“She was keeping to less-used roads. Of course, it wouldn’t have mattered if she had ridden on well-used ones: he still would have been able to sniff her out of the mix. Up hill, down dale he went, all the time the scent getting stronger, which meant he was getting closer. And then he found that she had separated from her horse. Perhaps she’d been brushed off by a branch. Or it had run off on her while she’d gone to get a drink or relieve herself. Or maybe she’d run it too hard. He didn’t know. ...He didn’t care. He was getting closer. He would have her soon. The road he was on now wasn’t so much of a road but a wide wash for the spring rains. Only the smallest trickle of water ran down the bed of the wash now. The last stretch had been rocky, and the loose uneven surface would slow her down, but it would not slow him. Trees grew thickly along the banks of the wash. Hunger raced around a bend and saw a trail split off the wash and rise up and over one of the banks. He saw one of her muddy footprints at the base of the trail.MoreLessRead More Read Less
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