The sun was still shining, a Steller’s jay scolded me with a shook, shook, shook, and a fly buzzed my face. The world was going on as if nothing had happened.

But something had happened. Whoever put me in that mine knew it was an active geyser and removed my prosthesis so I wouldn’t be able to run.

Someone tried to murder me.

Would they be watching to ensure I didn’t make it out alive?

I jerked upright and looked around. The mine was tucked into a narrow gulch with a creek, now swollen with superheated water flowing down the middle. In front of me rose a steep, rocky hillside where only mountain goats and bighorn sheep would be comfortable. This side had a gentler slope populated with ponderosa pines.

We seemed to be alone. The dogs casually drank from the stream above where the geyser had sprayed.

I exhaled and waited for my racing pulse to return to a somewhat normal rate.

My head ached from the blow and my good leg throbbed from the frantic hopping. I rubbed my leg, then itched my neck. Whoever had taken my prosthetic leg took the liner as well. Phantom pain surged from my missing limb.

The darkness. I’d faced darkness and come out sane. I grabbed one of the two remaining rocks from my pocket and stared at it. “As the saying goes, the only difference between stumbling blocks and stepping-stones is the way you use them.” I tossed the rock into the mine opening. That felt good.

There was a good chance the would-be killer would return to be sure the geyser had done its job. I had to get moving, but where?

I could hide, wait for the killer’s return, and follow him out. Right. He’d never notice two dogs and a hopping woman behind him. Any more stupid ideas?

Obviously my brain was still muddy, and the adrenaline rush had left me shaky. “Ground yourself in the present. Come up with a plan. What can you use to help yourself?”

At some earlier eruption, a mine cart had been shoved out and tossed on its side. Black ore and a miner’s pick lay in a pile next to the cart.

I pushed up from the ground. Maverick, as if trained since puppyhood to be a service dog, moved next to me. His shoulder was almost as high as a kitchen counter. With his help, I maneuvered over to the cart. The ore didn’t appear to be worth the effort it must have taken to haul it out. On impulse I selected one of the smaller pieces and stuck it into my pocket. Peeking out from some of the rocks was something gray. I brushed the stones away. The gray turned out to be a baseball cap.