SATURDAY
The next morning, Meg got up and went about her chores, and it wasn’t until the afternoon that she rode again into the pines, Molly huffing, saddle leather creaking.
Every few minutes she stopped to listen and look for signs that she was retracing the trail she’d taken the day before.
She stopped to eat an apple as Molly drank from a clear stream. All signs of civilization had faded. She was close to where she’d heard the shots. Close enough to spook her. Had the shooters camped overnight? Were they out there crouching in the weeds in their camo jackets, watching her ride past?
Meg clicked her tongue, and Molly moved on.
Every flick of movement in the corner of Meg’s eye made her stomach leap. “We’re getting close, Molly-girl,” she whispered.
Molly cocked one ear back.
They came to a familiar meadow where long grasses brushed the bottom of Meg’s boots as she rode through it.
As they approached the trees on the other side, Molly shied to the right.
Meg pulled up and bent over her neck. “Easy now, easy.”
This is the place.
Like yesterday, there was nothing unusual about the trees and the meadow. Nothing in the brush, the grass, the rocks.
Standing in the stirrups and looking back, Meg saw only their trail through the long grass. Ahead, the pine forest loomed behind a line of white-barked aspens.
She clucked Molly on, and stood again in the stirrups when Molly stopped and raised her head. There…just ahead in the aspens.
A shadow.
No…not a shadow.
Something dead…or alive.
Molly threw her head and sidestepped.
“Easy.”
Meg tried to get a better look, knowing not to approach without more information. Could be a small black bear.
But a bear would be loping off by now.
Molly was too jumpy. Meg dismounted and led her closer.
There. Under a tree.
“What the heck…A dog?”