“Tracy!” she yelled, and her voice echoed through the canyon; she hoped it was Todd down there and not A.J. “Tracy, are you all right?”

For a moment Gwen thought she was dead. But then Tracy’s legs twitched and she moved an arm. She twisted her body and embraced the boulder, as if holding onto a rock in a river while the current tried to sweep her downstream. Then she lowered her head. Gwen had to look away for a moment, and so she gazed out over the valley, which was suffused with morning light, the ridge across from them basked in orange and gold. It took her breath away. How beautiful—how unbelievably, dramatically beautiful. And totally indifferent to their struggles.

“Shit,” Oscar said, and Gwen realized that she was still holding him up. He’d seen what happened and was looking down the slope.

“Let’s get to a safer spot,” Gwen said, redoubling her grip. “We need to stop and figure out what to do.” There was a rock shelf just ahead of them, and so they shuffled over to it, Gwen digging in her pole to avoid sliding herself, ignoring the pain of the popped blisters on her hand.

Once she got Oscar seated she looked back down the slope. Tracy was struggling to get herself upright. Her legs were moving but she was only using one arm. Her clothes were torn and Gwen could see several streaks of blood on her arms.

“I’m coming down!” she yelled, even though she had no idea how she would.

Tracy shook her head. “Don’t!” she yelled weakly. “It’s too dangerous.”

“Are you all right?” Gwen yelled again, but Tracy didn’t answer. She started to move up the slope, though her movements were disjointed; she was laboring, one hand kept grabbing her side, and her face was wrenched with pain. But her legs were both working; at least there was that. She slipped once, twice, but managed to catch herself.

Oscar, watching through bleary eyes, said, “I don’t think she can make it.”

The dog had been lifting her front paws up and down and whining. Now she nudged Gwen’s hand and gave her hoarse bark.

“What?” Gwen asked.

Timber looked at Tracy and then back at Gwen. Then she launched herself down the slope. Gwen yelled, “Hey!” She was afraid that the dog would slide helplessly too, or kick up rocks that might hit Tracy. But Timber moved expertly, somehow in control, like a surfer riding a wave. She started a little avalanche to the right of the boulder where Tracy had crashed; when she got close, she jumped off the rock slide as if turning off a wave and happily ran over to Tracy. She licked and nuzzled Tracy as if she hadn’t seen her in days. What did the dog think she was going to do? Herd Tracy up the slope?

Then Gwen got it. Timber darted up the slope ten or fifteen feet, then came back down, barking, ran up again. She was leading Tracy up, and she could, with her four feet, better manage the terrain; she’d gone down the slope to retrieve her. Tracy grabbed onto her collar and struggled up a few feet. The dog charged ahead again, struggling with the weight, tongue lolling and completely engaged. Tracy stepped and skidded and sometimes crawled behind her, reaching out for the collar with one arm while the other held her side. It wasn’t the same as a horse or a mule pulling her up, or even a Saint Bernard. But it was enough, that bit of energy and help, the upward momentum, the strength of a young creature who was born to work.

It took twenty minutes to get up the two hundred feet she’d fallen, with several breaks along the way. First she stopped to retrieve her pack. Forty feet later she paused to pick up something else—the bear spray—and reattached it to her belt. A little farther on she picked up the gun. Slowly they made their way to the spot where Gwen and Oscar waited; when they got close, Gwen stood and pulled both dog and human onto the small ledge. Once Tracy had gained the level rock, she collapsed onto her back. She reached out to pet Timber. “Good dog,” she said. “Good dog.”

Now Gwen could see the extent of the damage. Tracy’s hiking pants were in shreds at the knees. There were several tears in her shirt and her bare arms were scraped badly, streaked with blood. Her hands had cuts and gashes from grabbing onto the rocks as she slid; there was also a gash on her jaw, and dark bruises were forming on her arm.

“We should clean those up,” Gwen said. “You’ve probably got dirt in them.”

Tracy shook her head. “They’re not serious. They’re just scrapes. Let’s get over the pass first. What I’m really worried about anyway is my ribs. I think I broke a couple when I hit the rock.”

Gwen tried to remember what she knew about broken ribs and came up empty. “Can you breathe okay?”

Tracy shrugged. “I don’t know. I think so.” She closed her eyes and a wave of pain passed over her face.

Gwen tried to stifle her worry. Of all the things she’d imagined going wrong on this trip, and with all the unimaginable ways that things had actually gone wrong, the thought of Tracy being hurt or weakened had never occurred to her.

“We’re almost at the pass,” she said.

Tracy nodded. She looked over at Oscar, whose eyes were open, but glazed. “How you doing, buddy?”

He nodded slowly. “I’m here.”

“I wonder where Todd is,” Gwen said.

“Maybe we can see him by now,” said Tracy, and they scanned the floor of the valley—the lake, the stream, the stand of woods where they’d slept, and where the shot had come from earlier.

“Is that him?” Gwen asked, pointing. There was a human figure, small but moving, just outside the edge of the woods.

“I think so,” Tracy said. “Wave!”

And because she was the only one who was in the shape to do so, because she was the only one who could lift her arms above her head, Gwen stood and waved, extending her arms as far as she could, hoping that her movements would make her visible against the rock, even with the sun behind her. The figure in the valley stopped for a moment; then it, too, began to wave.

“That’s him!” Gwen said excitedly. “He’s okay!” She felt a huge surge of relief.

Then the figure started gesturing, pointing toward the opposite slope, crossing his arms in front of him as if to signal a missed field goal.

“What’s he saying?” Gwen asked.

“I don’t know,” Tracy said.

He seemed to be trying to communicate something, but what could it be? That A.J. was gone? What Gwen did know was that he was alive, and so were they. She waved at him one last time and pointed toward the pass. She was ready to get moving again. And now there were two injured people to deal with.

“Are you okay to keep going?” she asked Tracy.

“I’m ready. More than ready. Let’s get out of here.”

They stood and assembled themselves, Tracy grimacing in pain. Gwen had to help her get her pack on, since she couldn’t twist to one side. And then Gwen helped Oscar up. They determined that it might be easier to go straight up the slope now, making sure they had footholds before transferring their weight. They went single file, Tracy first, then Oscar, with a little help from Gwen, who brought up the rear. Timber scrambled up and down the slope, finding ledges for them to rest on, easier routes up through the scree and between patches of snow. The top of the ridge was sharp against the clear blue sky; it looked like the edge of the world. Gwen imagined the moment when they crested the range. They’d be able to see all the way into the Owens Valley; they’d be able to see highways and towns. Just a little farther, she thought. Just a little bit farther and we’ll be there.

They kicked and hiked for almost an hour and finally the top was in sight. Gwen could hardly contain herself—she loved the moment of reaching the top, when the land on the other side was revealed. The expansiveness of the view would make her feel expansive too; that welling up of joy and wonder was exactly why she hiked. And here, reaching the pass meant more than just a pretty view. It meant the path to their salvation.