They headed for Lost Dutchman State Park, showed their permits, then drove up the road. Another few miles and the pickup turned off Apache Trail onto a dirt road winding up into the desert hills.
It was amazing country, with rugged vistas that stretched for miles, jagged mountains rising up from flat, endless desert, arid hills that climbed to rugged peaks.
When they reached the trailhead, Gage and Kyle unloaded the stock and checked the gear. Abby looked up to see Gage strapping on the big machete she had noticed among his gear, tying the sheath to his thigh.
Abby swung into the saddle of the pretty little paint named Sandy. Gage shoved his rifle into the scabbard on his saddle and swung up on a stout, thick-necked bay gelding named Cinnamon that everyone just called Sin. Abby thought the powerful horse was the perfect fit for Gage.
The horses began to sidestep and blow, eager to be on their way. Mateo settled into the saddle of a sorrel mare the color of a new copper penny. Abby smiled to think the animal’s coat was about the same shade as her hair.
Walt wished them luck and reminded Kyle to be careful.
“Stay in touch as much as you can,” he told his son. But cell service in the rugged mountains was spotty and unreliable at best. Gage had a satellite phone, but it was basically for emergencies.
They set out with Kyle in the lead, followed by Abby, Gage, then Mateo. Smiley brought up the rear, leading the pack mules.
With a final wave over her shoulder at Walt, Abby nudged the paint horse forward, following Kyle as they started up the trail. Ahead of them, drab sandy soil and rock formed high banks on both sides of the trail. Steeper mountains loomed in the distance, chunky layers that had broken into pieces and been eroded into whimsical shapes over thousands of years.
A couple of hours into the journey, what had started as a wide, well-worn trail used by hikers narrowed from several yards to a few feet in width. As they made the first major turn, following the map, the trail narrowed even more, the terrain changing from a hard-beaten footpath to a crumbling, rocky, ever-steepening track winding its way into the forbidding hills.
By noon, the excitement of the journey had dimmed a little. Two power bars and a cup of coffee weren’t enough to keep Abby’s stomach from growling. Unused to gripping the saddle, her thigh muscles were screaming for a break. As if Gage read her thoughts, he called a halt a few minutes later, and Abby said a silent prayer of thanks.
She groaned as she started to dismount, then felt Gage’s big hands clamp around her waist, lifting her the rest of the way to the ground.
“Walk around a little,” he said. “It’ll help shake out the stiffness.”
She just nodded.
“Stay on the trail and keep your eyes open for anything that bites.”
Abby felt a chill though the day was sunny and warm. She’d seen a big, thick-bodied scorpion basking on a rock, its barbed stinger curled over its back. She would definitely keep her eyes open.
Being very careful where she walked, she made a pit stop behind a cluster of granite boulders, then backtracked to where Gage was handing out the sandwiches Mae had prepared for the first day of their journey, along with bottles of water. Once they made camp, they would be switching to refillable bottles, packing out the plastic ones.
“What about the stock?” Abby asked. “I thought Walt said there were catch basins along the way that would provide water for the horses and mules.”
“Kyle says there’s one up the trail a little farther. Since it rained last week, there should be plenty for the animals.” For their own use, they would be boiling the water first or using a purification pen.
She glanced around. No water, nothing but desert, sandy rock layers, and gray granite boulders, but Walt and Kyle knew the area—at least as far as they would be taking the horses. After that, they would be following King’s directions.
Abby finished her sandwich and drank half the bottle of water.
“Time to head out,” Gage said, sliding his sunglasses back over his eyes.
Abby put hers on as well. “Where’s Mateo?”
“He’s scouting ahead. He’ll meet us up the trail.”
As Abby approached the paint, she felt Gage’s big body behind her. “Need a hand?”
She smiled as she looked down at his cupped hands, stepped into them, and he hoisted her up into the saddle.
“Thanks.” But her smile disappeared as the pain in her thighs radiated into her bottom. And the day was only getting started.
* * *
Gage swung aboard his big bay gelding, caught the reins of Mateo’s sorrel, and set off up the trail to where his friend would be waiting.
Mateo was scouting ahead, as he always did on these trips. Gage trusted Kyle to know the area. The kid had been born in Apache Junction and had worked with his father since he was a boy. But Mateo had an uncanny ability to mesh with his surroundings, to understand the natural world in a way few men ever did.
