He looked over the edge. Some twenty feet down, a woman lay in the snow, wearing a knitted cap, her furred hood up, her back to them.

He descended the cliff, finding footholds where the dog had gone, and in a moment, he was down and crunching over to her.

Please, God, don’t let her be dead. He knelt next to her and rolled her over.

A white woman, with blond hair, her makeup smudged, her lips a pale blue. “It’s not Peyton!” He took off his gloves and pressed his fingers to her carotid artery. Weak and thready. “But she’s alive.”

He shook her shoulder. “Ma’am? Wake up.”

She didn’t move.

He held his hand under her nose. Barely a breath.

“I think she’s hypothermic.” He stood up. “I’m not sure how to get her out of here.”

Echo was already headed down. She tromped over the snow to him. “We’ll tie her to your back, piggyback style, and you can climb up.”

“That’s the trick.” He shucked off his coat, and knelt again as Echo propped the woman up. He got under her, pulled her arms around his neck, and Echo moved her legs to straddle him. She tied his coat under the woman’s backside and legs, then around his waist.

He stood, bending over, and grabbed the sleeves of the woman’s jacket with one hand. “You gotta stay behind me in case she slips.”

“All the way.”

He moved up to the wall. Under the snow, the tumble of rock created steps, and he managed to drag himself up one step, then the next.

Echo stayed behind him. “Just a few more steps.”

She wasn’t that heavy—maybe a hundred twenty or so—but her weight shifted, and he fought not to tumble back.

Echo put her hand on the woman to steady her, and he finally crawled onto the deep snow at the top.

Echo joined him a few moments later. She helped move the woman off him and lay her on the ground. She didn’t rouse.

“She doesn’t look wounded,” Echo said.

“Who knows, Echo. That fall could have caused some internal bleeding, maybe a broken bone. We need to get her back to the cabin, get her warm, and call for help.”

“We’re too far out. The radio won’t reach this far.”

Of course it wouldn’t.

“Okay, let’s get her back, tucked into a bag, and I’ll go for help.”

She met his eyes. “I know this is wrong—but she’s not Peyton . . .” She shook her head. “I can’t believe I even said that.”

He pressed his hand to her face. “I know. But we have to save the ones we can. Back in Afghanistan, we had a motto—‘That others may live.’ I let myself get crazy and forgot that and got two people killed. Not today.”