tracks looked to be only a half day old at this point, meaning he’d likely overtake the men by nightfall.
Hopefully they’d seen the party of botanists, because if they hadn’t...
Mikhail shook his head, not wanting to think about it. The men in the botany expedition were fathers and sons and brothers. If they didn’t come home, someone would miss them. And seeing how he’d spent the past eleven years of his life missing his own father, he couldn’t turn his back on the botanists without knowing he’d done every last thing in his power to save them.
He paused for a moment beside a creek, noticing how the boot prints on the sandy bank and mossy earth sank deeper into the ground, indicating the men had stopped. There were even two indents where packs had been set in the sand for a bit. The men he was following were definitely prospectors. They’d left similar tracks indicating they’d stopped and searched for gold at the other creek he’d crossed yesterday.
He squatted next to a patch of flattened moss, rubbing it between his fingers, then scanned the dense trees surrounding him. Rain drizzled through the canopy, wetting his face and dripping off the brim of his hat, the persistent patter of water mingling with the rustle of wind through the trees.
The prospectors’ tracks led him higher up the mountain toward where the falling rain would surely turn to snow, at which point he just might lose the fading tracks.
Perhaps he was on a fool’s errand, because even if the prospectors had crossed paths with the botanists, what were the chances there would be anything left of the botanists’ tracks?
He clenched his jaw. It didn’t matter. He knew his way through the mountains in snow, and he’d been sent on a mission to find the botanists and return them safely to Sitka.
He wasn’t ready to give up just yet.
3
“I’m not going to fix lunch unless you agree to pack up camp.” Bryony stood with her arms crossed, refusing to open the journal resting on a rock and record information about yet another lichen her father and Dr. Ottingford had discovered. “Don’t tell me you didn’t notice the snow on your bedroll this morning, Father. We have to leave.”
She’d thought sure she’d return to camp after checking her snare to find her father packing up, but he’d asked for food and gone about business as usual, exploring the vegetation growing around the glacial lake—as if he hadn’t already explored it four times over.
Now snow had started again, lazy, sparse flakes drifting slowly to the ground. How long until these flakes turned into a full-fledged storm that would trap them in this mountain valley?
Her father only shook his head. “We agreed we’d leave in a week, and that gives us two more days.”
Bryony looked up, surveying the mountains covered in snow. “But it’s snowing!”
“Not so badly we can’t study the lichen.” Her father responded in that calm, matter-of-fact voice.
“What if the snow keeps up and we can’t get out of the valley?”
Her father pressed his lips into a firm line, and Bryony winced. She knew that look. It meant her father was about to get ten times more stubborn. “I told you last time we discussed this that I want to wait for Heath and Richard. They could be headed back here this very instant.”
“What if they’re dead?” The words echoed across the valley. Perhaps she’d spoken them a little more harshly than she should, but her brother and Richard should have been back by now. And she’d rather take her chances getting lost in the woods than staying in the valley and waiting for winter to trap them. At least they had a chance of surviving, even if it was small.
“We’re not dead,” a deep masculine voice called.
Bryony jerked her head around to find two familiar forms emerging from the woods on the other side of the lake.
“Heath?” She choked on her brother’s name and bolted toward the shore, her feet slipping on the rocky ground. “Heath!”
Her brother quickened his pace as he strode toward her, a grin peeking through the red, untrimmed beard covering his face. He looked strong and healthy, as though he hadn’t been starving in the wilderness for the past ten weeks, and his stomach wasn’t eating itself from the inside out.
“You’re really here,” she rasped.
Heath nodded, his grin widening as he opened his arms. She threw herself into them. His coat was cold and damp against her cheek, but the warmth of his embrace still soaked into her.
“I was so worried. I thought... That is, I wondered if...” She pulled back slightly, her hands gripping his shoulders as she looked him over. But his face didn’t look pale, nor did his cheeks look hollow. And his coat certainly wasn’t hanging on his shoulders, which hadn’t grown bonier either. He must have eaten better than they had up in the valley. Had he found food?
“We’re fine.” Heath let out a small chuckle and hugged her once more, his familiar scent twining around her. “And it looks like you’re fine too. No need to worry.”
