Dead or Alive by Michael McGarrity Page B

the busy season, when teenagers came to ride horses, shoot rifles, mountain bike, backpack, rock climb, play volleyball, work out in the gym, study the scriptures, and engage in Christian fellowship.
    He parked at the camp director’s house just as a spirited group of laughing teenagers came down the lane on their way to the worship center. He crossed the porch, knocked on the front door, and watched as the kids passed by, clowning, screeching, and teasing each other in the private world that adolescents inhabit.
    The camp director, Reverend Gaylord Wardle, a soft-spoken, middle-aged man with a big, benevolent smile that Clayton had instantly mistrusted at their first meeting, opened the door. He greeted Clayton warmly.
    â€œWe’re keeping a close watch on our flock,” Wardle added before Clayton could speak. “We’re doing head counts four times a day. No campers are allowed to leave the ranch unsupervised. All are present and accounted for, and we’ve posted the photographs of the fugitive that another officer dropped off to us in every ranch building.”
    â€œThat’s very good,” Clayton said. “Have you or your staff encountered any strangers on the county road?”
    Wardle shook his head. “There has been virtually no traffic. With that murderer still at large I think people are afraid to be out in the mountains on their own, away from civilization. The only vehicles we’ve seen have belonged to the Forest Service or the neighboring ranches.”
    â€œCall 911 immediately if anyone unknown to you, your staff, or the campers shows up here unannounced.”
    â€œWouldn’t that be overreacting a bit?” Wardle asked. “After all, we do have photographs of the culprit.”
    â€œAppearances can be easily altered,” Clayton countered.
    Wardle stroked his chin. “Yes, of course. I didn’t think of that.”
    Clayton stepped off the porch. “Thank you for your time.”
    â€œOf course. Each day at prayer we ask Jesus to protect all the men and women in law enforcement who are working so hard night and day to keep us safe. Thank you so much for all that you do. Are you any closer to capturing this madman?”
    â€œNot yet,” Clayton replied with a wave as he walked toward his unit.
    He drove slowly through camp and out the open gate. On the county road he stopped, got out of his unit, and in the glare of the headlights took a close look at the surface of the road. It had rained in the mountains recently, just enough to wash away evidence of any vehicles traveling into the forest. But there was a set of fresh footprints on the road along with a set of hoofprints headed toward Capitan Gap.
    He got a flashlight from his unit and followed the footprints a few yards past the gate, where the tracks left the road and cut through the woods parallel to the Bible camp access road. He got the local phone directory from his unit, paged through it, and dialed Gaylord Wardle’s phone number on his cell phone.
    â€œAre you patrolling the access road to the camp?” Clayton asked when Wardle answered.
    â€œYes,” Wardle replied. “I’ve assigned nighttime sentry duty to several of my young-adult counselors, just to keep an eye on things, and we’re also locking the gate at lights-out.”
    â€œHave you armed the counselors?” Clayton asked, hoping Wardle hadn’t been that stupid.
    â€œYes, with .22 rifles, but for their own protection only. Not to worry, they’re all National Rifle Association certified instructors.”
    Clayton had no legal authority to order Wardle to disarm his counselors, but that didn’t stop him from offering some unsolicited advice. “To avoid a tragic accident, I suggest you lock up all your firearms, Mr. Wardle, including the twenty-twos your sentries are carrying.”
    â€œThese young men are certified instructors,” Wardle repeated in a bit of a huff,