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him.”
    Walt got down on hands and knees. “We didn’t see any wolves, didn’t hear any, and neither did Tango. Could be dog prints just as easily. They’re small for wolves.”
    “All the dogs were accounted for.”
    “All of our dogs,” Walt said.
    “Meaning?”
    “I don’t know, Tommy. I’m thinking out loud. Okay?” He snapped at him, realizing too late that either his fatigue or his resentment of the man was working its influence.
    Brandon studied the area. “Well, we’re never gonna find a shell casing until spring, if that’s what you’re thinking. I suppose we’d better mark the tree, though.” He took out a knife and carved away a section of bark.
    “I’m not connecting the two at all right now,” Walt said.
    Brandon shined his light on the animal tracks. They came up through the trees in a direct line, now covering Randy’s ski tracks, but it was clear the two sets of tracks were connected and had been made at the same time.
    “I don’t know... A pack of wolves makes sense, Sheriff. Randy would have known what he was up against. And it fits with the skis being reversed. They tree him. His skis are down here. Then they take off and hide. He knows what they’re about and they know where he is. It’s a race. Maybe he tries the radio and it’s no dice. So he has to go for it. Gets out of the tree as fast as he can, puts the skis on the wrong feet. Takes off for the Drop, knowing he can outski the wolves if he can get into some downhill terrain. In the confusion, he picks the wrong part of the Drop to jump from. A lot of kids jump off these rocks, but it’s the west end, not the middle.”
    Walt liked the explanation and said so. He ran off some photographs, none of which came out very well. He suggested they backtrack until they discovered where the animal tracks had caught up with Randy’s. “I’ll want some photographs of that as well.”
    “I’m going to cross here,” Brandon said, pointing to the course of disturbed snow, “and we’ll parallel the tracks.”
    The two separated, staying on each side of the wide path of disturbed snow. Once out of the woods, the tracks became humped with snow left by the storm. Tracking the pattern was not difficult, but it became less and less clear what they were following.
    Walt shuddered at the thought of being pursued by a pack of hungry wolves in a snowstorm. He’d searched Randy for a weapon and hadn’t found one, but he could have dropped it during the chase. This would help Walt explain the single report he and Mark had heard.
    “If it was wolves,” Walt finally said, “then why didn’t they scavenge on the body?”
    “Yeah,” Brandon said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t think of that.”
    Walt popped on the six-cell, flooding the area in a harsh light. The mass of tracks they’d been following separated here. There was no question that the animal tracks joined and followed the ski tracks.
    “This sucks,” said Brandon, looking down.
    Walt crossed the tracks to take a look. A single impression, partly protected by a fallen tree trunk. Its shape and pattern unmistakable.
    A snowshoe.
    “Motherfucker,” Brandon said. “Tell me that’s you or Mark Aker.”
    Walt remained silent as he took a series of photographs, the flashes like small explosions in the overwhelming white. Again, he checked the camera’s screen: none of the shots was any good.
    “That could have been left earlier today. With all the snowfall, we can’t say for sure it’s connected to the animal tracks,” Brandon said.
    He was right: there was no knowing when any of these tracks had been left. Snow blew and drifted; it fell out of trees; it slid down mountains. A print like this, tucked under a log, could be preserved for days.
    Walt snapped more photos, informing Brandon he believed the connection between the snowshoe and the animal prints significant.
    “Just so you know,” Brandon said, “even if it takes all night, I’m following these