“No, and I’m hoping that that’s a good thing.” I was reassured by what sounded like voices and a barking dog coming from inside the shack. We limped to the door and carefully peeked inside. Henry had pinned Enic onto the cot and was attempting to hold him steady as Jennifer’s mastiff stood barking in the corner. I entered and looked at the Coleman lantern sitting and hissing on the small table to our left—of course, Henry had been correct.

Omar had limped in beside me. “Did you shoot the Indian?”

Henry threw the words over his shoulder, “I am an Indian. I am allowed to shoot Indians.”

I noticed the broken shotgun that Enic had hit me in the head with earlier, lying on the floor, and shrugged Omar onto the only available chair. “That seems exclusively racist to me.”

“You can shoot as many white people as you would like.”

Enic had looked better. “How is he?”

The Bear had pulled up the older man’s shirt, and I could see where the pellets had hit just above the kidney, along his side where they appeared to have missed any solid organs.

I moved closer as the Bear pulled a large packet with a first-aid emblem from the folds of his poncho. “There are two more in the underside of the arm; he was turning when I fired.”

The dog continued to bark until I’d finally had enough and yelled at him, “Shut up!” He did and promptly sat and wagged at me. “Good dog.” I watched as Omar filched a Band-Aid and applied it to his nose. “Where did you get the first-aid kit?”

“From the helicopter—it was in the compartment next to the flower vases.” He glanced at me as he began sorting out ointment, gauze pads, and strips of bandage. “Generally, somebody gets shot when we are involved in these types of adventures, so I thought it best to be prepared.”

I knelt down and spoke to the older man as Henry ministered to his wounds. “How are you doing, Enic?”

He replied through gritted teeth, “Hurts.”

“I bet it does.” I grunted, “You shouldn’t shoot at people; it pisses them off, and then they shoot back—it’s a lesson we learned in Vietnam.”

“I didn’t mean to hit any of you.”

“That’s the problem with shotguns in the dark—they’re kind of an indiscriminate weapon.” I pulled up the tinderbox and fed some twigs and crumpled, yellowed newspapers into the stove in an attempt to get a fire going. “Did you shoot at the helicopter, Enic?”

He winced some more and then settled as Henry studied the damage. “A little.”

“Hmm.” Omar handed me a fancy lighter, and I started the fire, slowly adding a few larger pieces, including the broken stock of Enic’s 20-gauge. “Last time I was here you hit me in the head with this thing, then you shoot our helicopter down and fill Omar here full of lead.” I broke off the rest of the stock and threw it in the stove. “There, that should slow down all the shooting.”

The older man jerked a little as the Cheyenne Nation poked at his side. “I did it.”

“Did what?”

After a moment, he spoke again. “Killed my brother.”

“And why would you do that?”

“I . . . I got tired of him.”

“After seventy years, you got tired of him?”

“Yes.”

I sighed. “Enic, you may be the worst liar I’ve ever met, and that’s saying something ’cause I’ve met some doozies.” I studied him, but he wouldn’t make eye contact with me anymore. “Who are you protecting? I mean, this can’t be just about helping the two young people, can it?”

The Bear stood and looked down at him. “You need proper medical attention, something you are not likely to get unless you start answering Walt’s questions.”

Enic turned his face away from us and remained silent.

The Cheyenne Nation held his hand out to me. “Do you have your pocket knife?”

“Actually, he’s got a nifty skinning knife, don’t you, Enic?”

The Cheyenne Nation extended a hand, and the older man struggled to slip the weapon from his back pocket. The Bear held the blade into the fire as Enic’s curiosity got the better of him and he turned back to look at us. “What are you doing?”

“Sterilizing this knife before I cut the lead out of you.” Henry watched the older man’s eyes widen just a bit and then pulled his own elk-handled bowie from the small of his back. “Or I can use this one.” Enic studied the eight-inch blade. “It is sharper, but I do not think it is made for delicate work.”

I joined in, helping to make the case more intimidating. “We have to get the pellets out because of lead poisoning.”

Enic gestured toward Omar. “What about him?”

I shrugged. “He’s got only two pellets in him and you’ve got five, so you get to go first.” I smiled. “That way Henry can practice.”

He scooted a little away as the Bear drew the blade from the fire. “I think I would rather wait for a proper doctor.”

I shook my head and rose, implying that I was going to hold him while Henry did impromptu surgery. “We don’t know how long we’re going to be out here looking for your family, so I guess we’re going to have to get all western on this, as Doc Bloomfield would say.”

Henry approached with the skinning knife held at the ready. “Time to get the lead out.”

The older man was sweating and had somehow plastered himself into the corner with his back against the wall, his heavy boots turned toward us. “It was Taylor.”

“What?”

He swallowed. “Taylor thought that he had killed his grandfather by giving him the alcohol—I don’t know where he got the idea.”

I slumped and looked at Henry. “Where are Taylor and Jennifer?”

He had an answer for that but not a particularly satisfactory one. “I don’t know.”

I gestured for Henry to tend to Omar as I sat on the edge of the cot and palmed my face with my hand. “Enic, as I’ve said, I’ve got a lot of personal drama going on in my life right now, and I haven’t gotten a lot of sleep, but the thing I’m really tired of is your family, and if I don’t start getting absolute compliance from you, I’m going to lock all of you up for the rest of your squirrelly lives.” I took a long pause and snuck a look at him through my fingers. “Now, I’ll ask again, where are the rest of your family?”

“We can call the house.”

I stared at him. “What?”

He fumbled in his pocket. “I have Taylor’s cell phone.”

I took it and looked at the blue and white Cheyenne flag cover. “What good is that going to do us?”

“This is the only spot on the ranch that gets reception.”

I turned in time to see that both Henry and Omar had their phones out and were looking at me with affirmation on their faces. “It is true, I have three bars.”

I sighed. “One of you call 911 and then get Ruby and the other try and get the Bobs and find out where they are.”

Quick on the dial, Omar hit 911 and looked up at me. “Who are you calling?”

I handed the thing back to Enic. “Eva, please.”

Henry was dialing as Enic hit a single button and handed it back to me. “What would you like me to tell the Bobs?”

Holding up a finger, I took the phone and held it to my ear. It rang three times and then went to a message, whereupon I disconnected and handed it back to Enic. “No one’s answering. Where’s the nearest road leading to this trailhead?”

He raised a hand and pointed over my shoulder. “The one to the Turtle Pond, four miles that way.”

Back to the beginning. I reached for Omar’s phone. “Bobs?”

“As per your request.”

I held the thing to my ear. “Robert, are you guys at the Lone Elk place?”

“Yeah.”

“Have you seen Eva and Randy?”

“Yeah.”

“Where?”

There was some talk in the background. “In the backseat of our unit—Randy got a little mouthy, so Bob cuffed him.”

“Do you guys think you can find the Turtle Pond?”

“The Turtle Pond?” There was more noise in the background, and I could hear whichever Bob it was on the line speak to the detainees in the backseat. “Well, we can go there, or we will not pass Go and not collect two hundred dollars and go straight to jail. Which would you prefer?” There was some more conversation. “We’ll meet you at the Turtle Pond. You need anything else?”