The reason for the fall was quickly evident. Ground squirrel burrows dotted the field. It was a wonder his horse didn’t break her leg. He gingerly tried to push off the ground. What felt like a firebrand slashed through his shoulder. “Aaah!” He dropped back down.

The mare jerked up her head at his voice, danced sideways, then started trotting back toward Mule Shoe.

He clamped his jaw against the pain and stood, swaying. “Whoa there, girl. Come here.” He moved after her retreating rear. “Come on. Here you go . . .”

The trot became a lope, then a full-out gallop. She vanished up the hill, leaving only a slight dust cloud.

Bram cycled through every cuss word he knew. The GPS was in the saddlebag, along with his water. He had to be five or six miles from Mule Shoe and a whole lot farther from Yellowstone. He could try for Yellowstone, but without the GPS, he could get lost, not to mention the park was full of wild animals that thought cops tasted just like chicken. And his shoulder was probably dislocated.

He’d have to retrace his ride from Mule Shoe and hope he stayed clear of the killer.

*  *  *

I dismounted and led the horse away from the sheer cliff. The dogs looked at me with heads cocked. “Don’t worry. This isn’t a huge disaster. We’ll head south. The sun is . . .” I glanced up. “Currently in the east. We just have to get around this spot, unless you two have a better idea?”

Maverick stood and started climbing away from the precipice as if he understood completely. I mounted the horse and fell in behind. We climbed for about half a mile before Maverick took a right. We seemed to be on a game trail. Numerous boulders and rocky outcroppings lined the narrow path.

Crash, thump! A startled elk with an impressive seven-point antler shot up the hill. The Appy jerked but didn’t bolt.

I looked around for the dogs, expecting them to pursue the tempting chase.

The dogs were gone.

The trees here were ponderosa pines, widely spaced and park-like. I should have seen the dogs easily. “Maverick! Holly!”

I turned the horse completely around, searching. The two canines had simply vanished. “Holly, Maverick!”

The only sounds were the wind rustling the pines and the high whistle of a golden eagle. “This doesn’t make sense.” I was hoping my voice would give me encouragement. “They’re not below me, beside me, or above me. So that leaves . . .” Straight ahead was a solid granite cliff. I took another slow look at the surroundings. Trees. More trees. More trees. Dead tree. Rocks—

My gaze returned to the dead tree. It was partially blocked by several pines. I backed the gelding several steps. The dead tree was a blackened snag, probably hit by lightning a long time ago. I’d seen that same snag before—in two of Shadow Woman’s drawings.