The thunder rolled. Dustin and Kyle had headed west, downhill, this way. She slowed. She didn’t want to come upon Kyle unaware. She needed to get Dustin away from him—but if she couldn’t find him soon, she would have to give up and get back to the Hummer.

She reached the edge of the trees. In the stormy sunset, she faced a broad meadow. About two hundred yards from the tree line, a barbed-wire fence ran across the ground.

A fence meant private property. It meant somebody owned this land and might be around. Her spirits leapt.

Far across the pasture she heard cattle lowing. A herd of shorthorns was huddled on the distant edge of the pasture, where the forest resumed.

She ran to the fence. Just outside it she saw a crumpled cigarette pack. It was the brand Kyle had pulled from his pocket earlier.

She eked her way through the barbed wire and took off across the meadow.

How many people were trapped? What were their injuries?

“How did you get carjacked?”

“Long story,” Dustin hacked. He could barely keep up.

“We have another few hundred yards to go before we reach the phone. I have time to hear it.”

Kyle was wheezing, going at a hard run in the altitude. “Man, we need your help. The guys who did it have friends out there. They’ll be back.”

“What are you saying?” the rancher said.

“You got more guns at home? Ammo, a rifle, something we can use to protect ourselves? ’Cause these hombres ain’t playing around.”

Dustin understood what Kyle was saying. He wondered why the rancher didn’t just ride ahead and call the cops.

“We’re not going to break into your house and steal your stuff,” he said.

Kyle shot him a pinched look. He rubbed a hand over his chest.

“What?” Dustin said. “I’m too tired to beat around the bush. Mister, we’re in bad trouble. Just gallop on ahead and phone the sheriff.”

The rancher glanced down from beneath his cowboy hat. He seemed to be sizing Dustin up.

“Where exactly is this wrecked Hummer?” he said.

Dustin wanted to kiss him. “In the gorge, off the logging, where it turns to gravel. It’s—”

“Oh my Lord.”

With a hard thud, Kyle fell to the ground.

Dustin turned. “You okay?”

Kyle rolled and grabbed his chest. His face contorted. “I can’t . . .”

The rancher wheeled his horse around. “You all right?”

“Can’t breathe.”

Dustin dropped to one knee at his side. “What’s wrong?”

“Chest. Tight.” He gulped a breath.

The rancher slung a leg over the saddle, climbed down, and knelt next to Kyle at Dustin’s side.

Dustin looked up at the rancher. “I think he’s having a heart attack.”

The man took off his hat. Gravely, he said, “Where’s the pain?”

“Left arm, my chest. Oh God.” Kyle squeezed his eyes shut.

The rancher eyed him for several long, hard seconds. “We’d better call an ambulance.”

He put his hands on his knee and made to stand. Kyle gripped his sleeve. “Don’t leave me here.”

Dustin said, “Get him on your horse.”

“I have to ride back to the house to call an ambulance.”

“We may not have time for an ambulance to get here. You have a car at your house? A truck? I’ll drive him to the hospital.”

The rancher paused, hesitant, but looking at Dustin’s face, he finally softened.

“Son, on this side of the gorge we’re twenty miles from access to the logging road. You’re right, we need to drive him. Help me lift him into the saddle.”

Dustin slung Kyle’s arm around his shoulder. “We’re going to take care of you, dude. You’re going to be okay.”

The rancher tossed Kyle’s other arm over his shoulder and they carefully lifted him to his feet. The rancher said, “What are your names?”

“I’m Dustin, and this is Kyle.”

“I’m John Yarrow. Let’s get him in the saddle.”

They walked toward the horse. Kyle’s feet twisted and dragged. He gasped for breath. “Hurry.”

“Almost there,” Dustin said.

Kyle glanced up at the horse. He was virtually hanging in the other men’s grasp. Yarrow grabbed him tighter. “I’ll lift you.”

Kyle groaned and pitched forward in pain, his arm slipping from Yarrow’s shoulder. He lurched forward out of Dustin’s grasp.

He took two fast steps ahead of them and reached the horse. He pulled the shotgun from its scabbard on the saddle.

Dustin said, “Kyle?”

Kyle said nothing. He swept the barrel around.

Yarrow leapt for the gun.