by Paty Jager
He nodded, pulled out his tin cup, and she poured the remainder of the water into his cup. Hawke pulled out a packet of instant coffee.
Tonya dumped hot chocolate in her cup.
He sipped the coffee, relaxing a bit, hoping he could trust her to not run off. His handcuffs were in his pack. But bringing them out would clue her in that he was law enforcement.
“Sean called you Hawke. Is that a nickname?” she asked.
“No, it’s my name.”
She studied him. “That’s an interesting name for a tracker. It fits, since you seem to be able to see tracks where no one else would see them. At least that’s what Sean said.”
Hawke wasn’t sure whether to be flattered the fellow tracker he’d allowed to kill a man seemed to be in awe of his skills or to be disgusted that Sheridan thought so highly of his skill, and yet, he’d allowed the man to get away.
“Was your uncle a tracker?” he asked to find out more about her and talk less about him.
“No.” She set the extinguished camp stove to the side, pulled out a wad of shiny material that rolled out into a sleeping bag and crawled in.
That was the end of his trying to learn anything from her.
Chapter Eleven
Rain drizzled all morning as they hiked up the side of a mountain and started out along the ridge. Hawke continued to follow Tonya. Hoping she wasn’t taking him and Dog on a goose chase.
He’d checked the map this morning before she’d awakened. They were passing around the Pittsburgh Landing by staying on this ridge. They would at some point have to cross the road from Whitebird to the landing. Unless she planned to hike the road out to the town of Whitebird. That could have been where she’d left her car.
The rocks and vegetation became slick as the rain continued to fall.
“Let’s find a tree or rock outcropping to hole up under for a while,” Hawke said.
“You can hide out if you want. I’m continuing.” She didn’t even stop, just trudged into a grove of trees.
Hawke and Dog followed. “Is there a specific day you’re to meet up with Sheridan?” He’d stared at the woman’s tall, slim frame all day as she’d stayed at a steady pace.
“No. But if we don’t hurry, he’ll leave. Then we won’t know where he’s going next.” The irritation in her voice told Hawke she was in a hurry because she was afraid she’d get left behind.
“I’m sure the police are looking for his vehicle and staking out his place. After all, he did shoot a man.” He wanted to remind the woman they weren’t looking for a boyfriend who didn’t want to be found. They were following a murderer.
“That’s why he’ll be where we’re going.” She glanced over her shoulder. “If you did less talking and more hiking, we’d get there sooner.”
Hawke narrowed his eyes. She was either trying to lose him or make him mad enough he’d stop following her. Neither would happen. He planned to find Sheridan. The man had messed up his assignment from the moment the tracker was assigned to him. Then to shoot White and flee... This woman wasn’t going to get away from him. She knew something. Something he had a feeling the authorities didn’t know.
Dog followed Tonya, keeping on her heels. It was as if the animal also sensed she would lose them if given the chance. The night before, after the woman had fallen asleep, Hawke had placed a ring of small sharp rocks and twigs around her. That way he would hear her if she tried to sneak away.
She’d cussed that morning when she’d slipped out of her sleeping bag and stepped on the small stones.
He’d grinned. That was what he’d have heard during the night had she tried to leave.
The road to Whitebird sat in an open area in front of them. Tonya stopped, peered both ways, and jogged through the opening and across the road.
Not wanting her to get out of sight, Hawke and Dog did the same. Just as they entered the trees on the far side, the sound of a vehicle rumbled through the air. A Dodge pickup. Diesel from the sound. What he wouldn’t give for a vehicle or even his horse, Jack.
Tonya continued, but was moving lower on the hill, getting closer to the river. That would make walking easier.
When they were down close to the river, Hawke noticed Tonya peering out at the water as if watching for something.
“Is Sheridan floating the river?” Hawke asked when they stopped to rest and snack.
“No.” She didn’t elaborate.
“Why do you keep looking at the water?” He hadn’t had a chance to pull out his radio and update Mathews or anyone else on the law enforcement frequencies.
“Just watching.” She finished off a granola bar, shoved the wrapper in her pack, and started downstream.
Hawke was never one for conversation, but he was chatty compared to this woman. He found it odd that she didn’t talk that much. Every woman he’d ever known, including the retired Air Force Officer, talked when given the chance. That was another thing that made him suspicious about Ms. Cox. She didn’t like to talk about her family or herself. Odd. Man, he wished he had more information on her.
Knowing they were heading north and presumably would come to Dug Bar where his ancestors crossed the river to avoid going on a reservation, he decided to chat her up and see what he could find out.
“I crossed this river several years ago following the trail of my ancestors.”
She glanced over her shoulder, a hint of interest on her face. “Ancestors?”
“My family are Nez Perce and Cayuse. They roamed this area for thousands of years.”
“Really. Then they probably ran in to my family,” she shot over her shoulder.
Something. “Your family homesteaded here?” he asked.
“They ran sheep along the river and had one of the first ferries.” Pride rang in her words.
“I would think as a writer that would make an interesting book.” He was always fascinated by history whether his people or those who came afterwards.
“Not really. The only scandal was a great, great uncle being with the group that slaughtered the Chinese miners. Not something I want to write about.” She hitched her pack a little higher on her back and stepped onto an animal trail that ran alongside the river about fifty feet up.
“You could write about how your family survived in this canyon. They must have been heartier than most to have lived here.” He’d thought about the families whose dwellings had clung to the sides of the canyon and the flat areas where they’d planted hay and raised gardens to sustain them through the winter months. How hardy the sheep and cattle had to be that had grazed these unforgiving slopes.
“They were.” She glanced over her shoulder. “I am.”
He nodded. She’d been hiking as if her life depended on it, stopping only briefly until nightfall to rest and refuel. “Up ahead, at Dug Bar, my ancestors crossed the Snake River in June, this time of year. Men, women, children, horses, and cattle to try and be free in Canada with Sitting Bull.”
“What do you mean try?” She slowed her pace.
“The army caught up to them at Bear Paw in Montana, short of the Canadian Border. The women, children, and the old were cold and hungry. Many warriors had been killed or wounded. Young Chief Joseph surrendered.” His gut swirled at the fate of the people. “And they were sent to Oklahoma where many more died. The lucky ones survived the eight years away from their beloved country only to be brought back and put on reservations that weren’t with their people.” He’d heard many angry words about how the government had made an example of what happened to Indians who disobeyed them. He’d also heard the story of the separation from both his non-treaty family members and his treaty family members. Even now, there was still a bit of contention between the two groups.
“That’s cruel,” Tonya said. Her consideration for his family made him wonder if he’d been too skeptical about her.
“Hurry,” she said, sliding down the side of the canyon toward the river.
Hawke heard the sound of a boat and wondered if that were Sheridan. Tonya was
determined to get to the water by the time the boat came to them.
“Stay back!” she told him and walked to the edge of the river.
He stayed back, crouched by Dog, and watched.
She dropped her pack beside her and pulled her shirt off. In her sports bra and shorts, she dipped the shirt in the water and started washing.
The boat revved and cut a curl toward the river bank and Tonya.
Two men with fishing poles stood up in the boat. They appeared to be in their late thirties.
“Hey, you lookin’ for a lift?” one of the men called.
“Maybe,” she called back and wiped her shirt across her bare belly.
Hawke hoped he didn’t have to intervene in a boat hijacking. It would spoil his chances of getting to Sheridan.
“How far north are you two going?” Tonya asked, pulling her shirt back on.
“We’re headed to Cat Creek Ranch.” The boat nudged up to the bank and one of the men hopped out.
“Any chance you would have room for two more?” Tonya waved to Hawke.
He stood up. He and Dog walked toward the boat.
The man on land, started to reach for the pistol strapped to his hip.
“We’re not taking your boat or anything,” Hawke said, raising his hands. “We’re just tired of walking and need to meet up with someone.”
The man sized him up and glanced at Tonya who smiled and nodded her head.
“Kind of a sneaky way to get us over. You could have just waved your arms and yelled,” the man in the boat said.
Hawke shrugged. “I didn’t know what she was doing until you changed course.” He studied the man in the boat. He looked familiar. Had he given the man a ticket? He hoped not, if the man remembered where he’d seen him.
“Come on aboard. But my friend, here, will keep an eye on you.” The man driving the boat stood up. He held out a hand to Tonya, helping her into the boat.
“Go,” Hawke told Dog, and the animal jumped into the boat.
As Hawke stepped over the side, the boat rocked and the driver reached to steady him. His hand landed on the Glock under Hawke’s shirt.
Their eyes locked.
Chapter Twelve
Recognition hit. Hawke knew where he’d seen this man before. He was one of the Idaho Game Wardens.
Relief swamped Hawke as he sat down next to Tonya. The driver had to know that he was on the trail of White’s killer. As long as the boat driver didn’t let the woman know his true identity, Hawke had a person who could report their whereabouts.
“Jeremy, get our guests something to drink,” the driver said, backing the boat away from the bank.
The other man opened a cooler and handed them each a bottle of cold water. Hawke thanked the man, and drank it so fast, pain pinged through his brain. He should have known better, but after sipping warm water for days, the cold water was refreshing and sweet. Kitree would have laughed at his impatience. He grinned thinking about the girl who now lived part of the year at Charlie’s Hunting Lodge. He was glad the Kimbals, Dani Singer’s employees, were able to adopt the girl.
As he reminisced, he watched the two men talk. Jeremy, the one who brought them the drinks, came back and motioned for Hawke to get up. Taking this as his cue to chat with the driver, Hawke stood and motioned for the man to take his seat.
He stepped over Dog and wandered to the front of the twenty-foot boat. “You know how to navigate these rapids?” Hawke asked by way of conversation and so Tonya wouldn’t catch onto what he planned to convey to the man.
“Been doing it for fifteen years,” The driver replied loud enough for the two in the back to hear. Under his breath he said, “You Hawke, the trooper from Oregon?”
Hawke nodded. “Tell authorities we’re headed north. She says she knows where Sheridan is but won’t tell me.”
“Hold on, we’re coming into some class four rapids,” the driver said, loudly.
Hawke gripped the side of the windshield and held on. The boat tossed and rolled, but the driver kept it in the right pocket and they slid out the other side.
“Nice job,” he said.
“She doesn’t know you’re law enforcement?” the man asked quietly.
Hawke stared down the river. “She doesn’t seem to. Thinks I’m a tracker like Sheridan.”
It was the driver’s turn to shake his head. “I’ll pass along where we drop you off and see if we can keep you in sight.”
“Appreciate that.” Hawke raised his voice. “Any chance you caught some fish? I wouldn’t mind having fish for dinner tonight instead of freeze-dried food.”
The man who’d been sitting with Tonya stood up and walked over to a cooler. He raised the lid and six steelhead lay on ice.
Hawke whistled. “Nice ones. I have a few dollars if you’d let me purchase a couple of those.”
The driver eased them through another small rapid. “Jeremy wrap up a couple steelhead for the man. We’ll get to catch two more if he takes those.”
“Thank you.” Hawke said, watching Jeremy wrap two of the twelve-inch fish in newspaper, then put them in a plastic bag with ice.
“Hope that keeps them good until you cook them,” Jeremy said.
Hawke tipped his head toward the woman. “She’s calling all the shots.” Hawke glanced at her. “Will we stop long enough tonight I can cook these?”
“We’ll see.” Tonya stared at the landscape on the Idaho side.
He figured she knew it well. Yet, she’d taken the men up on their offer of giving them a lift to Cat Creek Ranch. That was on the Oregon side of the river. Was Sheridan heading into Hawke’s territory?
Hawke shrugged and sat down beside the woman, making sure he didn’t touch her or make any intimate looking actions. He didn’t need these two thinking he was with her in any sense other than finding Sheridan.
«»«»«»
Thirty minutes later the boat veered left. The engine was cut, and Jeremy jumped out of the boat, wading through the knee-high water to secure the boat’s line to a pile of rocks.
“Thank you,” Tonya said, stepping off the boat and into the water, wading to the shoreline.
Hawke walked to the front of the boat and used the open bow to get less of his pant legs wet. “Thanks,” he said to the driver and Jeremy as he slid into the water and whistled for Dog.
The animal dove into the water and splashed to the shoreline.
Hawke hurried after the woman that hadn’t even stopped to shake the water from her shoes. Dog shook himself, spraying more of Hawke with water.
“Thanks a lot,” he mumbled at the dog and caught up to Tonya. “I take it we aren’t camping here tonight?”
“Not with those two spending the night.” She sniffed. “The one asked too many questions I didn’t like.”
“Like what?” Hawke had wondered if the other man had tried to pry information out of her.
“What was I doing hiking with such an old man? Where had we come from? Where were we going?”
Hawke would have taken exception to the man’s comment, but he understood the officer had been trying to act like a fisherman and not the official he was, and that he knew she was the woman who helped a murderer escape prison.
“What did you tell him?” Hawke was curious how she’d answered the questions.
“I said I found you on a trail acting turned around and offered to take you where you wanted to go.”
Hawke’s face heated. From anger and that she’d turned the tables on him. “What about where you’d been?” He knew it would have been easy for her to say she was on vacation hiking the area.
“I told him it was none of his business.” She glared at him over her shoulder. “You were pretty friendly with the boat driver.”
“Just asking him about the boat and fishing.” He waved a hand. “Catching that boat saved us time. Are we getting any closer to Sheridan?”
She’d hiked north along the shore. They came to a gulley Hawke knew as Bob Creek and she ducked into th
e gulley. This meant they were going deeper into Wallowa County. Now they were in country he knew. Bob Creek would take them to Deep Creek and either Lord Flat or Mormon Basin. He wondered if Sheridan had plans to use the airstrip at Lord Flat. That could be the reason for Tonya’s urgency to get there. She didn’t want left behind.
Following the creek, they were under the cover of mahogany and mountain ash trees. The berry bushes along the creek were just sporting buds. Too bad it was June instead of August. Then they could have grabbed berries as they walked.
Before long the creek grew louder and deeper in narrow beds of solid rock as the climb became steeper. They would have to go up and over several ridges before they’d encounter anyone. This part of the county was mainly occupied by cattle and elk this time of the year. If it were fall, there would be deer and elk hunters all over the place. Now, he could hope for a cowhand checking on cattle to relay where they were to authorities.
Darkness crept over the ridge.
Tonya finally stopped.
Hawke had been salivating the last hour as his stomach grumbled thinking about cooking the fish. “Help me round up some dry branches,” he said to his traveling companion.
She dropped her pack and stared at him.
“If you want one of these fish, you’ll help get wood for the fire.”
“Joke’s on you. I don’t have a pan to cook them in.” She sat down and pulled out her small pack stove.
He grinned. No lady, the joke’s on you. He built a stone ring to put the fire in. After gathering a pile of dried limbs from the trees and bushes along the creek, he started a small fire in the middle of the ring.
“You get that smoking too much and we’ll have Forest Service on top of us,” Tonya said, watching him.
“I know how to make a near smokeless fire.” He steepled the sticks getting them good and hot. While gathering the dry wood, he’d also found a green willow bush. He used the limbs he’d cut from the willow to spear through the filets of the steelhead, he’d gutted and cleaned. Leaning the fillets, skin side down, over the fire with the long ends of the willows held under rocks on the outside of the fire, he cooked the fish.
