Fiona glanced back at Brandon, who nodded as if to reassure her that the sheriff was for real.
“Beatrice,” Fiona stated. “You saw a change in Beatrice as she passed by here.”
“Very good, Ms. Kenshaw,” Walt said.
“Her nose? Her tail? What?”
“Both,” Walt answered. “She’s my Geiger counter. She’s the one in charge at the moment, and she knows it. Look at her up there.”
The dog sat proudly on the side of the trail, with an expression that seemed to ask what was keeping them.
“You ever seen anything cuter than that?” Walt said. “She’s impatient with us!”
“Truthfully, I’m a little freaked out,” Fiona said.
“It’s what I do,” Walt said. “What Bea and I do. No big deal.”
“Unless you happen to see it in action,” Fiona said. “The height? How do you get that?”
Brandon answered. “Shoe size combined with weight. Big feet, not very heavy. Tall and thin.”
“Not Hispanic,” Menquez said. “Not very likely if he’s over six feet.”
“No, Gilly,” Walt said. “How do you feel about going off trail?”
“Point the way,” Menquez said.
Brandon, reading a topo map, said, “There’s a half-acre bench ahead, maybe two hundred yards.”
“Water source?” Walt said.
“An intermittent stream, spring fed on the backside of the bench.”
Walt looked up into the trees. “Running northwest to southeast,” he said.
“Exactly,” Brandon answered.
“You are showing off, aren’t you?” Fiona said to Walt. “You’ve been here before.”
“Doubtful,” said Brandon before Walt could answer.
Walt silenced her with a look. “We go in silent,” he said, addressing them all. “Brandon, you’ll go upstream from this side.” He pointed. “Gilly, we’ll give you a headstart. You’re to the north and I want you to come up over the lip and onto the bench the same time as I do. We’ll use channel six. I’ll give you two clicks. If you’re in position, you’ll return with two; if you need another minute, three clicks; two minutes, four.”
Menquez nodded and took off into the woods without anything more said. He moved as silently as a cat.
“You,” Walt said to Fiona, “will stop when I motion for you to stop. I want you behind a tree in case any shots are fired. You’re not to move until I call for you. The best way you can help me right now is not to think; just follow orders. I know that runs against your grain—against your brain—but . . .”
“No problem. I get it.”
“Okay. Good.” He addressed Brandon. “Let’s go.”
Walt received three clicks from Menquez, kept an eye on his watch, and sent the two-click signal a minute later. As two clicks were returned, Walt pushed up the final incline and popped out through the forest into the gleaming sunshine. The effect on his eyes was as if he’d left twilight and stepped into the glare of spotlights. He slipped on his aviators, picking up Menquez in his peripheral vision.
Brandon, who’d beaten them both to the site, stepped out from behind a tree near the trickling stream fifty yards to Walt’s left.
At the back side of the small clearing, near the stream and against the hill in a copse of aspens, was a fire ring of stones producing steam, some litter, a lean-to, and a small stack of sticks and firewood. The men came at it from three sides, an adrenaline-charged spring to their steps.
Walt dropped to a knee, placed his hand first on the firestones, then into the steam and charred wood at its center. He held up five fingers on his right hand: five minutes. He silently signaled Brandon, directing him up the hill. Brandon took off.
Walt turned around and motioned at the woods, and Beatrice came running toward him at full speed. He dropped her into a sit with a second hand signal, recharged her nose with the can of evaporated milk, and pointed into the woods.
“Find it!” he whispered.
The dog hurried off in the same direction as Brandon had gone.
Walt stirred the litter with a stick, looking for an expiration date, but found nothing.
“Our boy?” Menquez asked, studying the inside of the open lean-to.
“Someone . . . two people . . . bedded down here. Recent enough that the wind hasn’t disturbed it.”
Walt joined him. “Like last night,” he said.
“Be my guess.”
“Two? That doesn’t fit.”
He was reaching for the handheld radio as Brandon spoke. “I see two individuals,” he said harshly, keeping his voice low. “Bea had a dead reckoning. It’s a couple. They’re on a trail maybe a half mile ahead, traversing to the south. Up and over into Greenhorn. You