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  She spread her sleeping bag on the floor, unpacked a change of clothes, brushed her hair, and washed her face in the cold tap water from the bathroom sink. Kerney waited for Sara in the living room.

  A crudely fashioned desk made of a single piece of thick plywood, supported by two small filing cabinets, was jammed against a sill under a window. A camp stool, too small to make working at the desk comfortable, was pushed under the plywood top. Below the ceiling light in the middle of the room, two army surplus office chairs facing each other served as the lounging area. An army cot against the back wall completed the furnishings. While old memories clattered through his mind, he was struck by the realization that his cabin at Quinn's ranch had the same feel to it, and in some ways mirrored his childhood home.

  He wondered why the similarity had escaped him. Maybe he had needed to see the old house before he could fully admit to the dream that constantly chased him to get a place of his own. He couldn't help but smile, a little painfully, at his silliness. Sara came into the living room, her eyes searching Kerney for signs of residual shock. The numbness was gone from his face.

  "There's indoor plumbing," she said quietly.

  "You can thank my father for that."

  "He didn't install any hot water," she replied.

  "To my mother's irritation."

  "You're feeling better," Sara announced. Her diagnosis earned a wan smile.

  "Barely." Together they went to the kitchen, where Gutierrez had turned his attention to making sandwiches: cold cuts and cheese on sliced white bread.

  "It's nothing fancy," he announced, smiling at them over his shoulder. "But you two look hungry."

  "Ravenous," Sara replied. The grimy wood cook stove stood proudly on ornate cast-iron legs. The handmade cupboards and cabinets, some without doors, were painted a faded, chipped yellow. Sara wondered what the room had looked like when Kerney's mother ruled the nest. Probably warm and inviting, she decided. They sat at the kitchen table on mismatched castoff chairs, Sara sinking gingerly onto the unpadded seat. The table, a pine creation fashioned out of planks and rough-cut lumber, wobbled radically. Kerney watched Gutierrez as he worked at the counter.

  In his early thirties, Gutierrez had thick lashes, dark eyes, and large ears. His short neck and wide nose gave his face a fleshy look.

  "Can I ask what you're doing out here?" Gutierrez inquired as he brought them their plates.

  "Purely pleasure," Sara replied.

  "We just needed a few days by ourselves, away from the grind." She brushed her fingers across Kerney's cheek and looked at him lovingly.

  "Isn't that right, dear?" Kerney, almost blushing, nodded and bit into his sandwich.

  "It's turned into quite an adventure," Sara added.

  "I believe it," Gutierrez replied.

  "I didn't know there was a trail that came through Big Mesa."

  "There isn't," Kerney replied, swallowing. He could still feel Sara's touch on his cheek. "We got lost in the storm."

  "That can happen," Gutierrez said, pouring fresh coffee, serving the cups, and joining them at the table, his smile sympathetic. To Sara, Gutierrez seemed affable and rather ordinary.

  "You run the bighorn program on the range," she said, making small talk. Gutierrez nodded.

  "Going on five years now. I work out of Santa Fe but spend a lot of time down here. Especially this time of year." He took out his wallet and gave Sara a business card.

  "If you'd like to see the herds, give me a call. We do periodic fly overs to track the herd and check on the new lambs. I took the commanding general up last year. He enjoyed it."

  "That would be fun," Sara admitted. "Can I heat some water? I'd like to wash up."

  "I'll put the pot on for you."

  "Thanks." After eating, Sara took the pot of hot water into the bathroom, stripped out of her clothes, and sponged off the sweat and dirt, feeling better by the minute. She wondered what Kerney must feel like to see the ranch for the first time in so many years. She dressed in fresh clothes, barely managing to get the boot on her injured foot, and limped out of the bathroom. The living room and kitchen were empty.

  The packhorse gear was on the living-room floor. She searched through it for the handheld radio. Andy needed to know they would be late getting back to the Jennings ranch. The case, seriously cracked, came apart in her hands. The radio was dead as a doornail. Probably damaged when the gelding slammed into the roan during the storm, she thought, returning it to the pack. She went looking for Kerney and found him stretched out on his bedroom floor, his jacket stuffed under his head, fast asleep, and breathing generously through his mouth. She brought her gear into his bedroom, spread it next to him, and shook him gently with her hand.

  He woke up quickly. "So we're a couple now, are we?" he said, sitting up.

  "In your dreams, Kerney."

  "How did you guess?" Sara suppressed a blush and gave him an unreadable look.

  "Did you question Gutierrez?"

  "No. I fell asleep." He rubbed his face with his hands and looked at the sleeping bag and pack on the floor next to him.

  "Are you bunking with me?" She poked his arm with a warning finger.

  "Only for appearance' sake. Go back to sleep. I'll talk to Gutierrez."

  Kerney nodded and rolled onto his side. "Thank you, dear." Sara stuck out her tongue and left.

  Gutierrez, stretched out over the seat of his truck, was cleaning out an accumulation of trash. As Sara approached, he climbed out and moved the bench seat back as far as it would go.

  "Hi."

  "Hi," Sara replied.

  "I wonder if you have time to answer a few questions."

  "Sure. What's up?"

  "Did you know Sammy Yazzi?"

  "I never met him, but I know who he is," Eppi answered.

  "I was up range when the search team started looking for him. I heard all the radio traffic. I stay tuned to the military police channel whenever I'm on the range."

  "Where were you?"

  "Camped out up on Sheep Mesa, identifying animals for a relocation project. I was stopped and questioned by a patrol when I got back down here, the day after the search started." Gutierrez chuckled. "They even searched my truck."

  "Did you ever have any unexpected visitors at Sheep Mesa?" Gutierrez shook his head.

  "I would have remembered something like that. The areas I work in are mostly off-limits. The only people I see are military police and other wildlife officers."

  "Thanks. Would it be all right if I used your radio?"

  "Go ahead." Gutierrez started to move away, then stopped.

  "I guess you haven't found that soldier yet."

  "No, we haven't."

  "Well, good luck with it. There's fresh coffee on the stove. Help yourself."

  "I'll do that." She waited until Gutierrez left, keyed the hand mike to the radio, called the base dispatcher, and left a message to be passed on to Andy Baca that they would be late returning.

  Inside the house, Eppi looked up from the desk, closed his notebook, and put down his pen.

  "That was fast," he said conversationally.

  "How long will you be on the range?" Sara asked. Gutierrez gave a harried sigh.

  "You'll have the place to yourselves in the morning. I'm heading back to Santa Fe. We've got a drawing for bighorn hunting licenses this week." His expression brightened. "I could get you a V.I. P permit, if you like."

  "I'll pass, but thanks just the same." He shrugged.

  "If you change your mind, let me know." Kerney emerged from the back of the house into the kitchen, scrubbed and clean, wet hair plastered to his forehead, carrying his boots in one hand and his still-damp cowboy hat in the other. Sara was drinking coffee at the table.

  "I couldn't go back to sleep," he admitted, sitting down. He shaped the hat to get the right crease back in the brim and placed it on the table. "Andy's going to start looking for us in the morning unless I give him a call."

  "I took care of it," S
ara said.

  "Good." He started pulling on his boots.

  "Did Gutierrez have anything interesting to say?"

  "Let's talk outside," Sara suggested, nodding at Gutierrez through the open kitchen door. Kerney grabbed a small kit from the pack, and they left the house, walking toward the horses. The bay lifted his head as they approached. Kerney brushed him down with a curry comb and checked his legs for soreness.

  "Well?" he asked. "What did Gutierrez have to say?" He handed Sara the comb.

  "Not much," she answered, brushing the gelding while Kerney rubbed some antibacterial ointment into a small scrape on the animal's neck.

  "I asked if he knew Sammy, and he said he didn't. But he was on the base when Sammy turned up missing." Kerney worked on the gelding's hoofs, brushing a dressing under the hair and into the band.

  "Was he questioned?"

  "Stopped, questioned, and searched," Sara answered.

  "Nothing suspicious was uncovered." The packhorse rolled in a patch of wet grass. Sara got the animal to its feet, and while Kerney treated a sore rubbed raw by the pack frame, she gave the roan a fast brushing.

  "We know Sammy was in the area, and Gutierrez sleeps at the ranch when he's on the base," Kerney commented as he repacked the kit. "Should we question him some more?"

  "He seems straight enough."

  "It's your call," Kerney noted.

  "I'd rather wait and do it later, when we're back at the main post."

  They left the horses and walked to a sheared-off dead cottonwood that had been struck by lightning. One thick branch remained on the tall stump; it bowed and touched the ground. It had the shape of a wizened woman bending over, extending a long hand to the earth. It was the witch tree of Kerney's childhood, a favorite hangout where he would perch with a book and read until sunset.

  Sara reached in her pocket for the cavalry insignia and held it in her open palm. "Any ideas about this? I found it in the cave." Kerney took it, turned it over several times, and shook his head in wonderment.

  "Right in my backyard."

  "What?"

  "Apache plunder. Mexican silver. The Lost Bowie Mine. The treasure at Victorio Peak. I used to sit on the witch tree, read Frank Dobie books, and dream of finding riches." He tossed the pin in the air and caught it.

  "Dale and I would spend days on end searching. We never found a damn thing." He handed the insignia to Sara.

  "Amazing."

  "This type of insignia hasn't been used since the nineteenth century," Sara said.

  "Did you find anything else?"

  "No. We'll see what the crime scene unit uncovers."

  "Let me guess," Kerney speculated. "We'll wait to send them out until after we get back." Sara laughed.

  "That's an excellent idea." *** After Kerney and Sara Brannon were asleep, Gutierrez crept quietly out of the house. He took an alternate route to the cave, picking his way carefully to avoid leaving footprints. The nearly full moon gave him enough light to confirm his fears. The two cops had been nosing around. He stepped cautiously from rock to rock until he reached the cave entrance. The stones were not in the same order he had put them in. It made him sick with worry. He knew the law. He could be charged with murder. He was as guilty as the man who had killed Yazzi. No one was supposed to get hurt. It wasn't his goddamn fault the soldier had showed up at exactly the wrong time. Hiking in the boondocks with a sketchbook, for chrissake. Nosing around where he had no business being. Walking into the cave with a wide-eyed, shit-eating grin. Asking questions. Gutierrez retraced his steps until he dropped below the rim of the mesa and sat on a rock, looking at the ranch below. What the fuck was he going to do? The story about a pleasure trip was pure bullshit. He might have bought it if Brannon hadn't asked all those questions about Yazzi. He'd almost shit a brick when she brought the subject up. Damn it! If they had only listened to him and let him move the rest of the stuff right away. That was the smart thing to do. No, no, too risky, too soon, let it quiet down, they said. Shit! In too deep to back out, he almost wished he'd never found the cave. Can't cry over spilt milk. The last load was behind the seat of his truck. Two thousand gold and silver coins and a leather dispatch case filled with historical military letters. Worth plenty. Fuck the others! He didn't need them. He'd sell it himself in Mexico and just disappear. As far as he could tell, he wasn't under suspicion, but that could change. He looked down at his shaking hands and clasped them together to stop the trembling. He needed a plan. Something he could pull off. There was no way in hell he was going to prison.

  "I've got to improvise," he whispered to himself. It was still dark. The bare ceiling light cast a harsh glow throughout the kitchen, and the aroma from a wood fire in the cook stove filled the room. Sara, drying two plates at the sink, turned and looked at Kerney as he came in.

  "Is Gutierrez gone?" Kerney asked. There was a pot of coffee and pan of scrambled eggs on the top of the cast-iron stove. He was stiff from head to toe, but rested.

  "Before I got up," Sara reported, putting the plates on the table.

  "Coffee?"

  "Please."

  "How long will it take to get back to the Rocking J?" She asked, putting a mug of coffee in front of him.

  "We can make good time if we run the ridges over Rhodes Canyon."

  "That may not be wise," Sara said. Kerney sipped his coffee and laughed.

  "Trust me, your people won't even see us coming. I watched the Army build that concealed outpost in the canyon when I was a kid."

  "You're not supposed to know about that," Sara chided, half-jokingly.

  "I won't tell a soul."

  They ate breakfast, enjoying each other's company, cleaned up the dishes together, and headed out to saddle the horses. Gutierrez watched the three horses and two riders leave the ranch veering south and west. At first light he had picked a vantage point that would keep them in view for some time. His plans depended on the route they took. He would use his knowledge of the terrain and his speed to his advantage. He knew the mountains and could outrun them easily in the truck. Yesterday's storm had brought a blessing. The usual telltale funnel of dust thrown up by the tires would be missing. He followed them with his binoculars.

  Going southwest was good, he thought. It would take them to Rhodes Canyon, probably above the pass. Anything farther on was more than a day's journey by horseback. They weren't provisioned for another night.

  He had searched the pack and knew what supplies they carried. He just had to be patient. He held their shapes in the lenses until they turned into dots, then fired up the truck. He got in position just in time to watch Kerney bypass the canyon that ran out of Tipton Spring. They were running the ridge tops to Rhodes Canyon. Had to be. From where they were now, they had no alternative. Water still filled the washes from the storm. It would be too dangerous to ride through the draws. Two canyons over they'd hit Amole Ridge. There would be two steep steps up and down. They would have to break trail and lead the horses through it on foot. Above the eastern scarp of the ridge they would reach high country of broken benches, cedar breaks, and gentle slopes.

  After that, they could easily pick up the road through Rhodes Pass. He moved the truck again and watched until they entered a stand of cedars. He held his breath as he scanned the prehistoric reef Kerney had to use to scale Amole Ridge. They came back into view just where he had his glasses trained. He watched them weave slowly back to the west.

  Gutierrez was starting to feel good. He would be way ahead of them when they reached the road. *** Sara held the horses while Kerney fed them the last of the oats from the bag Dale Jennings had provided. The view was stunning; so completely different from the slashing gorges and mean canyons on the ride in. On both sides of the tight pass the land rolled in soft hills that hid the vast desert from sight. The road below her, carved and blasted out of the mountainside, clung to the edge of a drop-off dotted by the crowns of tall pine trees, rising seventy-five feet from the canyon floor, that formed a natural border along th
e shoulder. Here the turns in the road were gradual. Farther along it slashed in a series of cutbacks that pierced deeper into the canyon.

  Sara had traveled the road many times before, but the vantage point from the top of the canyon threw her off. She asked Kerney to locate the MP outpost for her. He smiled and pointed at her feet. They were standing on top of the outpost, which was carved out of the mountainside.

  Kerney finished with the horses and swung into the saddle. She mounted the gelding and took one last look at the breathtaking beauty around her before moving her horse down the slope to the road. *** Gutierrez surveyed the roadside patiently before selecting his spot. Where the granite changed to limestone, the ground was still soggy from yesterday's storm. At a blind corner, a large slab of limestone had separated from the top of the cliff. Chunks of stone and earth partially blocked the roadway. He drove around it carefully, the truck tires inches away from the fall-off into the canyon, found a place to turn around, and parked close to the rock wall below the slide. He climbed to the top of the cliff and scanned in all directions. Above him, there was no possibility of passage down to the pass. Kerney and Brannon would have to join the road long before they reached his position. He stayed back from the ledge, stretched his arm over the crevice, and poked at the crumbling limestone.

  A small clump broke away and dribbled down the bluff. He kept working on the slab until rock blocked the entire road. After climbing down he moved rocks into a pile, then stopped to think things over. His back ached and his shirt stuck to him like a wet rag. He walked around the blind corner and then back to his truck, studying the road. He got a shovel from the truck and moved dirt and rocks from the lip of the road, leaving just enough space to allow foot traffic around the rockpile. He sprinkled earth and pebbles over it to make it look natural. He put the shovel in the bed of the truck and walked back up the road, pacing off five-yard increments, marking each with a small rock until he was fifty yards from the corner. He turned and examined his labors. The slide would look passable to anyone approaching on horseback. He went back to the slide and eyed the height of the pile. He needed it to be at least to the top of the truck's bumper and loosely packed. He threw some of the bigger stones over the side and hollowed out a peephole where he could watch the road without being seen. Judging the timing and the amount of force he would need was the only remaining problem. He estimated distances and moved the truck farther down the road. He walked from the farthest marker, timing himself as he went. He did it once more, walking backward to erase the footprints. It might be a Rube Goldberg scheme, but it would work. Shit happens, Gutierrez thought, smiling to himself. He spread some damp dirt over the rocks to make the pile look more natural. Kerney and Brannon would have to ride single-file to get around it. He stretched out at the peephole, still sweating from the exertion, and waited. When everything was over, he would erase any traces of his presence and be on his way. He checked his watch. He would be long gone before anyone came looking. Maybe to Yucatan or Veracruz on the Gulf of Mexico. He had visited both areas before, and Spanish was his first language. He'd blend right in. An hour passed. He was starting to get restless when Kerney came around the last bend. Kerney reined in and stopped, the roan packhorse siding up to the bay. Gutierrez held his breath. Finally Kerney moved and Sara Brannon came into view, closing the gap between her and the roan.