After the last of the horses we needed were in, he dumped the oats outside and shut the door. We quickly had the horses in the correct headgear. The saddles were all similar, well worn but in good condition, and all had breast collars and flank cinches with hobble straps. The horses were swiftly saddled. Wyatt added a scabbard to the buckskin’s saddle to hold his rifle.

“Bram, you take the dun. Liam, the sorrel. They’re both about the same speed so you’ll stay together. You two.” He pointed at Stacy and Peter. “How well can you ride?”

“We’ve been taking dressage lessons for years,” Peter said.

“Okay, there isn’t time to show you the difference.” Wyatt handed Peter the reins of the two bays. “These two aren’t as picky about their riders.”

He handed me the Appaloosa’s reins, then led the buckskin to the door and opened it. “Darby, the Appy is my toughest horse. He’s stubborn but fast—”

Gunshots rang out, coming from near the lodge.

“Let’s go!” Bram yelled.

Without waiting for more instructions, I grabbed the saddle horn and swung into the saddle, ducked through the door, and kicked the horse into a gallop. As more shots rang out, I bent low and prayed a bullet wouldn’t find me.

Wyatt was right. The big gelding was fast. He flattened his ears and charged up the hill as if it were flat ground. We didn’t slow down until we reached the top of the ridge. I pulled him up. He wasn’t even breathing hard. I, on the other hand, was gasping for breath.

Behind me came the thunder of the other horses. I didn’t wait for them to catch up but continued off the marked trails while I checked the GPS. I adjusted my direction slightly right. I needed to head southeast for a few more miles before turning south.

Holly and Maverick seemed overjoyed at this galloping romp in the woods.

I urged the Appy to a trot and instantly regretted the tooth-rattling gait. Another nudge with my legs pushed him into a distance-eating lope.

The sky lightened, but a heavy overcast hid the sun. The ground grew rough and rocky, so I slowed to a walk and let the horse pick out his path. After what I figured was another mile, I pulled out the GPS and checked, then turned south.

The mountain grew steep, though the Appaloosa still navigated with ease.

A soft rumble like a heavily traveled highway grew louder as we continued. The sound resolved into a sheer cliff dropping to a boulder-filled stream far below.

We stopped. The dogs sniffed the air, then the ground. I took out the GPS to look for an alternate route.

The screen was black. Pushing the On button, I waited. A depleted battery symbol flashed on, then off.