Then looked back at us.
“Tire tracks.”
I was out of my truck before he finished talking.
The tracks cut off the road.
Turned between two thick rows of trees.
Fresh.
Deep.
A truck had gone through recently.
“Could be anyone,” one deputy said.
“No,” I said.
Everyone looked at me.
I pointed toward the ground.
“Same tire pattern from the ranch.”
The deputy studied the tracks.
Then nodded.
“Let’s move.”
We left the trucks at the road.
Moved on foot.
Quiet.
Spread out.
Sheriff Cooper took the left side.
Deputy Harris took the right.
Wolf and Trigger stayed behind me.
Nobody needed to tell us what to do.
We had all done this before.
Different places.
Different threats.
Same feeling.
The woods were too still.
No birds.
