Page 90 of Track of Courage

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DAWSON COULD NOLONGERfeel his knee. And maybe that wasn’t a terrible thing, but the longer he skied, the more his entire body could be blown over by the wind. He’d followed the red markers, one to the next, to the next, and two miles had become a half century, turning him into an old sourdough miner fighting the elements back to his rinky-dink cabin to weather out the storm.

He’d even started humming. He might have preferred to call to mind Keely’s song, but instead, one of the hymns the women had been singing in the kitchen roused to him.

“Blessed assurance,Jesus is mine! ... Oh,what a foretaste of glory divine!”

The song turned into a hum from his grandfather working on a tractor or a truck.“Hand me the torque wrench. It’sthe one with the black rubber grip and the longsilver handle.”

Yeah, he missed his grandfather. And his faith. Something about Grandpa’s big hands on Dawson’s shoulders in church as Dawson held a hymnal, trying to sing along, still centered him.

He heard the words now, let them fall over him. He’d never really turned them inside out, taken a good look at them.

But maybe Griffin had, because his words pulsed inside, like a flame.

“But peace doesn’t come from inside. It comesfrom knowing that you’re forgiven. Accepted. Safe. It’sabout standing in that place of love and letting itset you free.”

Maybe that’s what the foretaste was about ... love. Peace. Joy. Freedom from the terrible howl inside that said he was doomed.

Maybe God did use circumstances to get at the things inside.

A moaning and a whistling, and Dawson looked up, searching for the red marker. He should have seen it by now.

Please let it not have blown off in the storm. He remembered from the flyover Moose’s words about the cache cabin being on the river, so he’d stuck to the bank since leaving Sully’s place.

He turned and stared at the half-frozen river. Parts of it still ran, the current too fast to close it completely, but ice and snow patchworked the surface, the water in the middle dark and mysterious.

A vapor misted off it, caught in the swirl of the blizzard, as if it held secrets, a lethal breath. Aven hadn’t died in this river, not really, but the old ghosts could still turn his bones brittle.

A shot cracked the air, and he ducked, turned.

Silence.

Probably a tree cracking under the weight of the snow. But in the distance, he spotted it—a small cabin, nearly snowed under, a stovepipe angled out of the top.

The cache cabin.

Thank you,God.

Dawson turned his skis and headed for it, the light bleeding from the day. He’d need to get in, call the Copper Mountain FBO’s ham radio, and see if they could track down Moose, then get back to Keely before nightfall.

He refused to let her spend the night in Sully’s cabin alone.Who knew what had gone down there, with the bloody mess. He should also call Deke at the sheriff’s station, but he’d get to that.

Footprints, the track of snowmobiles, and wide ATV tires dented the snow as he skied nearer. And the deck seemed half cleared.

Maybe Sully came here, especially after the destruction of his radio.

Dawson unclipped the skies and pulled the rifle off his back, holding it as he climbed the steps. Yep, his knee had tightened up.

“Sully?” He eased the door open.

Empty, but recently used, a fire snuffed in the stove, and empty coffee cups on the table, the smell of bodies, and a couple sleeping bags mussed on the bunks.

No blood, but whoever had used the place might be coming back. Could be rangers—Peyton Samson studied a wolf pack out this way as part of her ranger service. Or it could be locals—trappers, maybe, caught in the storm, although they were on the edge of private land and federal property, so maybe not.

He shut the door and locked it behind him. Opened the stove. Embers, almost dead. He stirred them with a nearby poker, then added some tinder and kindling, got that lit and then added a small log.

Heat filled the small room, and he went hunting for the ham radio. A couple summers ago, his former partner Flynn had saved Axel’s life with the ham, and he’d heard the story so many times, he knew the radio had to be here.