Except for the missing staffer. Or could two people have been on the helicopter? One stayed at Mule Shoe, one followed me to Mae’s? Or was my active imagination running loose? Maybe some passing hiker took refuge here for the night.

The house was a washout, but I hadn’t looked in the shed. I might find a weapon there, maybe a handy pair of crutches . . . oh, why not? Maybe she had a cell phone with the whole US Army on speed dial.

Maverick waited outside and helped me over to the shed door. Inside, a partial bale of hay and a full bale of straw were along one wall with a small pile of baling twine. A log on one side held a sawbuck pack saddle with double rigging, worn canvas panniers—bags used for carrying supplies—and a rope halter. No guns, knives, pitchforks, hay tongs, or computer with internet access.

The shed had a rectangular opening at about waist height, allowing Mae to place hay into the feeder without having to haul it outside.

The feeder gave me an idea. The mule had escaped from the resort and returned here. Someone could have driven him off, but if he was still loose, maybe I could hitch a ride on him. The lack of a saddle and bridle was a little concerning. All the tack suggested Mae used him to pack in food, not ride. For now, maybe the last of the hay would lure him here. I’d worry about catching and riding him later.

After dumping the hay into the feeder, I sat on the straw bale. From here I could see a hole in the bottom of the shed in the corner. I could slip through the hole and be very close to the mule should he show up. Good. I’d bet he’d spook should I come crawling or hopping around the corner leaning on the dog.

I could see the dogs in the yard, stretched out in the shade. They’d let me know if someone showed up. They’d barked at whoever hit me on the head . . . but hadn’t attacked. Now that I thought of it, that was strange. They’d taken on a grizzly bear when they thought I was in danger.

Two possibilities. The attacker had a gun and they knew what that meant. Or they knew the attacker.

Holly picked up a pinecone and tried to get Maverick to play. The big dog turned his back on her and lay down.

Mae had drawn some of the people she’d met, who by extension were probably the people the dogs knew. Roy. Sam. The sheriff. Since attaching to me, the dogs had a chance to be around all the staff and guests at Mule Shoe, plus Bram and Liam. Good. I’ve narrowed the possibilities to everyone I’ve met since being here. That didn’t seem to be a promising line of investigation.