Chapter 5

Devourer, the Great Horned Owl, led a strange procession. A woman with a sleeping child strapped to her chest, riding a horse, with a male wolf loping alongside. At first, he stayed to the road, but after several miles, the owl veered off to the south, into the forest.

Chock seemed to know that he was following the owl. He didn’t need to be told that he needed to head off into the woods. The moon only showed a tiny narrow trail through the deepening tangle of trees and underbrush. But it was a trail. Chock slowed and was more careful of his foot placement.

Meredith was glad that she’d taken Chock. His natural caution left her able to fend off the branches that seemed to want to slap her off his back. She ducked and flailed her arms at them, and managed to stay seated. They traveled through the woods for hour after hour, and the sun began to appear at about 6:08 by her watch. She wrapped the reins -- which she hadn’t used once -- around the saddle horn and grabbed it with her left hand. Reaching back to the carryall, behind her, she pulled out a portable radio.

“Seth,” she called on the frequency used by her family. “Come in Seth.” Please, she added to herself. There was no answer. She tried again and then a third time.

Then she turned a knob on the radio and said, “Mayday, mayday. For the state police. Come back.”

A female voice came back almost immediately. “This is Ranger Station 23. What is your emergency?”

She didn’t want to say too much -- anybody could be on this frequency. “My husband is Seth Lightfoot. He was working a case with the State Police, and didn’t come back last night. I have ... information that he needs help.” Meredith cast a glance at the owl who was still going from tree to tree, just ahead of them.

“Yes, m’am. What kind of information is that?”

“Can I just speak to the State Police? They’ll know about it.”

A male voice broke in. “This is Trooper Reston, at Renovo and S.R. 120. Can I help you Miz Lightfoot?”

“Were you working with my husband? Seth? Last night?”

“That would be Sergeant Detective Maxwell. Last I heard he was down in Pottsdale, working with the U.S. Marshals. There’s a big manhunt. I’m manning the roadblock here at Renovo Road.”

“Wait, one, Trooper Reston, please.”

She looped the radio’s hand strap to the saddle horn and fished out a map. “Pottsdale ... Pottsdale,” she mumbled. “Here it is.” They were travelling on a direct line from her home to Pottsdale. “Thank you, Trooper. If you can contact Sergeant Maxwell, please have him try to contact me on this frequency.”

“Will do, m’am.”

They were about half-way to Pottsdale now, and she urged Chock to go faster. He decided she must know what she was doing and started walking faster. It was easier going now that he could see clearly. As he increased speed, the owl began to move through the forest faster.

Strongbow woke and Meredith had to spend some moments to find him a bottle and a dispenser of Cheerios. They’d come out only one at a time and he had to work at it; he’d be busy for a while, and didn’t seem to mind being sandwiched between his mom and the horn of the saddle in front of him.

A rifle shot sounded nearby. She had no idea if it was aimed at her, but she didn’t wait for another. The pregnant mother, grabbed at the shotgun and quickly dismounted -- on the wrong side -- and gave Chock a slap on the rump. He wouldn’t go far, she knew, but he’d be both a distraction, and at the same time, be farther away from the rifle. She turned to look at Tars, but the wolf was nowhere to be seen.

She heard a snarling-growl and the sounds of a struggle off to her left. “Click-clack” went the shotgun as she fed a shell into it. She put the gun to her shoulder and crouched as low as possible, and followed the sounds.

“Goddammit! Hold still. I cain’t aim at him without hitting you.” She heard from just ahead.

She could see it, now. Tars was worrying one of the men, moving around him, and keeping the man between him and his partner.

“Damn smart wolf!” Meredith thought to herself. She propped the shotgun against the trunk and lower branch of an evergreen. “DROP THE RIFLE!” she shouted.

The man spun and pointed the gun in her direction. She didn’t hesitate. BLAM! The shotgun went off, and the rifle flew out of his hand as his arm turned into a bloody mess. The man fell to the ground, screaming.

“Click-clack” said the shotgun as she fed another shell. She turned the gun towards the other man.

“All right, all right. Don’t shoot. And call off your dog,” said the survivor.

“I can’t. I don’t speak wolf,” Meredith gave him a grim smile. “ ... Now you just sit on the ground and put your hands under your ass.” He sat, watching the wolf more than the woman with the gun. Tars’ bared teeth was enough to get anyone’s attention.

She kept the gun pointed between the two of the men, but she doubted the injured one was going to give her any problem. Tars backed off to the nearest tree, but ‘on guard’ as much as she’d ever seen a wolf. In about five minutes, she sensed a horse coming up behind her. She looked at Tars, and relaxed. It must be Chock.

About fifteen minutes later, some men came up behind Tars, and he slipped off into the forest, unseen.

“Drop the gun, lady,” shouted the man with “U.S.Marshal” in big letters on his jacket.

“As soon as you point the gun at them, instead of me, I will. Don’t be a jackass. These are the two men you’ve been looking for.” She wasn’t about to lower her shotgun until the Marshals had everything buttoned down, but she did take a deeper cover behind the tree -- no sense getting shot by the good guys.