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deep breath. His left arm was throbbing again and, after just that little bit of activity, he was already feeling weak. “Okay,” he said. “If you’ve got a saddle, stick it on that horse, and make it quick. We’ve got to catch them before they get to their vehicle. Did you hear the sound of any kind of motor this morning?”
    The woman shook her head immediately. “No, and I listened, too. Their truck or Jeep can’t be very close.”
    â€œGood,” said Hawker, returning to the cabin for the rest of his weaponry. “Let’s go.”

five
    Hawker swung up onto the big Appaloosa mare and pulled Lomela onto the cantle behind him.
    â€œAre you sure you know how to ride?” the woman cried.
    â€œI know enough to know I’m not very good at it,” snapped Hawker, who did not like or trust horses. “Just shut up and hang on. And no matter what happens, don’t drop that canvas backpack.”
    â€œYou already have the terrible-looking machine gun strapped to the saddle. Why do you need this backpack?”
    â€œBecause that thing strapped to the saddle is an automatic rifle, not a machine gun, and I thought you weren’t going to ask any questions.”
    â€œBut this backpack is so heavy—”
    â€œIt’s heavy because of the grenades.”
    The woman’s voice dropped to a whisper. “Oh, my god.”
    Hawker kicked the horse into a canter and was immediately relieved to find that the animal was smooth-gaited. That meant that there was a good chance he might not fall off at all. He tried to remember the emergency riding lessons a Texas Ranger friend of his had given him one Mexican night long, long ago: back straight, reins in the left hand, knees turned inward, ass lifting and falling slightly with the horse, not fighting the horse.
    Even when he did it right, he felt like a subject in a hemorrhoid experiment.
    The vigilante reined the horse toward the river, and the animal charged through the icy water and up onto the grassy plain beyond.
    â€œThey didn’t go this way!” the woman called into his ear. “They went the other way.”
    â€œI know that!” Hawker yelled back. “And if I have to remind you not to ask questions one more time, I’m going to throw your ass right off this horse—I mean that, Lomela!”
    The woman lapsed into a moody silence behind him.
    Hawker steered the horse up the side of the mountain toward the nearest pass. He continued to press the animal to run, for he knew that they didn’t have more than a couple of miles to go. No matter where the kidnappers had parked, they still had to take the logging trail out. And his only chance of taking them was when they passed by.
    At the top of the pass, Hawker almost reined up. The view was stunning. The great Colorado Rockies moved away through the clouds like waves, one after another, silver mountains touched with veins of white and green against the pale blue sky.
    The horse grunted as Hawker nudged it with his heels, urging it down the slope.
    At a stand of aspens, Hawker stopped abruptly. “Get off,” he said.
    The woman was surprised. “What? Those men aren’t here. They can’t be anywhere around here.”
    â€œI know that,” said Hawker. “That’s why I want you off here. If I bungle the rescue attempt on your children, I don’t want them to get you, too. Understand?”
    â€œBut couldn’t I help you in some way—”
    â€œLomela,” Hawker said impatiently, “let me explain something to you. Getting your kids back is not going to be easy, but I am going to give it my best try. I am not up here on a lark. I am here because I do what I do very damn well. And I don’t like to do anything on a whim, because whims are dangerous, and in my business they get the wrong people killed. I’m a planner and a plotter. I think everything out ahead— everything .