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by Cody. Working quickly, the boys dug out the backpacks their friend Skeet had given them before they’d found their dad. Unlike when they’d left Pittsburgh, the boys knew exactly what they needed to survive. Jake ticked off the items in his head one by one as he stuffed them into his pack.
    Two water bottles. Sleeping bag. Map. Compass. Pocketknife. Portable shovel. First aid kit. Flashlight. Rain poncho. Ground cloth. Extra socks and underwear. Two extra shirts. Rope. Cord. Matches. Ziplock bags. Sierra cup. Knife, fork, and spoon. Two-quart pot. Ax . . .
    By the time he’d finished, Taylor was nearly done too, but he seemed to be stalling.
    â€œYou have your poncho and warm clothes?” Jake asked.
    â€œSure,” he replied. “Listen, Jake, Dad’s gonna be mad. I don’t know if this is the right—”
    â€œI don’t care if he’s mad or not,” Jake interrupted. “The only thing that matters right now is Mom.”
    From its secret hiding place behind their bed, Jake pulled out the bag full of cash they’d taken from Bull. Both boys stared at it for a moment. Then Jake tossed it to Taylor.
    The last thing Jake picked up was the notebook he’d bought on their trip to town. It was already half-full of the things they’d seen and done since coming to Wyoming. As he stuffed the journal into his pack, Taylor asked him, “Don’t you think we should at least leave a note?”
    Jake hesitated.
    He didn’t leave a note when he left us seven years ago.
    But then he tore off a piece of paper from the notebook and gave it to Taylor. “Here, you write it.”
    Taylor scribbled something on the piece of paper and impaled it on a nail overhanging the cabin’s sink.
    The two boys hoisted their packs and took one last look around them.
    â€œYou ready?” Jake asked.
    â€œYeah . . . I guess so.”
    â€œComing, Cody?” Jake asked.
    The terrier wagged his tail, willing to follow the boys wherever they led him.
    With stars still shining overhead, they stepped out of the cabin and into the wild. . . .

7 Morning found the two brothers and Cody sitting on a large lichen-covered rock next to a stream winding through a valley of pines and firs. Ice rimmed the edge of the stream, forming a thin sheet over the shallow water. The boys had pushed hard as they’d climbed the mountain passes that separated their dad’s world from their goal—the highway. They’d decided against heading into town and trying to find a ride, in case they ran into anyone who knew Abe. Eventually, their muscles had screamed for mercy, forcing them to stop for a brief rest.
    â€œDo you think Dad will follow us?” Taylor asked, tearing off a piece of venison jerky with his teeth.
    â€œWhy would he?” said Jake, chewing some of the toughmeat. “He’s where he wants to be, isn’t he? He isn’t about to admit he’s wrong.”
    â€œBut he loves us . . . loves having us around. He said that last night. He’s gotta be worried about us, for sure.”
    â€œYeah? Well, if he cares so much, why did we have to find him , huh? If this place is so great, why didn’t he come and get us ?”
    â€œQuit being a jerk,” Taylor said, looking down. “He sent us loads of letters—it’s not his fault we never got them.”
    Jake fed Cody another piece of jerky and looked down at the map spread between them.
    â€œWhatever,” he said. “Even if he does follow us, we’ll get to the highway before him. We had at least an hour’s head start, maybe more, and we’re almost as fast as he is. You might even be faster.”
    Usually Taylor would have smiled at that. He didn’t now.
    Jake gazed down at the map. “Once we get to the road, we should be able to catch a ride. With any luck we can get to Riverton or, better yet, Casper, where we can buy bus