Wild Horses by D'Ann Lindun Page A

yes.”
    Martin could’ve had a similar accident and no one would ever know it. They could ride right past him and never even see him. Castaña pushed those thoughts out of her head. “You said you thought you saw horses? Where?”
    Patty slipped her water back in its holder. “I’ll show you.”
    The trail split and they took the left fork, although the right led toward the position of the flare. The trail here was well maintained and wide. Through the thinning trees, they caught glimpses of a pond. Gato neighed and another horse answered.
    “That’s coming from the direction I saw the horse,” Patty said.
    “It sounds like Rojo.” They’d find out in a minute.
    When they broke into the open, they spotted a large pond ringed by trees. Not a place a horse would hang out except to drink. Gato and Patty’s horse both walked eagerly to the edge and dropped their muzzles into the clear water.
    A sorrel horse broke over the far bank and galloped toward them.
    Rojo.
    And Cloud right behind him.
    Castaña dismounted and untied a halter from her saddlehorn, and as the horses galloped up to them, she noticed Rojo wore his halter and, not one, but two lead ropes. She caught the sorrel and patted his warm neck. Cloud stayed out of reach. She examined the sorrel, but didn’t find any injuries. Cloud looked fine, too, although his halter was missing. “What happened, boys? What are you doing this far from camp?”
    “Looks like somebody made a makeshift bridle,” Patty commented.
    “Jake, probably.” But what happened to him? Had he managed to catch Rojo and attempted to haul the injured man to safety? Why? How had the horse ended up miles in the opposite direction from the ranch? Had whoever shot off the flare gun found the men? Castaña mounted Gato. “We better make tracks toward the flare. I think Cloud will follow us.”
    As they rode away from the lake, the appaloosa trailed along behind.
    • • •
    Before they reached Staton, Perez and the S&R team, Castaña and Patty saw a form in a body bag. They rode up close and dismounted. Staton spoke first. “You saw my flares.”
    “Yes.”
    “Uh-huh.” Patty stepped closer. “Who’d you find?”
    Castaña held her breath. Please don’t let it be Martin. Or Jake.
    Staton looked at her. “We were hoping you could tell us. Can you identify the body?”
    On wobbly legs, Castaña stepped forward. Perez unzipped the body bag a little and she peered in. Not Martin. Relief, and then her gag reflex made her knees go weak. In the light of day, the man looked like a world champion boxer had beaten him up. Purple and blue bruises stood out against his death pallor like paint thrown on a white canvas. Dried blood trickled from his mouth and nose. “That’s the same man we found last night.”
    “You think your brother knew this man?” Staton made it sound more like a statement than a question.
    “I don’t know,” Castaña said. “Are you blaming Martin for this guy’s death, too?”
    “Just asking questions,” Staton replied coolly. “For instance, how did this man get clear over here from Dead Horse Canyon? When did he die? And how? You said he was still alive when you last saw him.”
    “I have no idea what happened to him. He was in bad shape when I left, but I thought he’d live until help arrived.” She straightened and took in her surroundings. The group stood in the middle of a sandy wash rimmed by sagebrush. From here to Phoenix, the terrain would become progressively more barren until it was desert. In the other direction, as a crow flies, from here to the cabin would be at least two miles through thick timber.
    “I don’t either,” Staton admitted. “Where’d you find the horses? Yours?”
    “Yeah, they’re mine.” She hooked a thumb over her shoulder. “Up there. By Big Otter Lake.”
    “That’s not too far from here, is it?” he asked thoughtfully.
    “No.” She could guess what he was thinking. Someone could’ve ridden the horse, or