Page 100 of The 9th Man

“None taken. I get your point.”

If the only hurdles before them were terrain and weather Luke would have no trouble promising the safe return of the horses, but he had no idea what awaited them. While they’d seen no trace of Talley and his men since Louisiana, he took nothing for granted.

“I’ll give you a telephone number,” he said. “If we don’t bring those horses back, call it and the woman who answers will make good.”

Of course, if they didn’t come back it was probably because they were dead, which he did not like to think about it.

“Who is she?”

“She works for the U.S. Justice Department, as do I.”

“You some kind of agent?”

“Some kind of,” he said.

“This official business?”

He nodded.

Hedow hesitated, taking stock of them, then said, “Okay.”

Bargain struck, Hedow led them behind the house to a barn. Inside, tucked into individual stalls, were half a dozen horses. At the sight of Hedow they all began neighing and bobbing their heads.

“You’ve got fans,” Jillian said.

“It’s just me and them here. They’re good company. You wanna pick or should I?”

“We’re in your hands.”

Hedow chose a couple of mares, both sorrels, named Peggy and Bluebell.

“Bluebell,” Jillian said. “That’s adorable. She’s definitely yours, Luke.”

He stroked the horse’s forelock. “How about I call her Blue? Or Bell?”

Hedow replied. “She hates that. She’ll buck you off.”

Of course she would.

“They’re both mild, are good at finding easy routes, and will let you know if there’s somethin’ dangerous around.” Hedow checked his watch. “If you don’t wanna wait till morning, we should get moving.”

Hedow hitched the trailer to his truck and loaded the horses aboard. With Luke and Jillian following in the F-150, Hedow headed west on Highway 14 for a few miles before pulling into a paved parking lot. A square brown-and-yellow sign on a stacked stone plinth readWAPITI ROADSIDE. Hedow waved for them to ease alongside his truck.

“Normally you’d fill out your backcountry slip and drop it in the box here. It’s how people know you’re out there. But it looks like there’s someone at the Wapiti Ranger Station at the bottom of the driveway. It’s a historical landmark. They’re doing some preservation work on it. I know all the rangers, so I’ll unhitch the trailer here and get the horses saddled. You can drive down, tell them—”

“Is that necessary?” Luke asked.

“Afraid so. I catch hell if I send anybody out there without paperwork. Last year a couple wandered around, got caught in a storm, and died. Nobody knew they’d gone, so nobody knew to look for them.”

“We’d prefer anonymity,” he said. “We’re not amateurs.”

“And I’d prefer to keep my guide license. Listen, there’s nothing to it. Go down there and tell the ranger you’re headed out. How long do you expect to be?”

“How long to cover eighteen miles?” he asked.

“Count on a full day. When you get back, phone me and I’ll drive over.”

They spent a few minutes picking Hedow’s brain on the easiest routes into the backcountry, then helped him unhitch the trailer and prep Peggy and Bluebell, noting their food and water schedules and tucking some feed into their saddlebags. With a wave out his window, Hedow pulled back onto the highway and drove away.