“Everyone wears camo these days,” said Colcord. “It’s become a fashion statement.” He took out a compass and took a bearing. “It appears as if their trail is heading straight for Solitary Lake.”
Cash swatted at mosquitoes that were now swarming around them in clouds. “I’m getting eaten alive here.”
“Whoa, take a look at this.” He spied half a clear footprint in a pocket of fine sand. Colcord knelt. “Fresh lugs, new boot.” He took some photos,
marked the location on his GPS, and straightened. He walked along farther, hunched over and peering at the ground, looking for a sign, but try as he might, he couldn’t pick up the trail again. “We need to get Romanski out here.”
“Nice work, Indiana Jones.”
“Fortune and glory, kid.” Colcord grinned.
Bitten and muddy, Colcord and Cash made their way through the back pastures toward the driveway once more. Colcord tried to make sense of what he had seen. Four individuals wearing camo, hiking
toward Solitary Lake, covering their tracks, carrying big packs. This wasn’t just some lone killer. But why this elaborate effort to torture and murder an old man living in the mountains—if not for his money—and thenembalmhim? Colcord couldn’t make sense of it.
A high-pitched whinny interrupted his ponderings as he walked by the front pasture. He watched as a teenage kid with cornrows tried to control an Appaloosa colt. The horse reared above the boy, who shouted, pulling on the lead, raising the other arm instinctually. That was certainly the wrong move, and the horse—wide-eyed and frothing—squealed again as it came down hard, jerking the rope out of the boy’s hands and galloping toward the fence, the lead flapping after it—straight at Colcord.
Spotting a rope coiled around a fence post, Colcord sprinted towardit. The horse launched over the fence. Colcord breathed hard, concentrating. He would only get one throw before the colt was out of range. Coils in his left hand, tail and loop in his right, Colcord swung and tossed the rope as he had so many times on his own ranch as a kid. He was rusty and thought for a second the loop would slide off the side of the colt’s nose, but it landed square around the Appaloosa’s neck and tightened. The colt reared again, dropped back down, and, feeling the rope around its neck, finally stopped, blowing hard through its nostrils.
“Darn, I’m sorry, mister.” The boy vaulted himself over the fence, kicking up dust. “Fritz doesn’t usually get boogered like this. That was some nice roping there.”
Cash jogged up. “Wow, everything okay?”
Colcord cautiously approached and laid his hand on Fritz’s neck, noticing the horse was shaking and slick with sweat. “He’s not just spooked, he’s terrified.”
“They’ve all been skittish for a while, for some reason. My name’s Adam, sir.” Adam held out a hand politely.
“Colcord. What’s the cause of it, do you think?”
Adam shrugged, then shaded his eyes to look across to the mountains. “I don’t know. Wolves, maybe. They released some around here last year.”
Colcord looked around, noticing the other horses were shifting about nervously. Something was making these horses restless, and he could feel it too—the same sense of malignancy he had gotten at the cabin.
