Chapter Fifteen
Jag saw the shoe print in the mud and the hairs on his neck lifted. The size of the print told him what he needed to know. Jacob had been there.
He’d been up on the mountain for almost two hours and the dark clouds were moving in.
Jag was able to pick up the kid’s trail a mile back, which didn’t make sense. If the boy had walked away from camp at the trailhead, how did he get so far so quickly? Jag agreed with the sheriff that there was more to the story, but his only mission was to save the boy before it came to a body retrieval.
If a storm were to come, things could get ugly in an instant.
“Mother Nature, behave yourself.”
He stood and rubbed his fingers together to remove the dirt. Glancing up ahead. The tracks led into the woods.
Instead of mounting his horse, he would have to go on foot for the rest of the way. Tracking in the rain-soaked woods would require being up close and personal.
He tied his horse to a tree. “Good girl.” He rubbed her nose.
He glanced below at the fast-moving ravine. The water flowed over rocks and downed trees, echoing through the valley. If the boy fell in…
Jag swallowed with difficulty. He needed to stay positive.
He detected another shoe print—this time, a partial.
Pressing a finger to the disrupted soil, the print was fresh. That was a good sign.
With his pack thrown over his shoulder, Jag followed the trail as it narrowed.
Disappointment climbed into his chest as he felt the first drop of rain.
The rain could wash away any available clues, making the trail far more treacherous.
Jag walked a few more feet and heard a faint noise in the distance. He paused to listen. The rushing river drowned out many sounds, but one resembled a cry. He surveyed the area, and his heart nearly leapt from his chest when he noticed a low-hanging limb fifty feet away had a strip of clothing attached to it.
“Bingo!”
Wasting no time, in a race against the clock, he darted in the direction of the clue.
He stopped again, listening.
“Jacob? Are you there?” he called out.
More cries sounded through the thick trees.
Jag parted the limbs, and just ahead, he saw a rock overhang. A dirty, untied tennis shoe was visible.
He took a step and the rocks gave out. Jag hit his side and slid the rest of the way to the cave. He jumped up, muddy and a little sore, but his attention was on the boy huddled in a fetal position pressed against the rock wall, trying to stay warm. Soft sobs escaped from his trembling body.
Jag dropped his bag and rummaged inside, taking out the zero-degree weather blanket. “Jacob!”
He needed to be careful, not knowing the boy's mental and physical condition.
“Jacob?” Jag said a little louder.
The boy lifted his face, looking at Jag as if he were an apparition. With a quick visual examination, Jag could see that he was exhausted, dehydrated, and scared. Mud was smeared on his face with tear trails marking his cheeks. His clothes were wet and torn, his blonde curls matted with embedded debris.
“My name is Jag. Did you get lost?”
The little boy, who appeared much younger than eight, nodded.
“It’s okay. I’m going to take you home just as soon as this rain calms down. Okay?”
“I want my mommy.” The dam broke and the boy started sobbing again.
“I know you do, son. Before we can do anything, though, I need to know if you’re hurt.” Jag didn’t see any cuts or broken bones. Just a tired kid who was cold. “Are you hurt?”
“No,” he mumbled.
“I want you to take this blanket and cover up with it.” Jag held the blanket out.
After a second’s hesitation, Jacob grabbed the offering.
“Spread it over you,” Jag said.
Jacob did. “It’s not soft like a blanket.”
“That’s because it's made to keep you warmer than a blanket.” Jag noticed the boy’s shivering was starting to subside. Jag uncapped a water bottle and set it near the kid. “Take some sips of that.”
Jacob grabbed the bottle and started guzzling.
“Whoa, kiddo. Slow down. Sips.”
After lowering the bottle, Jacob swiped the back of his hand across his mouth, leaving a streak of dirt.
“Care if I sit under the rock with you?” Jag asked. He was getting pummeled with rain.
Jacob nodded.
Taking cover, Jag shook the water from his hat and hooked it on his bent knee.
“I got lost.”
Jag looked down at the kid. “These mountains can be a bit tricky.”
After taking a sip of the water, Jacob said, “Is Mommy mad at me?”
“Why would she be mad, son?”
“Because I ran away. He’s not my dad,” Jacob said with a puffed-out bottom lip.
“Jonah isn’t your father?” Jag’s instincts were raw.
Jacob shook his head and he trembled.
Jag didn’t like what he saw.
He remembered the stuffed animal in his pocket. Digging it out, he laid it on the kid’s lap. His eyes brightened somewhat. “Your mom thought you might be missing that.” As Jag looked closer at the boy, he started getting more suspicious as alarm bells began ringing in his ears. “You’re pretty brave for a kid your age. How old are you?”
There was that hesitation again. “Six,” he said into the stuffed toy.
So he wasn’t eight. “Where do you live, Jacob?”
“I’m not allowed to talk to strangers and tell them things.”
“Is that what your mom told you?” Jag asked.
The boy seemed scared. “No. He did.”
“Don’t worry. You’re not in any trouble,” Jag assured Jacob, doubting that was his real name.
The rain subsided to a drizzle, and Jag knew they needed to take advantage of the weather.
“I bet you like adventure, don’t you?” Jag said.
He nodded.
“Who’s your favorite superhero?”
“I don’t have one,” Jacob said quietly.
“My favorite is Spider-Man. I wish I could shoot webs out of the tips of my fingers.”
“I like Batman,” he finally said.
“Cool choice. Here’s what I need you to do for me. For the next few hours, I want you to be as brave as Batman. We’re going to get you off this mountain.”
“I want Mommy.”
“Every Batman needs one of these.” Jag pulled a compass from his jacket pocket. “My dad gave me this when I was a kid. He said a man, or Batman, can never go wrong if he uses his compass.
“What’s that?” Interest sparked in the boy’s gaze.
“I’ll show you,” Jag tapped the glass front gently. “See, the needle always points north.” He held it up, demonstrating how it worked.
“That’s north,” the boy pointed.
“Yep. How I learned the points on a compass was…Never Eat Soggy Waffles. North. East. South. West.”
“Never eat soggy waffles,” Jacob worked the words around his tongue.
“Here, Batman. I need you to be my navigator. Point us straight north. Can you do that?”
“I can.”
The thunder rumbled in the distance.
“Are you ready for an adventure?” Jag asked.
Jacob stood, pulled the cold-weather blanket off and nodded.