empty gray among the trees and heard only the ubiquitous drip of the drizzle that, having fallen silently, gathered into heavy droplets on the foliage and fell again. He caught a familiar scent, something that gave him a moment of hope. The smell of wood smoke. But he saw no fire.
The movement came again. Something big rushing left to right. Cork’s finger tightened on the trigger. Then he saw the white flag of the deer’s tail as it bounded away, and he nearly collapsed with relief.
He followed the trail until it broke from the trees and he confronted a high ridge. He could see that at one time the stream had worn a passage through the ridge. But that passage was blocked now by tightly packed rock fragments that formed a ragged dam nearly a hundred feet high. Water seeped among the rocks and reformed into the stream that ran to the lake. Cork found the prints again at the base of the wall. Along the top of the ridge, he saw a quivering among the last of the fall leaves. The wind was slight but evident, coming out of the west, over the wall, bringing the scent of the wood smoke from a place he couldn’t see. He returned to the shore and signaled the others.
“I found tracks,” he said, and pointed toward the trail. “Shiloh’s, I’d bet, and someone else’s.”
“Uncle Wendell’s?” Louis looked hopeful.
Cork said. “We’ll know soon enough.”
“Should we leave someone with the canoes?” Sloane asked.
“I think it’s best we stay together,” Cork said. “Leave the gear. Bring the weapons.”
Sloane handed Stormy his handgun. “That’s a ninemillimeter Clock. Think you can handle it?”
“I’ll do fine,” Stormy said.
Sloane lifted the rifle from his canoe.
Arkansas Willie surprised them all by reaching into his pack and pulling out a pistol of his own. “It’s only a twenty-two,” he said apologetically. “But I’m pretty good with it.”
Cork led them to the wall.
“The lake’s back there?” he asked Louis. The boy nodded. “We have to climb. There’s a trail on top of the ridge. It leads to the cabin at the other end.”
“Smell,” Stormy said.
“Fire.” Cork looked up at the top of the ridge, anxious to check the other side.
“Think someone’s cooking?” Sloane asked.
“Let’s hope it’s dinner and there’s plenty.” Cork gave him a fleeting smile.
They went slowly, one at a time, covering each other as they climbed. At the top, they found themselves looking down at a narrow lake walled by steep rock topped with aspen. The far end was hidden in mist.
“There’s the trail.” Louis swung his hand toward a faint parting in the brush.
Cork knelt down. “Look here.”
He pointed at a place in the muddy ground where there were more boot prints. But there was something else.
“A dog?” Arkansas Willie asked.
“Wolf,” Cork said.
“What do you make of that?”
“It’s a good sign,” Louis said firmly.
“I hope you’re right, son,” Raye told him. “I hope to God you’re right.”
They moved single file up the trail. They left the brush and entered a bared area strewn with boulders. Finally they were among the aspen atop the ridge. They’d walked into clouds, into a deep, cold mist, into the wet kiss of snowflakes on their faces. The lake below was a dark gray slit in the earth-gray from the overcast and dark from the depth of the water. The ridge on the far side was slate colored and mounted by leafless trees. The pines, just visible at the other end of the lake, seemed like another dark wall.
A wall, Cork realized, with a black snake climbing the top and crawling into the clouds.
“Smoke,” he said. “Lots of it.”
“Too much for a wood stove,” Stormy said.
“The cabin?” Sloane asked.
“Oh, God.” Arkansas Willie broke from them suddenly. He started down the slope of the trail toward the dark pines. “Shiloh!” he cried.
“Willie!” Cork called after him. “Stop!”
But he knew it was too late. Whatever it was they were moving into, they had to move quickly now.
“Stormy, stay here with Louis. Let’s go, Sloane.”
He broke into a run, following Raye down the ridge toward the cabin hidden in the pines. Arkansas Willie surprised him with his speed and the fluidity of his movement. The man leaped rocks like a runner over hurdles. Cork understood that if it were Annie or Jenny down there, he’d probably be running hell-bent for leather, too. As it was, he kept himself in check on the downslope. He wanted to be able to stop quickly and fire his. 38 if necessary.
He glanced over his shoulder. Sloane had dropped back. That was probably best. If they were stirring up hornets, they wouldn’t all get stung.
Raye disappeared among the pines. Almost immediately, Cork heard a gunshot. He reigned himself in and drew up beside the trail. Sloane reached him a moment later, puffing like a big, black steam locomotive and sweating like a racehorse.
“You… you… hear… that?” he stammered between breaths.
“Sounded like a small caliber,” Cork said. “Maybe Will’s twenty-two.”
“Shooting at what?” Sloane gasped.
“I’ll circle right, you go left. You okay?”
“Nothing an oxygen mask wouldn’t fix. Go on,” Sloane said. “I’ll be fine.”
Cork made first for a big rock a dozen yards distant. Then to where the ridge fell away to the lake. The ground was strewn with mossy boulders, and Cork dashed from one to another until he reached the edge of the pines. He paused and listened. A steady groaning came from somewhere ahead and to his left. He caught a flick of motion out of the corner of his eye. Sloane slipped into a kneeling position behind a big pine, leveled his rifle, and panned the woods. He glanced at Cork and shook his head. Cork signaled them forward.
They came on Arkansas Willie sprawled in the mud on the trail. His face was squeezed in pain. He held his right knee. His. 22 was on the ground beside him.
“Slipped and fell,” he said between clenched teeth. “Twisted my fucking knee.”
“We heard a shot,” Cork said.
“Gun went off when I hit the ground.” Raye eased himself into a sitting position, still grasping his knee.
Sloane asked, “Can you walk?”
“Christ, I’ll crawl if I have to. Just get me to her.”
“What’s up?” Stormy and Louis approached on the trail behind them.
“I told you to wait,” Cork snapped.
“We only heard one shot,” Stormy replied. “Didn’t figure that was enough to kill you all.”
“We might as well stay together now,” Sloane said. “We’re sure not going to surprise anybody, and we can cover one another.”
“What about him?” Cork nodded impatiently at Raye.
“Here.” Sloane handed Cork his rifle. “Come on, Willie. Lean on me.”
Sloane helped Raye to his feet and let the man slip an arm around his big shoulders.
“Thanks,” Raye said.
“No problem, man.”
“What’s ahead of us, Louis?” Cork asked.
“A stream. The cabin’s just on the other side.”
Cork made sure there was a round chambered in the rifle, then he said, “Let’s see what there is to see.”
The stream lay only a few dozen yards ahead. Cork paused when he reached the bank. The others moved up around him and stood silently.
On the other side, the remains of the cabin stood smoldering in the drizzle. A charred, ragged suggestion of walls enclosed a jumble of collapsed roof beams black as old chicken bones. A big potbellied stove stood in a heap of ash near the center, its stovepipe jutting up into nothing. Flames had bared the lower branches of the pines
