There were broken twigs, crushed leaves, all indicators that someone had been through on foot without worrying about leaving signs. The problem was, there were almost too many trails to follow, going off one way or another, and following each of them, she ended up losing the trail altogether. Where in blazes had Doyle gotten off to? How far would he wander before realizing he was lost? Would he know to stop where he was and wait for people to find him rather than to continue to wander about, getting more and more lost? Of course he would, she scolded herself. He was a flatlander, not stupid. He’d been a deputy and had, no doubt, participated in his own share of search parties. He’d know the rules to abide by if he found himself lost. All she had to do was find him. The sound of movement coming through the underbrush behind her had her whirling around, reaching instinctively for the zipper of her jacket to get to her pistol.
What do You think about Blood On Copperhead Trail?
