fall. Not a soft dribble of a rain, but large plops that erased the trail of a road completely.
It was afternoon when Duck called a halt. Without a word, they moved into the shelter of the trees and climbed down to let the horses rest.
“The trail’s gone,” Wyatt said. “We’ve gone beyond where I saw them turn off. They could have veered off to the east or west by a few hundred feet and we couldn’t see them in this rain. We’ve no way of tracking them now. We’d be better off to stay here for a while. With any luck they’re holed up somewhere just ahead of us.”
Em stared out into the sheets of rain curtaining her view. Lewt was out there somewhere alone, and there was no way for her to get to him.
“When this rain stops, we’ll ride on. We have to give it another try.” Duncan’s words didn’t sound like he held much hope.
As she often did when she rode the range, Em ignored the cold. She felt wet to the bone, but she wouldn’t complain. Her thoughts were on Lewt and finding him. In the rumble of the winter storm, she thought of Lewt’s arms around her and how he’d said he’d wait forever for her to come to him.
As soon as the rain stopped they raced across the land, each studying the afternoon shadows, each hoping for one sign. A campfire. A shot to kill game. The reflection of a rifle off the aging sun.
Nothing. Finally, it was too dark to continue. They camped in a dry spot beneath an old elm. Em curled up in her blanket and thought of Lewt holding her hand and wondered if he was close, thinking about the same thing. Wyatt offered her jerky and a biscuit, but she was too tired to eat.
Before dawn the next morning they were back in the saddle, three shadows moving beside a muddy road. If the gang stopped for the night and didn’t leave until morning, they’d be leaving a trail in the mud now.
If they were following the right road, Em thought.
If they were even going in the right direction.
If Lewt was still alive and with the band. She feared that the outlaws might think him worthless and kill him, or worse, discover that he was lying and torture him for information.
The sun was high when Wyatt found a camp by a swollen stream. Seven or eight horses, he guessed. The same number of men. From the remains of a fire, it looked like they had stopped long enough to rest the horses, cook rabbits, and maybe warm themselves. The ground was still wet enough to follow their tracks across the campsite.
Em stood very still as Wyatt read the tracks. “There’s blood,” he said, “but it looks like it’s from the rabbits. This could be our men, or a dozen others traveling. Whoever stopped here did so after the rain. I’m guessing they left one, maybe two hours ago. They must feel pretty certain they’re not being followed if they stopped to cook.”
“Wyatt,” Duncan called from twenty feet away. “Look at this.”
They all moved to a muddy spot behind a rock. No footprints stomped across the spot, but someone had drawn a circle and inside written WM.
“What’s it mean?” Wyatt asked.
“Whispering Mountain,” both Duncan and Em said at once.
Wyatt picked up a playing card tucked just beneath the rock. “Maybe it’s Lewt telling us not to follow but to meet him back at the ranch.”
“Or maybe he wanted to leave a symbol that would mean nothing to the men he was with, but would let us know he’d been in this camp.”
“We should still try to follow.” Thunder threatened again as if calling her a liar.
Wyatt shook his head. “From the looks of it, they crossed into the stream here. We have no idea which way.”
Em wouldn’t give up. “Why don’t we separate until the rain starts? I’ll do upstream; Duck, you go downstream. Wyatt, you cross and ride north like they’ve been going. With luck, before it starts raining we’ll pick up some hint of a trail.”
“Once it starts raining there will be no trail to follow. We all agree to come back here even if we find something.” Wyatt didn’t look like he liked the plan, but like the others he didn’t want to stop hunting. “If it doesn’t rain, we turn back in one hour no matter what.” He looked straight at Em. “If you find something,