"For the bonfire," I say, as I head downstairs.
I'm on the first level by the time he calls down, "What bonfire?"
"The one we'll have when we stop to camp. We should get going, though, while we still have light. You grab the marshmallows and bring Storm. I'll meet you at the stables."
Dalton doesn't argue with my plan, which is that we're going hunting for Jacob--immediately. All the self-talk in the world won't keep us from worrying. At least searching eases the tension
, making us feel as if we are accomplishing something productive.
First, we check the marked tree and find the flag to tell Jacob we want to talk. Next we travel to a spot he sometimes uses for a temporary camp. There's no sign he's been there. He has a more permanent site where he hides his gear, but Dalton has no idea where it is.
He grumbles about that tonight, like he always does. Usually, that's just hurt feelings, and I tease that it's like when the brothers were little and Dalton had hiding spots to escape Jacob. Now Dalton knows what that feels like. It's a good analogy, too. Jacob avoids questions about his main camp because he doesn't particularly want his brother there. Part of it might be privacy, but I think more is fear of being judged.
Dalton is physically incapable of keeping his opinions to himself, particularly when those opinions relate to how others are living their lives. We occasionally need that blunt honesty and hard push toward what we secretly know is the right path. But there's a limit to how much honesty--and pushing--anyone wants, and Dalton struggles to find that line. I think Jacob imagines his brother seeing his permanent camp and finding all the faults with it, all the reasons he should make Rockton his base camp. Better to just firmly draw that line for Dalton. I love you, brother, but this is my space, and thou shalt not pass.
Now, though, not knowing where to find that permanent camp gives Dalton a real reason to complain.
We return to the abandoned camp to search it better. We confirm that, yes, Jacob's bow is missing. While he has the rifle, that's mostly for protection. It's the bow he keeps strung across his back in case he spots dinner.
We set Storm to work here. I pull a sweater from inside the tent and let her sniff, and she does a little dance of joy. On the long list of people she adores, Jacob is near the top, and she's been racing about camp already, sniffing and looking for him. Now realizing that he is her target makes her far happier than when we gave her Val and Brady.
The moment I let her sniff Jacob's sweater, she's off like a flash. Fortunately, I learned my lesson with the cougar. She's on a lead now, and Dalton is holding it--she can't take him butt-surfing, no matter how hard she pulls. She snuffles around the campsite for about three seconds and then zooms into the forest. She doesn't go far. Apparently, she's found the path Jacob uses for his latrine, which means it's well traveled . . . and goes nowhere useful.
When she comes back, she takes it slower, unraveling scent trails. She follows the one we came in on and then pauses, as if considering. We've been working on teaching her to "age" scents--parse older ones from new.
She circumvents the camp again. Then she takes off on a trail leading into the forest. She commits to this one, which makes things tricky when it goes through trees too dense for the horses. I go back for them, climb onto Cricket and take Blaze's reins. Dalton's gelding isn't thrilled with that plan, but he follows and we circle around while whistles from Dalton keep us going in the right direction.
We spend an hour like that. I ride and lead Blaze while trying not to stray too far from Dalton's signals. Twice Jacob's path joins a trail, which makes it easier, until he cuts through the bush again.
Dalton finds no sign of trouble. No indication of an ambush or a fight. But eventually we hit a rocky patch, and Storm loses the scent. She tries valiantly to find it again, grumbling her frustration when she can't. We have some idea of the general direction Jacob was headed, though, so we continue that way, both on horseback now, while Storm runs alongside, her nose regularly lifting to test the air.
"Satellite phones," Dalton says after a while.
"I know."
I've been advocating sat phones. I remember when I first moved here, I thought that's what Val used. When it turned out to be some kind of high-tech dedicated radio receiver, I presumed that was because nothing else would work. But Dalton and I did some research when we were down south, and we discovered there was no reason sat phones shouldn't work. We just don't have them, because they'd allow us to call out, which is against Rockton rules. Also, even calls between phones in such an isolated region could trigger unwanted interest.
We have discussed getting them anyway, for emergencies, and now is the perfect example of when a satellite phone could be a lifesaver.
"We'd need to know whether they could be detected," I say. "And figure out how to get an account without a credit card and ID. They aren't like cell phones. You can't grab a prepaid."
"Yeah."
"It might be possible to buy one on the black market. Yes, I'm talking about that as if I have a clue how to get anything on the black market. But I might be able to figure out . . ."
I trail off as Storm stops. She's sniffing the air. Then the fur on her back rises, and she reverses toward me . . . which means toward Cricket, making my horse do a little two-step before snorting and nose-smacking the dog.
I pull Cricket to a halt and swing my leg over, but Dalton says, "Hold," and I wait. Storm growls. I resist the urge to comfort her. If she senses trouble, I want her warning us.
Storm is sitting right against Cricket's foreleg. The mare exhales, as if in exasperation, and nudges the dog, but there's no nip behind it, and when Cricket lifts her head, she catches a scent, too.
"Step out."
Dalton's voice startles me. The animals, too, Storm glancing back sharply, Cricket two-stepping again. Only Blaze stays where he is, rock-steady as always.
"We're armed," Dalton says as he takes out his gun. "I know you're there, just to the left of the path. Come out, or we'll set the dog on you."
36