Finally Wyatt was able to interpret Erin’s hand motions enough to know that one wolf had gotten to Barbwire and they needed to check him for injuries.

“We need a light,” he said, staring down at Erin’s face, which shone in the darkness like a gray oval. “Let’s go get a lantern. We can’t do anything for him without being able to see.”

He grabbed her arm and pulled her along beside him as they ran toward their temporary tent. When they got there, Wyatt dove through the loose flap, swatted his palms all over the earthen floor, and found both their lanterns perched side by side at the top of their sleeping bags. He snatched them up and ran hunched over to get back outside. He thrust one lamp at Erin, and together they started back toward the horses. Wyatt made a quick detour to grab the first aid kit. He’d removed it from a pack almost immediately last night, and the white plastic case glowed in the darkness like a bluish-white beacon.

When they reached the horses, Erin held her lantern high so Wyatt could see Barbwire, but the sphere of light allowed him to examine only parts of the mule at a time. Wyatt found one long gash on his right hindquarter. It didn’t run deep. The animal was barely bleeding. What had happened was obvious. Barbwire, unable to run because he was tied to the highline, had been attacked. But something had stopped the wolf from doing any more damage.

Wyatt fixed his gaze on Erin. Holding her light high above her head, she was bathed in bluish illumination and resembled a ragtag angel dressed in dirty jeans and a limp T-shirt. Her countenance was an indistinct blur of shadow and gray planes, but Wyatt wasn’t frustrated by the darkness. He had memorized every line of her face.

“He’s okay,” he told her. “We should probably disinfect the wound, though.” He glanced toward the trees, which were cloaked in blackness. “Did you shoot any of them?”

“No. I aimed high, hoping to just scare them off. That’s what you said to do.”

After they flooded the shallow slash on Barbwire’s haunch with disinfectant, they walked the highline, checking on every horse. Wyatt talked, but he didn’t know if Erin replied. And he suddenly felt like he was five years old again, a little deaf boy who wanted a drink of water or something to eat and had difficulty communicating his needs to the adults around him.

* * *

When they finally returned to the campfire, which burned brightly only about fifty feet from the highline, they both collapsed on the ground beside each other, Wyatt from exhaustion after running around half of the lake, and Erin with relief. Erin knew why Wyatt was drained. She assumed he knew her reasons for feeling just as exhausted. Being terrified and trying to fend off a pack of wolves had been one of the most harrowing experiences of her life, far worse than the time a crazy guy in Seattle had held his wife hostage at gunpoint. Every officer on the scene had been afraid the husband might open fire on them at any moment, and Erin had been just as afraid as all her colleagues.