Hardesty, although far from being a young man, loped effortlessly behind them. The other, followed in a fast walk. “When the baying changes,” Don told the federal men, not knowing if they had ever been a part of anything like this, “we’ll know the hounds have something.” “We’ve done this before,” Van Brocklen told him. “Just checking.” “But it’s been a while for me,” Robbins admitted. Conversation stopped as the men concentrated on maintaining a fast walk through rough terrain. After only a few minutes, the baying of the hounds changed. “Listen!” Van Brocklen said. “I heard it,” Don replied. “That’s MacFarlane Road just up ahead.” It took fifteen minutes for the men to cover the distance, and by that time, the baying had stopped altogether. The lawmen emerged out of the brush on a wide gravel road. Hardesty stood by the road, his dogs back on leashes. “What the hell . . . ?” Don asked him. “They lost the scent,” Hardesty told him. “Right over there on that turnaround.”
