Below them, Juniper kept zigzagging toward the shallow hiding place of the trainer. Bear had started to circle some thirty feet away.
One of the other patrollers walked up. Young guy, barely twenty, wiry. First year on the team. Jericho couldn’t remember his name. Kyle, maybe. “How do they even know where to start? Smells like snow and pine out here.”
“To us it does, but a dog has sixty times more smell receptors than humans.” Jericho crouched, pointing to a depression in the snow where the wind swirled. “Scent pools in low spots—dips, tree wells, lee sides of ridges. They’ll catch it on the breeze. Trust their noses.” He stood. “Tanner’s in a snow cave, maybe a foot down, with a toy—probably that squeaky bone Bear can’t resist. They sniff him out, they dig, they bark. You reward them with play, tug, whatever gets their tails wagging.”
“Are you sure it’s working?” Kyle asked.
Jericho folded his arms. “It’s a game of hide-and-seek for them, but they have to stay focused.” He glanced at Marla. “I think you should pull Bear back, give him more scent training in a controlled environment, remind him of the toy reward. Maybe even something squeaky to keep him focused. You might even put Tanner in the cave with the squeaky toy, although you’ll wean Bear off the squeak.”
Orlando whined, nudging Jericho’s hand. Jericho knelt, stroking the dog’s flank. “I know, boy. You want to work. Soon.” But not today. Not with the snowpack in them there mountains whispering danger.
A shout broke his focus—two kids, teenagers in bright parkas, snowboarders ducking under the boundary markers, their laughter caught in the wind.
Trouble. “Hey! You two! Get back here!”
The kids skidded to a stop, snow spraying, their grins fading. They wore helmets, goggles, the right protection. Still.
The taller one shrugged, a mop of red hair peeking out under his helmet. “What’s the big deal? We’re just—”
“Breaking the rules,” Jericho snapped, jabbing a finger at the unmarked slope beyond the ropes. “This area’s roped off. Stick to the groomed runs or I take away your passes.”
“We ski this bowl all the time.”
“Not today you don’t.”
The kids unstrapped their boards and hoofed it back to the top of the hill.
Jericho turned to Marla, about to make a comment when the low rumble sounded.
He felt it more than heard it, like thunder but sharper.
“That’s on Raven’s Peak,” Marla said. She pointed to a distant ridge on the resort’s far side. “I sent a crew out there. They’reblasting to release the snowpack. If it gets too big, it can take out the resort town.”
The rumble grew, a growl that shook the ground. A white plume erupted on Raven’s Peak, the avalanche roaring down the slope, a tsunami of lethal power.
And, of course, his heart slammed against his ribs, his palms slick inside his gloves. He gripped Orlando’s leash.
Calm. Down.
Orlando panted, leaning hard against his leg.
“Jericho, you okay?”
He blew out a breath. “Yep.” He turned back to the hill. Just fine. Just ... fine! “How’re we doing?”
In answer, Juniper barked, sharp and frantic, her paws tearing at the snow fifty yards down the bowl. Bear caught on, bounding over to see what the fun might be.
“Good dog!” This from Marla, and he got it—seeing a dog succeed erased the hours and hours of failure.
Below, the dogs clawed at the snow, powder flying, and Juniper let out a triumphant bark, her nose buried in the hole. Tanner’s gloved hand broke through, waving, and the team cheered, shovels flashing as they cleared the snow. Tanner climbed out, grinning, his face red from the cold, and tossed the squeaky bone to Juniper, who snatched it midair, tail whipping. Bear got one too.
“Good job, Marla,” Jericho said. “You’ve got some dogs with good instincts there.”
She beamed even as she took off down the hill.
The thunder of the slide had died, leaving only the pulse in his head.
They were just fine.
