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He pointed at the alley running out of the cattle pens. “Set the sorting pens at the far end of that, and put your people alongside. Somewhere you can get a clear look as they come through without being in anybody’s way. Your database is better for individual IDs than anything the new staff brought with them.”

Jodie looked at Willow.

“Don’t look at me,” Willow said. “That’s your circus.”

Harold smiled. “Bring the tablet. Bring the binder, too. Service out here is lousy, and I don’t want to be guessing whether we’ve got Luna or another bay mare with a star when we’re sorting.”

“You remembered Luna.”

“I know these horses too, Jodie.”

“So? Any answer on the darting?”

Harold grimaced. “No,” was all he said. He held up his hand. “But I’m working on it.”

Hank showed where the horses would likely come through and where observers could stand without being in the way. Jodie asked questions as they walked, adding to the sketch, mentally matching the physical layout to the paperwork and identification system she already knew.

When they reached the far end, she looked back toward the hills.

Luna bothered her. Three days was nothing, she knew. Plenty of horses fell off the radar that long and longer and then turned up with a different band, perfectly fine. Still, she tucked the western drainage away.

By late morning, the quiet of the basin had given way to the noise and bustle of FHDH at work.

Hank had a stack of portable panels stored along the side of the barn, along with gates, water troughs, buckets, and enough lengths of hose to make Jodie wonder if he’d bought out a hardware store. None of it was being set permanently yet, but they needed to make sure the proposed layout would actually work before the gather.

Jodie carried what she could without pissing off her ankle and ignored Mac whenever she caught him watching to make sure she wasn’t overdoing it. She hauled buckets, dragged a coil of hose across the dirt, and helped Willow measure the distance between the sorting pens at the end of the alley and the temporary pens they’d lined out beside them.

“Twenty-two feet,” Willow called.

Jodie checked the sketch on her clipboard. “That’s too tight if they bring the trailer through from this side. We need another eight, maybe ten.”

One of the volunteers frowned. “Why?”

“Because if the truck has to swing wide, it’ll block the gate.” Jodie pointed. “Then nobody gets horses in or out until it moves again.”

Hank studied the space, then nodded. “She’s right.”

They shifted the proposed line.

A little later, someone asked where they planned to put the water tanks. Then whether the observation area had a clear view of the sorting pens. Then which gate would give the vet the easiest access without putting her in the path of incoming horses.

Jodie answered when she knew and said she didn’t when she didn’t. At one point, the same woman who had looked Jodie over in the parking lot the day before came toward her carrying an armful of stakes.

“Where do you want these?”

Jodie glanced around, then pointed toward the far corner of the pasture. “Let’s mark the outside edge first. If we’re wrong, we only have to move stakes instead of panels.”

The woman handed her half the bundle.

“Good call.”

Jodie smiled to herself.

In the meantime, she kept an eye on Mac, who was fitting in just as well, making jokes and smiling good-naturedly whenever someone called him out on his pronunciation of “about.” Sandra took photos and videos, but also rolled up her sleeves and helped where she could. At some point Harold had left.

A flash of movement near the barn caught Jodie’s eye. She turned and saw a dog standing just beyond the fence line.

At least, she thought it was a dog. He was mostly dust and sharp angles, with mottled brown fur, oversized ears, and the lean build of a cattle dog that had missed more than a few meals. He stood absolutely still, watching them. Jodie had met Hank’s dogs, and this wasn’t one of them.