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It’s like a curse, see? So when I tell you to do something, it’s not because I’m trying to be mean or because I’m mad at my astrologer. It’s because I damn well want you to do it, and I don’t like to be questioned every step of the way. Questions are a waste of time, and things that waste time can get people killed. Understood?”
    The woman slid down off the horse. “Should I wait here?” she asked meekly.
    â€œYes, you should wait here. Even if the kidnappers zap me and start a search for you, they won’t find you here. When it’s safe for you to come down to the logging trail, I’ll fire four shots: the middle two will be close together. If you don’t hear that signal within the next hour, beat it down the mountain to the nearest phone and give Tom Dulles a call.” The vigilante allowed himself to smile slightly. “Don’t worry, Lomela. I’ll do the very best I can to free those handsome kids of yours.”
    Close to tears, the woman nodded quickly. “I’m sorry I’m so much trouble, but I’m just so worried about them I can’t think straight—”
    Hawker reined the horse away. “You already made it up to me—last night.”
    Then he and the horse were lunging down the slope. Hawker kept both hands firmly on the saddle horn and his feet well-braced in the stirrups as the Appaloosa twisted in and out of the pale yellow aspen trees. Then he could see the logging trail just ahead. It was an overgrown, twisting, turning ribbon that worked its way precariously down the mountain.
    Hawker knew that because he had driven up it the previous day. His own vehicle was about a mile to the south, well-hidden by the branches of a red pine with which he had covered it.
    Hawker got down off the horse and led it to an area just above the logging trail. He tied the horse out of view, then set about trying to find something with which to block the path. There were boulders around, but none were small enough to be moved by a man with a wounded arm. There were a few fallen trees, but they were too large, too. Finally, he found a partially rotted tree trunk that looked as if it might be big enough, and he dragged it laboriously across the trail.
    Then he climbed up the embankment, found his Colt Commando and his knapsack, and settled himself in some bushes and waited. The kidnappers had headed west from the cabin, so he expected them to come charging down the narrow trail at any moment.
    Even so, it was nearly ten minutes before he finally heard the high-torque whine of the four-wheel-drive Wagoneer coming from around the bend. Hawker got to his knees, the Commando ready. What he hoped to do was zap the first man as he got out to move the tree, then immediately nail the second as he sat waiting behind the wheel.
    The plan had a couple of flaws, not the least of which was the fact that the Commando was an assault rifle built for tough action in cramped quarters, not accuracy over any great distance. If the two children were anywhere within the sighting area, he wouldn’t be able to fire at all.
    As it turned out, though, that was not the plan’s greatest flaw. The plan’s greatest flaw was that the man driving the Wagoneer decided not to stop for the fallen tree. Hawker heard the man downshift and hit the gas in preparation for jumping the log, and he knew immediately that there was only one thing he could do. He got to his feet, waited until the vehicle had already jolted over the tree, then jumped spread-eagle onto the luggage rack on the roof of the car.
    Immediately, there was a shattering roar as a bullet gouged a hole in the roof of the car. Hawker rolled to the side just as far as he could as two more ugly spouts appeared in the roof.
    From inside the Jeep, Hawker could hear the children screaming. He had to make this quick if any of them were going to survive.
    In one swift motion, he locked his toes into the luggage