McKenna’s Path A Teen’s
Perilous Journey
Chapter 1
Saturday—in the Teton Mountains The
wind whistled up the canyon, tugging at the sleeves of the
riders and riffling the forelocks of their horses. A group
of ten riders followed the trail down from the wilderness
camp, which had been their home for the past week. The pines
moaned, swaying in the growing wind, encouraging each rider
to sink deeper into their saddles while pulling collars up
on their lightweight jackets. Although the group was quiet
as they rode, assorted smiles decorated their faces. It was
Saturday, their eight-day, seven-night Wilderness Experience
was ending. The vacation had provided astounding beauty of
the mountains. Only now, the third week of August, the wind
had a bite to it. All the riders could smell the approaching
rain.
Wrangler Joe Bennett knew he needed to keep the group moving
if they were to reach the trailers before the storm hit. His
much-abused joints warned him it would soon get wet around
here. With only ten miles to the trailhead, it could still
take them three hours to make it; if the rain held off. If
the storm hit, the ride could take closer to four hours
slogging through rain and mud. Joe knew none of his
customers would enjoy that. At least one might be in danger
of not making it without help. He frowned, urging his
gelding to walk faster. Behind him, the other horses
followed Joe's gelding's lead while their riders seemed to
enjoy the woodland scenery or daydreaming of a soft, warm
bed. The
wrangler's mind wandered until he heard slow hoofbeats and a
distant, plaintive, whinny. He pushed down his collar,
exposing his ears, to listen. Maybe he could tell where the
noise came if the whinny sounded again. It did. Joe's horse
stopped; spun to the right responding with a loud,
challenging trumpet. Joe
looked in the direction his horse was looking but saw
nothing. He heard distant hoofbeats, but they were not
regular. Ahead was a junction where this high meadow pack
trail met another, less used track met before both turned
downhill. The old Elk Track pack trail headed west. He knew
they shouldn't stop, but decided it was a good point to
allow the riders a ten-minute break. They would ride faster
if they rested. "Watch
your horses; they may get distracted or worried by the
approaching horse. You can stay mounted or dismount, your
choice, but keep your horse on a short lead on the ground or
keep contact with its mouth if you stay mounted." He
instructed the group. Most of them were complete greenhorns,
but his horses were used to just about anything. Joe knew
the two riders with their own horses had many trail miles,
but their horses were unknown to him. The two horses might
spook or shy. This narrow trail didn't have room for any
shenanigans. He hoped the approaching rider would talk to
the group as he neared; it helped horses to recognize
another rider coming into view. "Yo,
Rider! We're waiting at the junction where your trail meets
the canyon. Can you hear me?" Joe called up the trail. The
sound of the stumbling horse continued to near. It whinnied
to the herd of saddle horses, but the rider didn't respond
to the call. That wasn't a good sign. Joe’s horse called
again. The responding whinny seemed louder, stronger, and
the hoofbeats moved more quickly but still unevenly. It
sounded like the approaching horse was lame. Something was
definitely wrong. When the animal finally came into view; he
knew what it was. The horse was riderless. It was also dead
lame on the right front.
Throwing his reins to his drag rider, Joe crept up the
trail. The more he saw, the more his heart sank. It was a
pinto mare. When she stumbled past a large boulder, he could
see her right side. Dried mud covered the right side of her
saddle, with caked blood marking her shoulder. Another nasty
looking gash oozed blood down her cannon bone. The wound
didn't look fresh, but it hadn't yet sealed. "Easy
Lady. Whoa, Girl." Joe spoke softly, letting the mare reach
his extended hand rather than walking up to her. Remnants of
broken reins hung from her bit. He touched her nose before
moving in to rub her left shoulder, skillfully catching the
cheek of her halter-bridle. Once he
had it, he turned to his drag rider. "Bill, bring me a lead
rope. I'll need the first aid kit too, but you can get it
once we have a lead on this girl." He
continued to stroke the mare, talking to her in a quiet and
soothing voice. "What happened, lady? Did you fall? Where's
your rider? It's okay now; we've got you, and we'll take
care of you. That's it, easy girl." He continued, taking the
lead from Bill, snapping it to the halter attached to her
bridle. He disconnected the two, easing the headstall off
the mare. He didn't think she would try to run, but after a
wreck, horses could be unpredictable. When the rope rubbed
her neck, he saw the distinct markings of a BLM
freeze-brand, marking this mare as a Mustang, caught on
public lands. "You're okay, you pretty mustang. You've got
people to care for you now." "How
can we help?" Roger, one of the two campers who brought
their own horses, asked from behind him. Roger's wife,
Bethany, held their horses a little farther back. "I can
hold her while you look her over for any clues to what might
have happened." Bill
approached with the first aid kit. Once he saw Joe had her
under control, he moved more quickly up to the two men. Joe
handed Roger the lead rope, freeing himself to walk with
Bill around the mare. They were extra cautious to keep a
safe distance from her hind feet. "Wow,
that's ugly. Look at the saddle horn; it's broken over to
the left. This horse took a nasty spill, falling over onto
her right before rolling over the saddle." Bill pointed out. "The
saddle even rolled a bit." Joe shook his head and grimaced.
"I hope the rider was off before that fall, or we could be
looking for a body instead of a horseless rider." Both men
had seen riders from rollovers in this rocky terrain. The
injuries were often severe, even fatal. A broken leg was
typical for an equestrian who had a horse land on them in a
simple fall. However, having a thousand pounds of horse
press your body into the rocks as it rolled; often meant
internal injuries or even a broken back. "Boss,
most of this stuff has dried. I think this wreck likely
happened yesterday or even the day before. I wonder how far
this mare has wandered looking for the way home?" Bill
lightly touched the caked blood on the shoulder of the
horse. "Damn.
You're right. If this wreck is two days old, the rider could
be anywhere out here." Joe swore more under his breath. He
wished he could contact the home base. They needed a search
party up here. His satellite phone would work from above the
ridge a few miles behind them or once they got down to the
open parking lot; but not here. The company the phone was
through had satellites only at the equator, so in these
mountains, obstructions were not only possible but
predictable. He knew he couldn't spare his drag rider to go
off looking for the distressed rider, but with the
approaching storm, someone needed to backtrack this horse to
find the rider before the tracks washed out. Joe's
first responsibility was to get his group down the mountain
to the trailers. The safety of eight guests trumped the
safety of one rider. He wasn't even sure there was a rider
out there. The horse could have busted loose from a picket
line, galloped off after a spook; hurting itself without a
rider. It was also possible; the owner could have been with
a group who continued without locating the lost horse. He
couldn't risk his group. He poured water over the oozing
wound, binding it lightly with vet wrap. Hopefully, this
would make the mare more comfortable.
"Listen, Joe; Bethany and I have tracking and trail
experience." Roger handed the lead rope over to Bill,
putting his hand on Joe's shoulder. "We can backtrack this
horse, at least until the tracks wash out in the storm." Roger
could see the wrangler was about to refuse and quickly
continued. "Just give us your rifle, one packhorse with
supplies including a good tarp and all the extra rope, and
we'll be able to do this without endangering ourselves." He
argued. "You know I'm a rancher. I've spent lots of time in
the wilds of Colorado. Bethany and I ride endurance races
over trails like these for hours at a time." "I know
you two can ride, but what kind of survival skills do you
have? These mountains aren't forgiving; you could put
yourselves into danger." Joe didn't seem convinced. "Just
this past June, we came across an old man wandering down the
trail close to here. He was delirious. Kept telling us he'd
won the Lotto. Said he was up here to secure his boy's
future. We found his car over three miles away on this side
of the staging parking lot. He'd broke an axel when he tried
to drive it over a wash. Old man Lee had to bring his mule
hitch in to pull the car out to where a tow truck could snag
it. I don't think his son ever found a lotto ticket." Joe
stopped, scratching his head under the brim of his well-worn
hat. "Lord only knows where the old man was heading.
Wherever it was, he almost didn't make it out of these
mountains. I don't want that for you or your wife."
"Understood. But we know where we're going, and we won't be
delirious. I was an Army Ranger, spent two tours in the
Middle East. Bethany has thousands of trail miles. Our
horses are fit enough to race fifty miles of mountains in
one day and still look for more. I haven't updated my
skills, but I have some EMT training from my Ranger days. If
you have a GPS locator, we can take it so you can find us
when you're able to come back up here." Roger detailed his
and his wife's qualifications to Joe, glad to have enough
experience to offer assistance. "If we
find the rider, we'll make camp, set the locator, and wait
for the storm to clear. We're not dumb enough to camp in a
wash or gully or to cross one in a cloudburst; if that's
what's got you worried." He paused before continuing. "If
the storm hits before we find the rider, we'll make camp,
continuing when it's over. We can look for signs of the
wreck or even signs of a camp along this trail maybe showing
the rider wasn't alone. Do you have a USGS map with you?"
Roger hoped he did but didn't expect him to carry one when
on his home range. "No, I
don't carry a map unless I plan on pushing cross-country.
Hunting season I do, but not camping season. I've got a
locator though. It can't send over the mountains, but if we
have to put a chopper in the air; it could pick up your
signal even if you're in a canyon." It
worried Joe to leave them behind, but Roger seemed confident
they had enough sense and survival skills to make it work.
It would give the possibly injured rider a chance at
survival. Making
his decision, Joe walked to one of the two packhorses. He
began sorting through the food and gear to secure the
requested items plus a few extras onto this one animal. Joe
loaded tarps over the food, ropes, and first aid kit,
securing the cargo to the packsaddle. "You
can take this horse. Smokey can carry a rider along with his
load if you need to use him for that. If you have doubts,
you can leave the supplies along the trail; we'll send a
rider up for them later." "Listen
up, people! I need each of you to take your bags. You’ll
need to secure them to your horse. Bill will assist you.
Roger and Bethany are going to search for the rider of this
injured horse. They need to take the packhorse hauling your
gear. Sorry for the inconvenience, but it's haul it
yourself, or we'll send a rider up tomorrow to collect
whatever the storm leaves behind." Joe watched riders walk
over to the pile and take bags of clothes back to their
horses. No one was muttering, but two greenhorns couldn't
tell how to secure their gear to the saddle, so they waited
for Bill's help. Roger
grabbed the stuff bag holding his and Bethany's clothes.
They had sleep rolls on the back of their saddles, but he
could put this extra bag on Harley. He watched Joe find the
locator and show him how to activate it. The wrangler handed
Roger the remaining feed along with an extra blanket. "I hope
this will be enough. If you run short on food, start back
down—no matter if you've found the victim or not. Don't put
your lives on the line, losing two trying to find one isn't
good math. Watch the gullies, we've had a wet summer, a lot
of the banks aren't as stable as they used to be. The mare
likely fell because she didn't know the ground was loose.
She got too close to an edge and it crumbled under her
weight." He didn't say, but both men knew, a rider would
likely have been directing the horse in that case. Most
horses would sense the loose ground, stepping around
it—10,000 Mustangs proved that point. "Okay,
I understand. Remember, I have my wife with me. I will not
risk her life for anyone. If I didn't think this was doable
and not life-threatening for us; we would stay with the
group." Roger assured the wrangler. It took
less than ten minutes for Joe, Bill, and Roger to secure the
packs, allowing the group to split up. Roger and Bethany sat
on their horses, watching the larger group move off down the
trail before turning to follow the mare's tracks up the
trail. Sensing the anxiety of their riders, Coup and Harley
were ready to move out. The packhorse pulled on Roger's
shoulder for a few steps then moved into a jog-trot to keep
up with the faster walk of the endurance horses. "You
know we'll be camping out in a storm and be miserable later,
don't you?" Roger asked his wife. She
laughed at the look of disgust on his face. "You haven't
ridden a fifty-mile race in the rain with forty-degree
temperature yet; have you?" She smiled serenely. "This will
be a piece of cake compared to that. At least this time, we
can stop whenever we decide and put a tarp over our heads."
She watched the ground, catching sight of tracks, some with
blood; her legs urged Coup forward into his slower trot. "I can
see the trail easily; we need to keep this pace for as long
as we can. It's likely there's a rider ahead who has already
spent one night out in the weather and might not survive a
second in bad weather." Bethany mentioned over the sound of
Coup's hoofbeats. Roger
agreed with her increased speed. He pulled again at the
packhorse, urging it once more to pick up its pace. The
couple rode in silence until a distant rumble of thunder
penetrated their concentration. At about the same time, the
trail opened from woods to the edge of a deep gully.
Stopping, they both dismounted. Together, they walked to the
edge, looking up the other side until they saw where the
horse had rolled into it. The wreck had chewed up the ground
with rubble following the animal in its fall. At the edge of
the runnel of water was a muddy clearing with deep holes
where the mare had sunk, then pulled free before rolling
again. A small waterfall above the trampled ground most
likely caused the mud to stay deeply saturated. The tracks
left the bog, following the trail up the side of the gully
toward them. "I
think we can get down the way she came up, but getting up
the other side might not be too easy. Let me walk down, you
wait here. I'll call you if I want you to lead the horses
down." Roger told Bethany. He didn't want her near the edge
of the gully until he found a way out of it. He heard
another rumble. They needed to move if they expected to get
across this creek before the storm made the water rise to an
impassable level. It could already be raining higher on the
mountain above them. "Well,
get going," Bethany said. "I'll give you five minutes, and
then we're following unless you yell otherwise." The
concerned look on her face reflected her worry for his
safety. Roger
climbed down the trail in the tracks of the mare. He trailed
her to the base of the small falls where she came out of the
water. The knee-deep holes in the mud would force Bethany to
find a way around them with the horses. Feeling his boots
sinking, Roger jumped for the far side of the water. To his
left, a deer track ascended the ten-yard climb up to a wider
spot in the trail. The horses might have problems using the
narrow path, but by leading them, the geldings should get to
the top. Once he made the top of the falls, he turned to
signal his wife but saw she was already leading the horses
into the gully. Damn fool woman, he wondered why he'd
thought she would wait. He continued walking, shaking his
head at her stubbornness. Bethany
followed mare's trail until she saw the extra deep mud where
the horse had floundered out of the water. Looking to the
side away from the falls, she found a firmer spot to cross
the creek. Once she had the horses across, she spotted where
Roger had followed the deer track. The climb didn't look too
bad. She took her ten-foot single rein, hooked it to Coup's
halter, and sent him ahead of her up the trail. Bethany
grabbed Coup’s tail, using it for leverage and balance
during the climb. She smiled; she knew there was a reason
she had taught him to allow her to "tail" him all those
years ago. With Coup pulling her, she could lead Harley who
led the packhorse tied to his flank ring. Coup followed
Roger's scent as much as the trail up the narrow deer track.
He continued to move forward until Bethany, Harley and the
packhorse were in the clearing. Bethany stopped him with a
tug to the long rein in her hand. She
turned, watching Roger inspecting the ground where the mare
had fallen before she fell into the gully. "Are there any
signs of a rider?" "Yeah,
from what I can see, it looks like the mare went down to her
knees, scrambled back to her feet, and then the ground gave
way completely. That's where the rider came off in the
boulders. I think the mare fell into the mud pit." He
pointed to human tracks, then hoof prints before a spot
where the ground gave way. Poorly defined marks on the
ground could be where a body coming down hard had landed.
There, on a rock, was a bloody handprint. "Roger,
look at that handprint. We're looking for a large child or a
small adult. That print is smaller than mine." She put hers
over the mark on the rock. "Look." She bent, pulling a watch
from the base of the boulder. "She must have taken this off.
The band is scratched but not broken. I wonder why?" "Could
be her arm was swelling. Shit. I thought the saddle looked
small. I would guess a teenager or a petite woman. Damn,
what brought her out here by herself?" He demanded. His
irritation matched Bethany's. Why would a rider risk so much
by riding alone in the National Forest so far from
civilization? "Don't
tell me you used to ride alone in the middle of nowhere like
this without letting people know how to find you if you had
a wreck." He glared at her. He knew she spent many a mile
conditioning alone before they met. "No, I
tried to use loop trails, which kept me within five miles of
a road or trailhead." She assured him, her fingers crossed
behind her back. What he didn't know wouldn't hurt him—those
days in her past. "But,
for now; we have to find where she's gone." Bethany walked
around him; her eyes were searching the ground for signs of
passage. The day was quickly getting darker, making the
tracks challenging to spot. "Look, over there. I see blood
on a branch and a footprint heading away from the water."
She pointed toward a small trail heading to the left. "Looks
like another deer trail. If a deer can make it, the horses
can too." Roger assured her. He took Harley's lead,
following the tracks along the deer trail up the side of the
gully in a zigzag route. Coup, with Bethany tailing him,
followed steadfastly behind them. Roger
and Bethany were halfway out of the gully when the rain
began to fall in a soft mist. They moved faster, feeling the
trail becoming slippery with leaves and mud. The couple
nervously watched the water in the small creek swell. They
heard the small waterfall increase to a roar with the influx
of water running off the mountain. Below them, just past the
waterfall, the creek level rose enough to overflow into the
surrounding land. Over
the rim of the gully, the track opened into a wooded
clearing with well-spaced trees. Two trees had grown
together in a V with boulders behind them. It looked like a
spot a lone hiker would nest for the night. "Well,
now we have to guess which way she would go. I say we turn
left, the main trail comes from the right. I don't see her
wanting to go back the way she came. She had to know the
junction with the High Meadow pack trail wasn't more than a
few miles away. Who knows how far she'd traveled to get
here?" Bethany looked to Roger for his agreement of her
evaluation. "I
think you're right. The rider would turn to the left. I
think she spent the night along this trail last night.
I would have used that V over there to get off the ground,
away from predators in her situation." Roger tried to
imagine a rider, horseless and alone, possibly hurt. What
would she do to survive in the wilderness? He walked over to
the trees in question. They leaned against two high
boulders. The rider could have climbed into the V from the
rocks. Walking around, Roger saw footprints in the sand.
Yep. She'd slept here. Good thing the rain was only
starting, in another hour; they would lose those tracks.
"She spent a night here," Roger called. He
looked around, the rain was still only a mist, but the
thunder was closer. He knew they needed a spot to ride out
the storm. Somewhere they could string the tarps to make a
shelter for themselves and a windbreak for the horses.
“There’s a stand of willows over there. It might work for
our tent.” Bethany pointed. "Good
eye. I'll get the shelter started, and you make the picket
line." Walking back from the boulders, Roger led Harley over
tying him to a handy branch. He grabbed a rope and the first
tarp off the packhorse. Pulling two young trees together,
Roger tied them off throwing the tarp over them to create a
shelter of sorts for him and his wife. He anchored the tarp
with stakes to make it a tent. Or at least enough of a tent
for the night. It would be a cold camp, but they would be
more comfortable than the missing rider. He went back to the
horses, snagged their bedrolls off the saddles, spreading
them out on the ground. The waterproof under layer had kept
the sleeping bags dry. He zipped them together so he and
Bethany could warm each other during the night. Once
finished, he moved over to help her complete the windbreak
for picket line. The horses would stay saddled with the
cinches loosened. Along with the windbreak, this would help
them keep warm. He was glad Joe had remembered to put hay
cubes in the pack along with the human food. There would be
no chance for them to graze tonight. He removed the bridles
from Coup and Harley, put feedbags on all three horses,
verified the loosened cinches before pulling the clothing
bag off Harley's saddle. Taking it, he walked back into the
makeshift shelter. "Wow,
listen to the wind. I think the front is here!" Bethany
raised her voice over the pounding rain. Roger was less than
three feet away, but he shook his head, showing he hadn't
understood what she said. Bethany jumped when lightning
flashed, immediately followed by a horrendous crack of
thunder. "I hope
the trees are wet enough to keep lightning strikes from
starting a forest fire!" She loudly commented. She sat down
on a fallen log inside of the shelter, a light shiver racing
over her skin. The wind swirled, blowing toward the back
side of the tarp, keeping the interior safe from the now
driving rain. "I
don't think we have to worry about fire, falling limbs or
trees maybe; but not fire," Roger called across the shelter.
He reached into their bag of food, hauling out a container
of biscuits, a package of jerky, and two bottles of water.
He crossed the open space, handing her some of each, then
sat down next to her. "So
long as the wind doesn't get too high, we should be safe
enough." He put his arm around her when he felt her shiver. "Eat
up, strip and get into that dry bed," Roger ordered. He
began eating his dinner of jerky and biscuits. The failing
light gave up its battle against the storm, darkness settled
over them. "I
sincerely hope the rider has found some shelter against this
weather. I hate to think of her without it." Bethany said
around a mouthful of biscuit. She shivered again, continuing
to eat as quickly as she could. Eating generated body heat,
but it used calories too. Her wet clothes were the main
problem. She thought about stripping them off as she
finished eating. Roger
hugged her again, letting his body warmth seep into Bethany.
It bothered him that the chill of the rain made her shiver.
He felt her shivers and draped himself around her. Bethany
snuggled against him while she ate. Her
lips turned up into a smile around her chattering teeth. She
looked up at her husband through her lashes, judging his
concern from his expression. Her love shown in her eyes, and
he smiled when he caught her looking at him. She blushed. "I love
you too, honey." He said, pulling her more tightly against
his body to shield her from what cold he could. "How is it,
looking at you warms me enough to keep the shivers away?
Now, get out of those clothes. We have dry ones, but no
sense dragging them out in the rain. Just climb into the
nice, dry sleeping bag. Hurry." He
encouraged her with a slight shove, letting her get into the
bag before shedding his clothes to join her there. He lay
down and pulled her next to his body, sharing his heat with
her. "Dag gum it, Woman. You're like an ice cube."
Bethany's shivers slowly began to recede. "You make a great
electric blanket;" she murmured against his chest. Roger
felt her falling asleep, even as she snuggled into his
warmth. With a smile on her lips, she began a soft snore. Roger
lay, far from sleep but enjoying the warm feel of Bethany's
skin next to his. He laughed mentally about the differences
between being married or being single. A single man would
never allow a naked woman to fall asleep without at least a
kiss. A married man knew there would be better and more
comfortable times for loving his wife than on the hard
ground in a cold rain. Her head rested on his shoulder, he
spooned around her body to share all the warmth he had. His
eyes grew heavy, his thoughts drifted as he fell into a
dreamless sleep to the sounds of the storm raging around
them. |
RELEASE DATE AUGUST 2019 |