Page 101 of The 9th Man

He and Jillian followed the driveway down to the old ranger station. A green pickup truck bearing the USDA Forest Service crest was parked near the station’s porch. The building was wooden, brick red, and surrounded by a split-rail fence and lodgepole pines. They mounted the front steps to the half-glass front door. Inside waited a uniformed ranger who said, “Afternoon, folks, come on in. I saw the horse trailer. You heading in-country?”

“As soon as we can,” he said. “We’re running out of daylight.”

“Let’s get your paperwork done so you can get outta here. Just the two of you?”

“Correct,” Jillian said.

He almost asked a question of his own.Do you know a David Eckstein?But decided that would be telegraphing way too much, especially if this guy alerted Eckstein they were coming.

So he kept silent.

The ranger asked, “Are either of you armed?”

“We are,” he said. “Two Berettas. Is that a problem?”

“Not at all,” the ranger said. “You’d be fools to go up there without a gun. Just a question we gotta ask.”

50

LUKE FOLLOWED HEDOW’S ADVICE AND THEY RODE SOUTH ALONGGreen Creek until it emptied into a string of turquoise-green lakes, then up a snow-covered draw to Wapiti Ridge. On the far slope they found Hedow’s recommendation for a camping spot, a horseshoe-shaped ravine whose entrance was partially blocked by stunted white pines and bisected by a gurgling creek that had yet to freeze. The weather report indicated that the temperature was expected to drop below zero after nightfall accompanied by heavy gusts. The ravine would provide good shelter for them and the horses. Judging by the rock-ring firepit and stump stools others had camped here too. Surrounding the ravine were brown, scree-covered slopes and crenellated ridges pockmarked by snow. By the time they’d erected the tent the sun was dipping below the peak of what their map called Citadel Mountain.

“Fire or no fire?” Jillian asked.

“Compromise. We’ll use the trail stove.”

She set up the stove, a truncated cone of stainless steel on fold-out legs into which she fed twigs and sticks. Soon flames were shooting out the top. Luke broke out the cook pot, filled it with snow, and set it to boil. Dinner was beef stroganoff, all the outfitter earlier had in hand. Dessert was two mugs of heavily sugared coffee, then they made sure the horses were settled in before retreating to their sleeping bags. Luke lit the candle lantern and hung it from the tent’s roof hook. Outside, the wind was picking up. Snow crystals peppered the tent’s nylon wall.

“Talley’s coming here, isn’t he?” she said.

“It’s hard to say, but I’m betting Rowland knows about David Eckstein. He seems to know a lot about a lot.”

And had apparently rubbed Stephanie Nelle the wrong way. That woman was the measure of calm. Never raising her voice. Never angry. Only matter-of-fact. She was the epitome of never let them see you sweat. Yet something about Thomas Rowland got under her skin.

“I want him,” she said. “Find whatever it is he doesn’t want us to find.”

“You owe him one?” he asked.

“More than one. And I always pay my debts.”

That he did not doubt.

Hence why he was out in, literally, the middle of nowhere, in the freezing cold. But there was no place he’d rather be. He also realized that they’d left a trail. No way not to. Talley could find his way to Hedow, or some other local, who would lead him to the ranger station, which would verify they were here. Could Talley have already been here? Had Hedow been offered money to set them up?

Possible.

But not likely.

Hedow had not seemed the type to sell out for a few dollars.

But if that was the case, then this whole thing was a trap and David Eckstein was probably already dead.

Luke slept amazingly soundly, he and Jillian alternating standing guard. They skipped breakfast, settling instead for two mugs of sugary coffee. After making sure the horses were fed and watered they set out, keeping a compass bearing on Battlement Mountain. They stuck to the valley bottoms when they could and the gentler slopes where they couldn’t. Around noon their GPS unit said they were a mile from the nearest grid location. They found steel~myth~barrel on the side of a sheer cliff. The second location, depth~signature~language, was a mile farther up a barren scree field.

Soon the mountains grew taller and steeper. The valley narrowed until the creek they’d been following turned into a frothing torrent. They kept the reins on their horses loose, confident the animals knew best how to navigate the treacherous trail. Steadily the rock walls closed in around them. The sun dimmed behind the peaks, leaving them in a midday near-twilight. The temperature dropped a solid twenty degrees. Around 3:00P.M.they crossed a creek that Luke’s map labeledISHAWOOAinto a meadow of sprouting grass and patchy snow. On the west side of the meadow he spotted a steep, V-shaped ravine. In the distance they could see structures straddling the creek and rising up the sides of the ravine, corresponding with computer~height~artisan on the app.

“Has to be an old mining camp,” he said. “The map shows several scattered around this area. They found gold here in 1842 and the rush lasted until just a few decades back.”

“How in the world—”