Looked at her.

She stilled. Of course.

Idaho.

He pointed at her.

Elsa dropped, woozy, now trying to run with her cubs into the forest.

Run. Echo didn’t know if she was saying it for herself or Elsa, but as the animal took off, she held her breath.

And then, suddenly, the ATVs were headed her direction.

Uh-oh.

At least Elsa was safe—except any animal tranquilized in the forest was in predatory danger.

Shoot, shoot! She should have thought through this better.

Echo stuffed the gun away and jumped on the treads. “Hike! Gee! Gee!”

Granite led them to the right, away from the riverbed.

Idaho and his cohorts were motoring on the far bank, heading toward a snow bridge.

She clung to the driving bow as Granite and the team lit out toward the hill that led into the forest along the river.

Almost miraculously, the snowmobile tread appeared, and Granite took to it like a paved highway, urging Merlin with him.

Echo glanced behind her. The ATVs had found the snow bridge.

No way her dogs could outrun an ATV. And given her last encounter with Idaho . . . “C’mon, kids!”

She turned back just in time to see Granite and Merlin leap a berm. No—no—

Jester and Goose were right behind them and suddenly the sled hit the berm, flying into the air.

Echo screamed, went airborne, and landed hard, ten feet from the sled, still being dragged by the dogs. “Whoa! Whoa!”

They were stopping anyway, whining, worried.

She got up—nothing broken—and limped over to the sled, picking it up and breathing hard.

The motors grew louder, and she took a quick look, her jaw tight. Idaho and his cronies had started to cross the snow bridge.

She righted the sled and climbed on, her body aching. “Let’s go. Hike! Hike!”

The team started again but, without the momentum, the slope fought them. They eased into it, and she got off, trying to push.

She chanced another peek at her pursuers. The ATVs were nearly across the river to the other side. Two hundred desperate yards separated them—

A crack sounded, echoing through the air, and suddenly, one of the ATVs crashed through the snow bridge. The driver flew over the handlebars and landed in the flowing, freezing river.

She gasped and faced her dogs, breathing hard. “Giddyap, team!”

Miracles. Or someone watching out for her in the woods. Whatever the case, she didn’t look back until they reached the edge of the forest.

The two other ATVers had stopped to fish their man from the river, who was struggling to find shore.

He’d be cold, and if they didn’t stop to warm him, he’d die.

She had time to get to . . . where?

She couldn’t go to the hunter’s cabin—it wasn’t well known, but it was on every backwoods guide map. Idaho would know.