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“Not good,” Monty said, lowering his binoculars. “I don’t see the women anywhere on the west slope. They must be hiding in the trees.”
“Or else they didn’t come this way.” Carter kept his voice carefully neutral. Monty was becoming more frustrated as the sun dropped and the man didn’t like to be challenged.
“They couldn’t have grown wings and crossed the river,” Monty said. “Here, you take a look.”
Carter took the binoculars, relieved for a chance to scope the ridge. There’d been no sign of the women since mid-morning and he was questioning if he and Monty were even riding in the right direction.
He spotted a flash of white and his hope spiked. Allie’s long hair maybe? But seconds later a deer leaped over a fallen tree and bounded across the clearing. He glassed the area beside the river and spotted three more grazing deer, but no humans. And the deer wouldn’t be placidly eating if there were two women stumbling along the shore.
“Is it possible they took that logging road a few miles back?” Carter asked, reaching across Hawk’s neck and handing the binoculars back to Monty.
“Nope. That road goes straight to a massive bog. If they tried to cross it, it’s doubtful anyone would see them again.”
Carter swallowed. If a woman needed help, he’d been raised to provide it. Possibly he’d develop some of Monty’s ruthlessness—if he were fortunate enough to land a permanent Man Tracker spot—but right now he couldn’t hide his alarm. “Do you think they’re okay? Is it odd to lose tracks like this? Maybe we should check out that bog in case they’re in trouble.”
“They’re not stupid,” Monty said. “They’re not going to risk their lives for a race. At least Allie won’t.”
Carter tugged his hat a little lower. Janet was the leader, and Monty said Allie wouldn’t want to be alone. It was likely she’d follow wherever Janet led which meant both women could be in danger. “You think Janet is that rash?” he asked.
“She’s out to win at any cost. That could lead to reckless decisions. Certainly we’d help them if we saw them trying to cross the rapids. But we can’t worry about their every move.”
Carter stood in his stirrups, compelled to check the rushing Mustang River one more time. It would be folly to try to cross here, and the main ford was at least ten miles back. Further north there was a wooden bridge but with this rough terrain it would take the women days to reach it. He gripped his saddle horn, almost nauseous thinking of Allie in that white water.
“Allie’s a lifeguard,” Monty said, as if reading his mind. “She’ll know better.”
“But if Janet wants to cross,” Carter said, “and Allie doesn’t like to be alone...”
Monty gave one of his patented shrugs. “Nothing we can do about it. Not tonight anyway. Tomorrow we’ll backtrack, see if we can pick up where they gave us the slip. There’s no way they’d be bushwhacking the entire route. You can’t win a race doing that.”
Monty’s words weren’t totally reassuring but Carter followed the man as they guided their horses down to the river. They watered their animals in a calmer eddy, giving them lots of time to drink before retreating to a secluded meadow with thick grass. The sun was setting, and their horses had been pushed hard. They deserved a rest.
He unsaddled Hawk and gave his horse’s back and legs a thorough inspection. Hawk’s shoes were still reassuringly tight, and there were no cuts or saddle sores.
“Good fellow,” he murmured, pulling a brush from his saddle bags and making sure he removed all the sweat marks.
He wouldn’t want to be afoot in this country. No doubt, Allie was regretting her generous offer to fill in. Maybe she’d already given up and was kicking it up in the dance hall. Perhaps that’s why they hadn’t spotted any tracks.
But Janet wouldn’t quit so easily. She’d made no secret of her desire for a winning performance. They hadn’t seen her boot tread either. In fact, this country was so desolate they hadn’t spotted any fresh tracks, not even those of a random trekker.
He gave Hawk one last pat, then gathered some firewood and dropped it close to a ring of rocks. Monty had already pulled out a steel grill along with their food, and was once again peering through the binoculars.
“This looks like one of your regular campsites,” Carter said, noting the blackened fire pit and the abundance of grass. Monty’s knowledge of the country was legendary, and it was obvious the woodsman knew every meadow and deer trail, along with each curve of the mighty Mustang River.
“Yup,” Monty said. “This is one of my favorite spots. Water, good grass, yet we’re high enough so we can watch the riverbank. Let’s just wait. Don’t light the fire yet.”
Carter joined Monty, scanning the area with his naked eyes. He didn’t see any telltale campfires but the sun hadn’t set. It would be a stroke of luck if the girls lit a fire. He and Monty could hit their bedrolls knowing they hadn’t been riding an entire day in the wrong direction, and that they could easily overtake the women in the morning.
“They have to be out there,” Monty said, the binoculars still pressed against his face. “About fifty percent of people I’ve chased will light a fire. It’s a dead giveaway.”
“But we don’t care if they spot our campfire?” Carter asked.
“Not one bit. I like to spook them. It keeps them from sleeping too soundly, and makes them fret about being caught in the dark.” Monty was much more agreeable now that they’d stopped for the night, almost garrulous.
“With the horses,” Monty added, “we can change our position faster. Besides, I don’t like cold beans. Or missing my morning coffee.”
Carter tilted his hat and dragged the back of his hand over his forehead. Allie also enjoyed her coffee and he regretted tipping her cup before the roping lesson. He should have let her enjoy it. So what if that meant she’d need a bathroom break or start a rush of coffee drinkers. It wasn’t as if she intended to be a professional roper, and there was a toilet in the barn.
One thing was certain, if she had her way she’d be lighting a campfire, at least long enough to boil water. Janet might be savvy enough to avoid a fire though.
He felt a measure of empathy for both women. It was far easier to be the pursuer than the pursued. Yet despite the rigors of the race, people still clamored to compete. He’d never want to be the quarry but he could certainly enjoy the tracker’s job. At least he didn’t have to fret about the safety of his horses when he hit the road. He didn’t have to worry about vengeful girlfriends either, or what he might find when he returned. Or not find.
He dragged a heavy hand over his jaw. Quickly lowered his arm when he realized Monty was watching.
“Circuit beat you up?” Monty asked. “Is that why you retired?”
“It just seemed the right time to leave,” Carter said. He missed competitive roping and didn’t tolerate questions at the best of times. He certainly didn’t want to think about Smokey and how he’d failed to protect his horses. But Monty just stared, his expression patient, as if he would wait hours for an answer.
“I don’t have any dependents,” Carter said. “Not even any livestock to look after. My folks are well set up now. Seemed like a good time to try something new.”
“Sure. It’s a relief not to have anyone depending on you. And escaping in the woods on a quiet trail horse versus making big money in the arena and fending off buckle bunnies, I get it.”
Carter scanned Monty’s face, searching for sarcasm. But the old cowboy wasn’t even smiling. In fact, he looked serious.
“It’s convenient to have a herd to choose from,” Monty went on. “And it’s safer to keep them at arm’s length. But you’ll still develop favorites. No sense fighting it. They can’t always be judged on their looks.”
“Are we talking horses or women?”
“Both,” Monty said, lifting an eyebrow as if surprised by the question.
Carter gave a negligible shrug. He’d never judged a horse by its looks, or people either. Jenica had been a stunner and she’d ended up smearing his reputation and sending his horses to a brutal death. He could handle the former; the latter would never stop hurting. Although he supposed he did distrust beautiful women more than ugly ones, horses too.
But he didn’t want to think about that. Or talk about it either.
“Speaking of women,” he said. “Where do you suppose they are? Is it typical not to see any tracks for an entire day?”
“Happened to me once before,” Monty said. “Two hockey players dropped their map when Kate and I galloped up. They were tough though. Kept competing even though they had no clue where they were going.”
“If the girls lost their map, they might be mixed up,” Carter said, relieved they were back on a more comfortable topic. “Or maybe they dropped their compass.” A compass was critical, especially if the sun were hidden. Although it looked like tomorrow would be another clear day. The moon was already visible and the western horizon was stained with red.
“If we don’t see a fire tonight,” Monty said, “we’ll retrace our route. I’m surprised we don’t see a flame, or at least smell their smoke. Girls like them will crave the comfort of a campfire. The forest can feel alien.”
Carter stared unseeingly over the rapids. He remembered the one and only time his father had taken his younger cousin camping. She’d hated it, freaking out about flies and wolves and bears. Her distress had been gut-wrenching, and they’d cut their trip short, deciding it was kinder to take her home. It still bothered him to imagine any woman experiencing that sort of misery.
“You can’t feel sorry for them,” Monty said.
“I don’t,” Carter said quickly.
Monty sighed then stooped and pulled a flask from his saddlebag. “A drink of whiskey helps everything.” He unscrewed the lid and passed it to Carter. “Remember, we’re not here to save anyone. And you need to concentrate on catching Janet. That is, if you want the job.”
“I want it,” Carter said. He tilted his head and took a sip, careful not to drink too much. The fact that Monty was sharing his whiskey was a good sign but the man was out here evaluating his performance. He couldn’t afford to be viewed as someone who liked their liquor. And he also didn’t want Monty to report that he was soft-hearted with women.
“I’ll stay up late,” he said, hardening both his voice and his resolve. “And watch for their fire so we can take advantage of the girls’ fear. Then we can run them down first thing in the morning.”
Monty gave an approving grunt and took another sip of whiskey.
