So if the ranch wasn’t here, where would she go next? Toward the creek. Finding water was a logical first step.
He turned Mercury toward Spring Creek, and when he reached the water, he dismounted to let his horse drink while he looked for signs of Ensley. He didn’t find any footprints or evidence of a campfire.
But how would she start a fire? Maybe she still had the fire starter bracelet he gave her as a joke gift many years ago. He doubted it. So what would she use? There was plenty of flint near the creek, but what about a striker? Marcasite would work, but he doubted she found any here.
He glanced up at the sky. If he had to guess, he’d say it was midafternoon, which left several hours of daylight for him to search. If he followed Spring Creek, he would eventually pick up her trail.
He knew how to survive in this environment, and he could track anything that left a print or a marking on a tree or the ground, or any signs of eating, or other random clues that would enable him to find her.
He consulted his map again. He was ninety-nine percent sure she’d stay close to the water. That meant following Spring Creek to its end and then crossing the Badlands toward Little Missouri State Park, then to the river. It would be a long way around to TR’s Elkhorn Ranch—if it existed—but that’s where she’d go.
If she had a horse, though, all bets were off.
He mounted up and rode along the bank of the creek, searching for footprints. Within a hundred or so yards, he found some. He dismounted and picked through a rock-lined, shallow firepit, finding fish bones. Next to the pit were shards of obsidian and chunks of crushed rock with pieces of flint.
The footprints were fading but still recognizable: female, size seven boots with one-and-three-quarters ground-to-heel height. Based on the stride, probably five two to five five, weighing about a hundred and five pounds. If these were Ensley’s, she was favoring her right hip. His best guess was that she was here about four days ago.
Walking, she’d average about ten to twelve miles a day over the uneven ground. Fewer if her hip continued to hurt. She’d follow the creek but would have to zig-zag when the trees and brush grew up next to the bank. That would eat up the miles and keep her from making much progress.
He mounted up and followed the creek until he had to swing right of the river onto a sagebrush terrace and then cut back and forth, which slowed his progress. As he navigated one of the switchbacks, he followed footprints to the edge of a rock formation.
“Shit.” He dismounted to examine the prints. Why the hell did she get this close to the edge? The footprints were overlapping with dig marks made by her heels. “Damn!”
He had to get down there. He visually marked the spot, then led his horse down the switchback until he reached the bottom of the rock formation, where he squatted and examined the ground. This was where she landed. Then she stood on one foot and hobbled.
“Ensley! Ensley!” His voice died on the wind. If she was injured, she couldn’t be far away.
He followed her footprints. She was hobbling and had a walking stick for support. Then the prints stopped. He squatted and examined the tall grass, finally finding them again.
Why’d she go this way? She’ll get there faster if she goes straight.
He kept losing her prints in the tall grass, but after backing up and searching again, he found them and followed her trail as it angled toward the creek.
And then he found another set of prints. But this set belonged to a man wearing flat-soled shoes, standing about six feet, and weighing close to two hundred pounds.
Ensley’s prints were behind his, and he wasn’t dragging her.
What the hell’s going on. Is he Native American? What tribes are here now?
Sioux for sure. Would they harm her? For the first time, JC was terrified for her.
He followed the footprints to the creek. She limped here and sat down. Why? He studied the ground and the trampled grass and then stuck his hand in the water. “Damn. It’s like ice.” The signs all made sense. She hobbled to the creek, sat down, and iced her foot.
Smart.
He followed her footprints around the campsite. She was still hobbling, but at some point, she walked away on both feet.
What the hell?
How long was she here? He continued his search of the campsite and found the man’s prints crisscrossing Ensley’s, and then the man walked back through the tall grass and didn’t return.
So he left her here?
JC squatted by the firepit and, using a stick, sifted through the ashes, finding a few fish bones. She wasn’t here for more than a day. So how did her foot heal so quickly? Who was the man? And why did he leave her behind?
A memory pinged in JC’s brain.
Erik!
It had to be him or one of the others. The size of the man who left the prints matched the descriptions of the Vikings his dad met at Jarlshof. And according to brooch rules, when a brooch is left behind, the guardian has to stay with it. That meant one of the ancient Council members had to come forward in time to watch over the time traveler.
But wait. Back up a minute. Why go through all this trouble?
Guardians had protected the brooches ever since the Keeper dispersed them centuries ago. Since his dad was the Keeper, the guardians were supposed to return the brooches to him. So why send Ensley on a dangerous adventure? She could have pinned the brooch to her jacket, gone to dinner with George as planned, and JC would have seen it. Then he could have bought it from her and saved her from going through all this crap.
He must be missing an essential piece
