being eaten by the western Absarokas when Rude said it was time to turn back. It would be dark soon. As the chopper curled toward Hot Springs, he said, “What I don’t understand is why the pilot, if he was having mechanical difficulty, didn’t turn north toward Cody or south toward Riverton. Both have airfields where he could easily have landed. Why try for Casper? I mean, assuming what those snowmobilers heard was your wife’s plane.”
“Maybe they were wrong,” Cork said. “Maybe the pilot did try for one of those airfields.”
Rude shrugged. “We’ve gone over both those corridors. Nothing. Hell, if he’d only been able to make radio contact, at least we’d have some idea where to concentrate our search. As it is, we’re kind of shot-gunning it. Scattered, you know.” He glanced at Stephen and added heartily, “But we’re going to keep looking until we’ve covered every reasonable acre.”
The mountains became deep blue in the twilight, and the canyons between were like dark, poisoned veins. Though the sun had dropped below the rest of the range, it hadn’t yet set on Heaven’s Keep, which towered above everything else. Its walls burned with the angry red of sunset, and it looked more like the gate to hell than anything to do with heaven.
As they flew back over the reservation, the land was black and empty as far as the eye could see. Rude, who seemed to read Cork’s thoughts, said, “The rez covers thirty-four hundred square miles, an area the size of Rhode Island and Delaware combined. The number of people who live here could just about squeeze into a double-decker bus. It’s empty, uninviting country. But to the Arapaho it’s home and it’s sacred.”
A short while later, Rude set the chopper down on the landing strip at the Hot Springs airfield.
“You two have dinner plans?” he asked. “My wife’s Italian. She makes pasta like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Thanks,” Cork said, “but we’ve got to get ourselves into a hotel.”
“Got one in mind?”
“Dewey Quinn recommended the hotel on the grounds of the hot springs.”
“A good choice. When you’re ready to eat, try the casino. Good food, good prices. Just a mile or so south on Highway 27. Can’t miss it.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked west, where darkness had swallowed the mountains. “Look, there’s a lot of territory still to be covered. We’ll give it another go tomorrow and every day after that until we find them.”
“Can we go with you again?” Stephen asked. Cork was amazed at the hope still evident in his son’s voice.
“Absolutely. I’ll make sure Dewey knows that. Let’s rendezvous here at oh-seven hundred hours.”
“Seven o’clock,” Stephen said.
“Right you are. I’ll take a look at that helmet, Cork, but I won’t promise anything.”
“Thanks, Jon.” Cork shook the man’s hand gratefully.
Rude set about securing his chopper. Cork and Stephen got into their Wrangler and headed toward town.
ELEVEN
Day Four, Missing 82 Hours
T he Excelsior Hotel was a sturdy little two-story structure of brick with a lovely courtyard whose centerpiece was a small octagonal pool fed by the hot springs. The night was turning cold, and a thin cloud of vapor that smelled faintly of sulfur drifted up from the pool, giving the courtyard a mystical appearance.
The woman at the front desk had passed along to Cork a message from Dewey Quinn, which was to call him at the sheriff’s department. After they’d carried up their luggage, Cork used the room phone.
“How’re you doing?” Quinn asked.
“Okay. We’d be a lot better if we’d located my wife.”
“I wish I had something good to report from the other search planes.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Jon told me you’re going out with him again tomorrow. You okay with that? I can ask one of the other pilots, if you’d like.”
“We’re fine with Jon as long as he’ll have us. You work long
“Maybe they were wrong,” Cork said. “Maybe the pilot did try for one of those airfields.”
Rude shrugged. “We’ve gone over both those corridors. Nothing. Hell, if he’d only been able to make radio contact, at least we’d have some idea where to concentrate our search. As it is, we’re kind of shot-gunning it. Scattered, you know.” He glanced at Stephen and added heartily, “But we’re going to keep looking until we’ve covered every reasonable acre.”
The mountains became deep blue in the twilight, and the canyons between were like dark, poisoned veins. Though the sun had dropped below the rest of the range, it hadn’t yet set on Heaven’s Keep, which towered above everything else. Its walls burned with the angry red of sunset, and it looked more like the gate to hell than anything to do with heaven.
As they flew back over the reservation, the land was black and empty as far as the eye could see. Rude, who seemed to read Cork’s thoughts, said, “The rez covers thirty-four hundred square miles, an area the size of Rhode Island and Delaware combined. The number of people who live here could just about squeeze into a double-decker bus. It’s empty, uninviting country. But to the Arapaho it’s home and it’s sacred.”
A short while later, Rude set the chopper down on the landing strip at the Hot Springs airfield.
“You two have dinner plans?” he asked. “My wife’s Italian. She makes pasta like you wouldn’t believe.”
“Thanks,” Cork said, “but we’ve got to get ourselves into a hotel.”
“Got one in mind?”
“Dewey Quinn recommended the hotel on the grounds of the hot springs.”
“A good choice. When you’re ready to eat, try the casino. Good food, good prices. Just a mile or so south on Highway 27. Can’t miss it.” He shoved his hands into the back pockets of his jeans and looked west, where darkness had swallowed the mountains. “Look, there’s a lot of territory still to be covered. We’ll give it another go tomorrow and every day after that until we find them.”
“Can we go with you again?” Stephen asked. Cork was amazed at the hope still evident in his son’s voice.
“Absolutely. I’ll make sure Dewey knows that. Let’s rendezvous here at oh-seven hundred hours.”
“Seven o’clock,” Stephen said.
“Right you are. I’ll take a look at that helmet, Cork, but I won’t promise anything.”
“Thanks, Jon.” Cork shook the man’s hand gratefully.
Rude set about securing his chopper. Cork and Stephen got into their Wrangler and headed toward town.
ELEVEN
Day Four, Missing 82 Hours
T he Excelsior Hotel was a sturdy little two-story structure of brick with a lovely courtyard whose centerpiece was a small octagonal pool fed by the hot springs. The night was turning cold, and a thin cloud of vapor that smelled faintly of sulfur drifted up from the pool, giving the courtyard a mystical appearance.
The woman at the front desk had passed along to Cork a message from Dewey Quinn, which was to call him at the sheriff’s department. After they’d carried up their luggage, Cork used the room phone.
“How’re you doing?” Quinn asked.
“Okay. We’d be a lot better if we’d located my wife.”
“I wish I had something good to report from the other search planes.” He didn’t say anything for a moment. “Jon told me you’re going out with him again tomorrow. You okay with that? I can ask one of the other pilots, if you’d like.”
“We’re fine with Jon as long as he’ll have us. You work long
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