“I’m okay, buddy,” she choked out. “Thanks to you.” She couldn’t believe how close she’d come to disaster, and how thankful she was for her dog. “I’m okay,” she repeated, as much for herself as for Chestnut.
He lay down next to her, warming her with his body. Meg huddled with him while her heart rate slowed and she began to breathe more evenly. After a few minutes, Chestnut licked her face gently one last time, then stood up. He looked at her, then sniffed at the air. He pawed at the ground, then sniffed at it. He held her gaze again, and this time there was a message in his eyes.
Get up, Chestnut seemed to be telling her. He whimpered at her and put one paw on her shoulder. With a wince, Meg rolled onto her side and pushed herself to a seated position, then slowly stood and shook out her arms and legs. She knew he was right. She had to move—she couldn’t just lie there or she’d freeze to death.
And they still had a job to do.
Meg took a few halting steps as her legs came back to life. Water squished out of her boots, and water dripped from her clothes onto the ground. She didn’t know how she’d ever be warm again. Chestnut barked, then scented the air once more.
Meg’s whole body was stiff, but moving helped warm her up. With every step, she hoped that they were getting closer and closer to the stolen trees. They had come too far to turn back now.
★ Chapter 23 ★
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Meg struggled to lift one foot. Then the other. She and Chestnut had an important mission, but it was getting harder to stay focused on it with every painful step. She was exhausted. She shivered in her wet clothes and her jeans were stiff, as if they’d started to freeze right onto her body. The moon had reached a high point above them. It was getting late.
This had been a terrible mistake. Meg wanted badly to turn back, but one thought kept her moving forward: she wasn’t going to disappoint her family, and she wasn’t going to disappoint Chestnut. She couldn’t take back the lies she had told them, but she knew she could get the trees back. Chestnut could get them back.
She followed the dog down the steep, rough side of another gully. Her boots slipped on the slick snow and she stumbled. She windmilled her arms and almost managed to stay upright . . . until her feet flew out from under her and she fell down with a loud thump, which knocked the wind out of her. Meg lay in the snow for a second, hard rocks poking her in the back, wishing she could just stay there for a little while longer. Chestnut ran back to her and swiped at her with one paw.
“Just give me a second?” She sounded like she was asking her mom for five more minutes of sleep. But Chestnut was having none of it. He nudged her with his snout and let out a high-pitched yip, as if to scold her into getting up.
“Easy for you to say.” Meg groaned. It was harder than ever to push herself back up, but she did it. Chestnut waited for her, eyeing her curiously as she eased herself to a standing position.
They made their way to the top of the gully, and he stayed close to her side, keeping a watchful eye on her. Meg plodded heavily through the snow. Her toes and fingers ached and shoots of pain pricked at her skin like hot needles.
As they stepped onto level ground, Chestnut’s behavior suddenly changed. He had been focused before, but mostly it was his nose that had been working hard. Now all his senses and his entire body were engaged. Though he stood stock-still, every muscle was flexed and ready to leap into motion. His ears were tuned to a frequency Meg couldn’t hear. His fur twitched and flicked as a cold breeze brushed against him. He licked his lips, as if tasting the air.
Meg stood still and observed him, waiting for a sign of what he would do next. His tail stuck straight up in the air. He crouched down and began creeping forward steadily, his head down as if he were stalking his prey. There was nothing of the silly, excitable pup in him now. He was on the job.
Meg could only hope that meant they were getting closer to the end of this journey—and to whoever left the scrap of shirt. The thought that they might be near the people who had stolen their trees made Meg shudder. She pulled her coat tighter around herself, and not because she thought it would keep her warm. Just then, something wet and cold brushed against her cheek, and she buried her face in her frozen mittens and shook her head. It was snowing. Just what they needed.
Meg looked up to find snowflakes swirling in the air all around them. Clouds passed in front of the moon, which cast a spooky, silvery light over the woods.
“C-come on, Meg,” she stammered to herself. “P-push harder. You can do this.” She picked up her pace, despite her cold, aching feet and her uncontrollable shivering.
Beside her, Chestnut growled low in his throat. A ridge of fur stood up along his spine, which made the hair on Meg’s neck stand on end too. Suddenly the dog bolted forward, his eyes on something she couldn’t make out in the darkness. Meg stumbled to keep up with him, her insides churning. Chestnut dashed between two trees and for an instant, Meg lost sight of him. She pushed her way after him, snagging her pant leg on a branch that dug into her skin painfully.
Chestnut leaped over a fallen log, then stopped. He dropped his head down and his nose skimmed the snow. Meg watched, breathing heavily, as he searched for the scent he was after. He followed his nose and moved in a tight circle, leaving pawprints in the snow.
With a whimper, he raised his head to sniff at the air. Meg realized that he had lost the trail, and her heart sank. They were so close—how could this happen? Desperation threatened to wash over her.
Then, almost as quickly as he’d lost the scent, Chestnut picked it up again. He homed in on it and dashed off to his left. Meg sloshed in the snow, struggling to keep up. This time, Chestnut wasn’t going to wait for her. He didn’t look back, and Meg worried that she’d lose sight of him completely now.
Pale moonlight illuminated the tracks that Chestnut had left in the snow, but the large snowflakes hurtling toward the ground threatened to cover them quickly. Meg followed the paw prints as fast as she could, forcing herself to keep going despite the heaviness of her legs. She was so tired. Her mind was begging for sleep, and her body seemed quite willing to give in to its demands. She could neither hear him nor see him, but she believed in her heart that he wouldn’t abandon her, just like she would never abandon him.
She grunted with every step after grueling step and tried to remember all the reasons why she was out in the freezing cold, hunting for thieves. She pictured her mom and dad, proud and happy that she’d saved the day. She pictured Mr. Mike and his family, grateful that she’d saved his job. She pictured Ben and Sarah, hugging her—and Chestnut. But most of all, she imagined Chestnut curled up at the foot of her bed. She would keep him warm and safe, and he’d know that they’d never be apart again.
As the image of Chestnut in her room filled her mind, she began to feel warmer. Her teeth stopped chattering. Through the trees, she caught a glimpse of brindled fur and a wagging tail, and she hurried to catch up to her dog. She smiled at the thought of warm quilts and doggy breath. This was what she was pushing toward. This was the thing she wanted most in all the world.
★ Chapter 24 ★
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Without warning, Meg and Chestnut burst out of the woods into a small field. In the center was a log house, its windows brightly lit behind the curtains. Smoke twisted out of the chimney, and Meg heard laughter from inside the house. Her heart thudded in her chest. The home looked so warm and inviting, for a moment she almost considered knocking on the door.
The spell was broken by the sound of a soft growl. She looked down to find Chestnut standing next to her, his eyes locked on the house and his fur standing on end again. His stance reminded her why they were there: this was where the trail led. Those laughing voices belonged to the people who had stolen her family’s trees. The cozy cabin was a den of thieves.
Chestnut began scenting the edge of the yard, close to the tree line. Meg ducked down and hustled after him, afraid that the moonlig
ht would make her visible to the cabin’s inhabitants. Another laugh rang out from inside the house, then Meg heard the cabin door open. She lunged behind the nearest tree, pulling Chestnut with her by his furry scruff. A man stepped out onto the porch and cleared his throat. She couldn’t get a very good look at him, but she could see the bright light of a cellphone screen in his hand.
“Yeah, it’s me,” he said, pressing the phone to his ear. “It’s done. We’ve got them.”
Meg’s heart pounded so hard she thought for sure he would hear it.
“Tomorrow morning? What time?” the man asked.
Silence hung over the yard for a long moment. “Yes, sir,” the man finally said. “We’ll deliver them at ten o’clock. I know the place.” He paused, listening. “Yes, sir. Twenty dollars each. Just like we discussed.”
He hung up. Meg could see him staring off into the distance, as though he were thinking hard about something. A low growl escaped Chestnut’s throat. Meg pressed a hand to his back, silently urging him to stay quiet. The man on the porch scanned the field and the edge of the woods—his eyes mercifully missing Meg and Chestnut. His gaze rested on a driveway off to their left for a long moment, then he turned and went back inside.
After Meg heard the cabin door close, she counted to fifty before moving. Chestnut stayed still too, as if he understood what was at stake. Finally, she released his collar. “Come on, boy,” she whispered. “Go find those trees.”
Chestnut took off to their left, heading for the driveway that the man had been staring at. She followed after him, trying to move quietly through the snow. Her gaze flicked to the cabin door. What if someone came out again? She and Chestnut were totally visible in the clearing. What if they had guns? What if they were worse than thieves?
Chestnut seemed to know exactly where he was headed now. She could see from his unwavering direction that he’d found what he was looking for. As they stepped onto the driveway and began running along its length, Meg spotted a hulking, motionless mass in the distant darkness. They got closer and the dark shape took the form of an old, beat-up pickup truck with a trailer attached. It was parked between the trees, just off the side of the driveway, and she could make out recent tire tracks under a thin, fresh layer of snow. Meg squinted at the truck’s license plate and repeated its sequence of numbers and letters to herself, committing it to memory.
Chestnut brushed past her, moving confidently toward the truck. From the house, Meg heard voices again. It sounded like three different people talking, then laughing. Fear coursed through her. What if they got caught?
But Chestnut wasn’t afraid. He skirted the pickup truck, his nose leading the way, and continued past it to a small, rundown barn. It was old and splintered, but it smelled like fresh-cut pine. Chestnut pressed his head against the door, which creaked open.
Meg held her breath, listening for any signs of life. What if someone was posted guard inside the barn? What if the people inside the cabin heard the door? Nothing changed—the barn was silent, the voices carried on, and Meg heard nothing but Chestnut’s breathing. After a long moment, she relaxed. They stepped inside and Meg closed the door quietly behind them. They were left in total darkness, but Meg found herself overcome with a smell so familiar and comforting that it made her feel right at home: the scent of freshly cut Fraser firs.
Meg inhaled deeply through her nose. It made her mad to think of the trees—her family’s trees—here, in these dangerous surroundings with these terrible people. Those beautiful trees that her parents and Sarah and Ben had nursed from saplings didn’t belong here.
She needed to see them for herself so she could have proof for the sheriff. She reached out in front of her, feeling the darkness for any obstacles. A squarish mass—a wooden crate maybe?—blocked her path. She was just feeling her way around it when she heard footsteps approaching from outside.
Panicked, Meg fumbled her way to the other side of the crate and crouched down behind it. She pulled Chestnut to her and buried her face in his fur. She willed him to be quiet.
She heard the door creak open, and suddenly a bright light shone into the barn, blinding her. It illuminated a huge, hulking shape on the opposite side of the barn, covered in brown burlap. “I told you,” a man crowed. “A hundred and fifty trees. We swiped them right out from under that farmer’s nose.”
Anger bubbled in Meg’s stomach. The thieves were bragging about their accomplishments! Like they’d done something remarkable instead of ruining a bunch of good people’s lives. She had the urge to rush out from her hiding place and shout at them, to tell them about all the harm they’d done and how selfish they were. But Chestnut pressed his nose into her hand, drawing her attention back to him. His wide, fearful eyes glinted in the light of the man’s headlamp. Meg held Chestnut’s gaze and stroked his fur, doing everything she could to calm her dog with her presence.
The thief’s footsteps echoed as he walked into the barn, and a series of lighter, faster footsteps trailed after him. From behind their crate, Meg could just see the man’s arm as he raised the edge of the burlap covering, revealing a pile of freshly cut Fraser firs—direct from Briggs Family Tree Farm.
A woman gasped. “That’s a lot of trees, Bill.”
Bill laughed. “Sure is. They’ll sell like hotcakes too. Mark’s already got a buyer.” He covered the trees back up. “We’re delivering them first thing tomorrow. No muss, no fuss.” He brushed his hands together as if he were brushing off some dirt. “Come on. It’s cold out here.”
When the light had disappeared, the creaking door had slammed closed, and the footsteps had receded, Meg dared to breathe again.
“Chestnut,” she whispered through the lump in her throat. “You did it! You found them!” She scratched him under the chin and kissed him gently on top of his head. “I’m so proud of you. I knew you could do it.”
Chestnut returned Meg’s kisses, wiggling happily. She spent a long moment rewarding him with affection, but in the back of her mind, she was counting again. She wanted to make sure that the thief had time to get to the house before they opened the barn door to escape. This time she counted to one hundred. “Come on, boy,” she whispered. “We need to get home and tell Mom and Dad.”
As if he understood every word, he darted around the crate and pawed at the door.
“Shhh,” Meg said. “Finding them won’t do us any good if we get caught now.” She eased open the shed door so it made as little noise as possible, then waited to make sure no one heard anything. Then she and Chestnut quietly tiptoed outside, down the driveway, and back into the woods.
Meg didn’t feel the cold anymore. Her muscles didn’t ache, and she wasn’t shivering at all. Only one thing mattered: Chestnut had solved the mystery and found the stolen trees! Her mom and dad were going to be amazed when they found out. Chestnut might even get an award from the sheriff!
When they were far enough from the cabin in the woods, Meg spoke.
“Come on, boy,” she said to Chestnut. “Let’s go home.”
★ Chapter 25 ★
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Their tracks through the woods hadn’t been completely covered by snow yet, and it was easy to follow them homeward. Meg was bursting with new energy that propelled her forward, and Chestnut seemed to understand that he had done a good job. As he trotted through the woods, he barked and snapped playfully at tree branches and piles of wet leaves. Meg laughed at him, and he ran in a circle around her, kicking up snow in all directions.
Suddenly, the sky opened up, and the light snowfall became a thick white curtain—a torrent of huge flakes that made it nearly impossible for Meg to see where they were going. Within moments, their footprints had disappeared, and she was totally turned around.
Panic overwhelmed her. In every direction, she saw only a carpet of white spreading as far as she could see. They were lost. The cold returned in an instant and sank deeper and deeper into Meg’s bones, until she could barely put one foot in front of th
e other.
Meg stumbled along, hoping for a break in the snow. They were at the top of a hill when suddenly she tripped on a root buried under whiteness and fell facedown. But she didn’t stop when she hit the ground—she kept going. Meg slid headfirst down the steep incline, bouncing over rocks and downed tree branches. With an oof, she finally came to a stop at the bottom, landing in a curled-up heap. Chestnut bounded after her, barking.
He stood over her, licking her face until she sat up.
“I can’t keep this up, Chestnut,” she said, pressing her face into his fur. “Maybe we should just dig a hole and sit tight until the snow stops.” Her right side was scraped and sore from the rough trip down the hill—but the pain felt far away and unimportant. There was nothing more urgent now than her need to rest.
Meg found a spot at the bottom of the hill where a downed tree and a large rock had created a small nook. She started scooping snow from the narrow space with her hands, and Chestnut joined her. She dug out a shallow hole and packed the displaced snow into a tall pile that curved around them and blocked the wind. The longer she sat on the icy ground, the deeper the cold soaked into her bones. Meg struggled to keep from shivering and fought to keep her eyes open. It was such hard work . . . but eventually a soft, soothing voice in her head told her not to bother fighting. Everything would get better if she just gave in, it said.
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