Page 12 of Dark Sky

“If it doesn’t, this whole trip will be a disaster,” Joannides warned.

“I’ll do my best,” Joe said.

“You’ll need to,” the assistant said. “Do you realize how much it costs Aloft to keep our CEO away for an entire week? We’re paying for pilots to sit around in your little town while we do this. The jet alone uses four hundred and fifty gallons of fuel per hour. Plus, every decision he isn’t there to make can mean millions of dollars to our shareholders.”

Joe took a deep breath and held it. Then he said, “I sent you a list as well. Did you get all the gear and equipment I wrote down?”

“We did our best,” Joannides said. “I’m sure you can imagine that some of the items aren’t easily found in downtown San Francisco.”

“Got it,” Joe said. “So let me know what you brought and what you didn’t. I’m sure I can fill in where you’re short.”

Joannides scrolled to another page on his device. He said,“We’ve got tents, sleeping bags and pads, headlamps, rain gear, camo clothing, optics, and personal items. Steve-2 has a knife.”

Joe mulled over the items for what was missing. “I’ll throw in a couple more knives, a meat saw, and some game bags.”

“Yes, we weren’t able to locate those. And we wondered about ‘alligators’?”

“Not alligators,” Joe said, stifling a smile. “Gaiters. You buckle them on over your boots and ankles for wet conditions or snow.”

“Oh.”

“Don’t worry—I’ve got a couple of extra pair.”

“Just make sure Steve-2 gets some.”

“Of course.”

“Anything else?”

“Where we’re going, mountain money is important.”

After a beat, Joannides said with mild panic, “Mountain money?What’s that?”

“Toilet paper,” Joe said. “It’s more valuable than cash. It wasn’t on either of our lists, but I brought plenty.”

—

The rough two-track began to level out a mile and a half away from the trailhead. The terrain on the top of the plateau was embedded with football-sized rocks and Joe slowed his truck as he drove over them. Battle Mountain loomed in the foreground and its timbered slopes rose and dissipated into the low-hanging clouds. Tendrils of fog and vapor reached down into the trees like bony fingers.

Joannides scrolled through his iPad with a hint of desperation, as if trying to recall things he’d missed.

Joe recalled tips and techniques he’d been studying—again—for loading the packhorses and panniers. He’d practiced tying diamond hitches for days with rope, and he’d reread bothHorses, Hitches, and Rocky Trailsby Joe Back andPackin’ in on Mules and Horsesby Smoke Elser and Bill Brown to refresh his knowledge. He felt as comfortable as he could be before they set out and he was grateful Brock was accompanying them because of his familiarity with the horses.

“I feel like we’re on top of the world,” Joannides said. He’d finally looked up from his screen.

“We’re not,” Joe said. “But you can see it from here.”

FOUR

Over two miles away, deep in the cover of a thick stand of spruce trees and several hundred feet higher than the trailhead parking and staging area, Earl Thomas pushed the lens of a spotting scope through a thick growth of mountain juniper. He was prone so there’d be no profile if any member of the hunting party decided to look up in his direction.

With stubby fingers the size of sausages, Earl delicately manipulated the focus knob until he could see sharply.

“It’s them,” he said in a low baritone. “I recognize the game warden’s horse. He rides a paint.”

His adult sons, Brad and Kirby, were huddled together near his feet. He’d told them not to stand up, too. They were on the back side of the small rise Earl had shinnied up to place the spotting scope.

Earl said, “One, two, three, four, five of ’em. Eight horses that I can see so far.”