Skeleton Canyon

“What do you think?” she asked.

“If we had a lick of sense, we’d give up this wild-goose chase right here and now.”

“It’s not that much farther,” Joa

“It is if we get washed down-river.” Voland snorted.

“Put it in four-wheel drive,” Joa

Voland looked down at her. “I suppose that’s an order, isn’t it?”

“Not necessarily,” she replied. “If you like, you can hand over your car keys and stay here.”

“You’re going in no matter what?”

Joa

Dick Voland shook his head. “Get in, then,” he snapped. “Get in, both of you. I’ll drive.”

Joa

Once back on the roadway, Voland shot Joa

Joa

“There’ll be time enough for Willcox later,” Joa

“Right,” Voland muttered.

Ahead of them, the clouds over the Peloncillos seemed to break apart, revealing a patch of brilliantly blue sky. Moments later, a breathtakingly beautiful double rainbow appeared, arching across the eastern horizon. Big Hank Lathrop had al-ways told his daughter that there was a pot of gold at the end of any rainbow, but especially double ones. A grown-up Joa

“There it is,” Angie called from the backseat.

Ahead of them, a road veered off to the right. Beyond the junction, the wet rock walls of Cottonwood Creek Cemetery glowed damp and shimmery in the late afternoon sun. On the far side of the cemetery, tucked into a clearing sat a small camper-trailer.

“Doesn’t look like anybody’s home,” Dick Voland commented, turning right off Geronimo Trail and then pausing to take stock of the situation. “What kind of vehicle did you say he has?”

“A Hummer,” Joa

“As in sixty to ninety thou?” Voland asked with a whistle.

“How does a guy who raises parrots for a living come up with that kind of cash? He must be one hell of a grant writer!”

“I don’t know where De

Voland stepped on the brakes. “Here? What for?”

“So I can look at the tracks and try to figure out what’s going on.”

“But…” Voland began.

Without waiting long enough to hear his objection, Joa

Kneeling over the still-damp dirt track, she saw that the storm had washed it clean. On the blank slate left behind, only one set of tire tracks was visible. The storm had blown up from Mexico, circling from east to west. Because Joa

Finished with her initial examination of the roadway, Joa

Angie nodded. “Yes. On his cell phone. He was telling me he was about to leave for town when whoever it was came bursting inside.”

Joa

“What are you going to do?” Voland asked.

“Walk,” Joa

“Wait a minute,” Voland objected. “What if they’re still in there?”

“With the Hummer gone, I doubt it,” Joa

“Wait,” Angie said. “I’ll come with you.”

“No you won’t,” Joa

Nodding, Angie subsided back in the seat. Joa

Joa

At once, Voland killed the engine on the Blazer. In the sudden hush that followed the whack came again. “Did you see something?” Dick asked a moment later as, nine-millimeter in hand, he dropped to the ground beside her.

Feeling stupid, Joa

“Cover me,” Voland said. “I’ll go on up and check it out.”

“No,” Joa

“Look at what? I don’t see anything.”

“Footprints,” she said. She crawled around her chief deputy to examine the set of footprints that had been left in the soft sand. They looked as though they had been left by a pair of worn sneakers, and they led directly from the brush toward the trailer. The prints from the right foot were distinct and clear. The ones made by the left foot were blurry, less defined. A foot or so off to the left of them was a third track of some kind-a round hole poked in the dirt at regular intervals.

“Whoever left these tracks may be hurt.”

“What makes you say that?” Voland asked.

“He’s using a cane or a crutch,” Joa

Voland eyed her quizzically. “How can you tell?”

In order to handle the livestock chores on the High Lone-some, Joa