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mile you get these mostly thirtyyear-old trees you see here. After that, the parcel was
clear-cut
about
ten
years
ago.
The
hoofprints
were
along a stream where the trees weren’t cut. The timber
managers always try to leave a stand to control ero
sion along streams of any size.’’
‘‘But you didn’t see a rider?’’
‘‘No. Just the prints. If I was a tracker, I’d tell you
how old they were, but I’m not.’’ Chris laughed, joined
by Steven. ‘‘I suppose they could be new or they could
be old. We haven’t had rain in a while.’’
‘‘Did the horses have shoes?’’
They hesitated a second, surprised by the question.
‘‘I don’t know that I noticed,’’ said Steven. ‘‘I’d say
yes. The print was crisp, as I recall.’’
‘‘When you’re doing your timber cruise, do you tag
the trees in some way—make a cut in them?’’
‘‘Sometimes we use an orange ribbon to mark the
center of the plot we’re sampling, but you wouldn’t
want
to
make
a
cut.
It’d
be
a
way
for
diseases
to
attack the tree. Besides, these are valuable products.
You don’t go hacking them up,’’ said Steven.
‘‘She’s talking about that tree over there.’’ Chris
pointed
in
the
direction
of
the
tree
Diane
had
found with the gash. ‘‘We saw that. Somebody took
a saw to it. No idea why. They wouldn’t be check
ing for sap or anything. Maybe someone was trying
to
cut
it
down.
Not
doing
a
very
good
job
of
it,
though.’’
‘‘Near the crime scene, there’s a tree that’s been cut
down and brush piled on top. Did you do that?’’
Both of them shook their heads. ‘‘No,’’ said Chris.
‘‘We
saw
that
too.
Maybe
somebody
was
trying
to
hide what they’d done.’’
‘‘Maybe. Have you noticed or found anything un
usual while you’ve been out here?’’
‘‘Unusual? More unusual than those bodies?’’
‘‘Anything
like
the
remains
of
a
campfire,
tire
tracks, objects—anything not natural to the forest.’’
They hesitated a moment. Exchanged gazes briefly,
and looked back at Diane. ‘‘Just the hoofprints,’’ said
Chris. ‘‘But we were mainly looking at the trees.’’
Steven agreed. ‘‘No one’s supposed to camp here.
Something
like
campfire
smoke
would’ve
been
no
ticed. They keep a pretty good eye out for forest fires,
especially since it’s been so dry.’’
‘‘They?’’
‘‘The forest rangers. Anyone here ’bouts would take
notice of smoke, for that matter.’’
Diane’s
gaze
rested
on
the
map
in
the
backseat.
‘‘Could I have a look at your map?’’
‘‘We’ve got a copy we could give you,’’ said Chris.
He went around and opened the back and pulled out
a cardboard mailing tube. ‘‘It’s got our grid marked
on it, but that shouldn’t matter.’’
He pulled out the map and unrolled it on the hood
of
the
Rover.
That
was
when
Diane
noticed
how
marked up the side of the vehicle was. For a moment
her
heart
skipped
a
beat.
Of
course
their
vehicle
would be beat up. It was an old model and they used
it
on
rough
terrain—and
she
was
sure
the
sheriff
would
check
them
out.
They
had
found
the
bodies,
and it would be routine to check them out. Still . . .
She took a deep breath.
‘‘We’re right here.’’ Chris pointed to a spot on the
map
next
to
a
line
marked
as
a
road.
‘‘The
bodies
are here.’’
‘‘We take a tenth of an acre sample everywhere the
grid lines cross,’’ added Steven.
‘‘Where were the hoofprints?’’ asked Diane.
‘‘That’d be right along here.’’ Chris moved his finger
along a blue line labeled as Cobb Creek.
‘‘Give her that extra copy of the aerial photograph
too,’’ said Steven.
‘‘Sure.’’ Chris pulled it out of the tube and lay it
out on the hood. ‘‘See, you can tell the kind of trees
that grow here.’’ Diane couldn’t, but she nodded. ‘‘See
over
here
where
the
stream
cuts
in?
The
trees
are
smaller.
That’s
where
it
was
clear-cut.
Over
here
is
where we did most of the