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Mathews stepped out of the cave to call a helicopter and forensics. Hawke followed him, picking up his backpack.
“Where are you going?” Mathews asked.
“After Sheridan and the woman.” He had a vendetta with the chattering tracker.
“I can’t follow. I have to stay here until the scene is cleared.”
Hawke nodded. “We’ll be fine. I’ll stay in contact.” He whistled to Dog and headed to the rock ledge he’d watched the two use to leave the cave.
The ledge was nothing more than a mountain goat trail. Dog, being the size of a half-grown mountain goat, managed to gingerly walk ahead of him.
Hawke pointed his feet in opposite directions to fit on the uneven, five-inch-wide outcropping. His face was inches from the rocky cliff. Two times he’d thought about letting his pack go to keep it from pulling him backwards. Each time his fingers dug into the rock crevices, he hoped he didn’t put a hand on a rattlesnake.
After what seemed like hours, the ledge went between two rock pillars and the top of the cliff was an easy walk along the edge of a small patch of snow that hadn’t melted. Dog stopped and ate snow as Hawke dropped his pack. His limbs shook as he drank from his water bottle. He scanned the ground for traces of the two he followed. A blob of mud on a rock had to have come from a shoe.
Too bad he’d shown Sheridan ways to avoid being tracked. That was going to make following the two a little harder.
When he’d quenched his thirst and his legs no longer shook from his feet pointing the unnatural direction, he followed the bits of mud across the rocky top of the mountain until they disappeared into a marshy gulley of snow run-off.
The two had to know they were the suspects of a murder. Would they head back to civilization, pack up and disappear, or would they keep this wilderness chase going? Knowing how highly Sheridan thought of himself, Hawke had a feeling the man would remain out here until he ran out of food sources. It was the beginning of summer. A rain storm was easy to sit out under a rock overhang or in a cave. The nights were cool but nothing a person couldn’t survive.
He sighed. Hiking all over Hells Canyon and the Seven Devils wasn’t his idea of a fun summer. Now if he had his horse and mule with him, it would be different. Camping and riding all over this area all summer long would be a vacation. Hiking and figuring out how to get more supplies, wasn’t a vacation.
He followed the green grass, slick mud, and broken limbs on the bushes, downhill for a good mile before the tracks veered to the right. They were now far enough south he didn’t think they were headed back to Kirby Creek Lodge. Where would Sheridan go?
Hawke pulled out his radio. “Mathews, copy?”
“Copy.”
“I’m headed south following Sheridan’s tracks. See if you can get information on him and relay it to me. Specifically, how well he knows this area.”
“Copy.”
Hawke turned off the radio to save the batteries. Thunder rumbled in the distance. The air had the scent of rain. He and Dog followed the tracks until he came to a rock outcropping large enough to keep them both dry. Watching the lightning crackle through the sky, growing closer as the thunder rumbled around them like being inside a drum, Dog ate a biscuit and Hawke a bag of jerky. Rain poured from the sky as they bedded down. The rain would either help them or hinder them, they wouldn’t know which until the morning.
«»«»«»
The sun lit up the rocky cliff wall across the gorge from their dry bed. Hawke rolled up the sleeping bag, wishing he had a hot cup of coffee. The damp air and drop in temperature during the night had his bones aching. If he didn’t enjoy the outdoors so much, he’d say he was too old for this. As the oldest Game Warden in Wallowa County, he should have been taking all the easy assignments. Like giving talks at conferences. He snorted. Look what that got him into. But he wouldn’t give up this job until he was too old to sit a horse and follow tracks.
He tossed a biscuit to Dog and ate a granola bar. Even a greasy breakfast at the Rusty Nail sounded good this morning. The granola bars and jerky were getting old. He had enough to last him two more days. After that he’d have to find a way to get more supplies.
“Let’s see if we can find them,” he said to Dog as he shouldered his pack. He didn’t have any idea how far behind the two they were. Judging by the mud yesterday, he believed to be only an hour behind. The unknown was whether they’d stopped as soon as he had to wait out the storm and sleep.
He continued the direction the tracks had been headed before the rain. Any place that formed a gulley, water had rushed through, wiping away any trace of who or what had traveled ahead of them.
Dog sniffed the ground and dug with a paw. A wrapper appeared. Hawke grabbed the plastic, dumped the crumbs of jerky into his palm, and fed it to Dog. “Good job.” This had been ground into the dirt to hide it.
He studied the ground and spotted tracks fading in the mud. The tracks led to a rocky area.
Hawke crouched beside the rocks and studied the surface. Water sat in small puddles in indentions in the rocks. Some of the puddles had water splashed around the edges with muddy drops.
Following the trail was slow until the sun began to dry things up. At noon, Hawke sat on a rock and pulled out the radio.
“Hawke to Mathews,” he spoke into the radio.
“Mathews. Location?”
Hawke glanced around. “I’d say four miles southwest of you. I haven’t looked on a map, just been following tracks. They’ve gone up to the tops of ridges and back down in gulleys.”
“That doesn’t help us find you.” The man sounded tired.
“I’ll let you know exactly where I am when I have them in sight. Any information about Sheridan?” Hawke knew there had to be a connection between White and Sheridan, and now, possibly the woman, though she could just be a hostage because she saw Sheridan shoot White.
“They are still digging into Sheridan. You should have everything they know about the woman in the files given to you.”
“Copy.” Hawke switched the radio off and pulled the files out of his pack as he drank water and snacked on more jerky.
The files on Tonya Cox said she was an honor student at her high school and later at college where her major was journalism. Hawke peered the direction the tracks pointed. Had she befriended White to get a story and now was being held hostage by Sheridan? He wouldn’t know the truth until he caught up to them.
Hawke pulled out the map to see where he was and how he could get more supplies. They were heading south. They were close to Saw Pit Saddle and his vehicle. Though it would do him little good. He didn’t keep food in the truck, and he didn’t have time to run to a store. The command station was probably still set-up there, but he doubted they’d have supplies for someone backpacking. If the two continued south, he might be able to make a detour to the Sheep Creek Cabin on the Snake that the Fish and Wildlife Troopers used to stay overnight when patrolling the river. There would be some provisions there.
He folded the map, finished off a bottle of water, and shoved to his feet. Shouldering his pack, Hawke whistled to Dog and they continued following the tracks.