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Jodie drew a line through another trailer number, moved it into the RETURNING column, and checked the departure sheet against her master list.

Horse count. Driver. Destination. Time out.

Again.

Horse count. Driver. Destination. Time out.

The wind lifted the corner of one sheet, and she slapped her hand over it without looking. She’d started weighing the papers down with anything she could find—a radio battery, a roll of duct tape, somebody’s half-empty water bottle. Goblin was still under the table, apparently the only creature on Virgil’s ranch who had decided conserving energy was a worthwhile plan.

“Trailer six is clear,” somebody called.

“Got it.” She marked it, checked the next line, and stopped.

Virgil.

Jodie went back up the page, past Harold’s line—BLM TRUCK, SOUTH ACCESS, the time Dana had given her—to Virgil’s. He’d left to go to the north fence. She remembered seeing him cross staging with the fencing pliers. Mac had talked to him before he left. She’d marked his time out.

No time back yet.

She checked her watch. Seventy minutes.

Her stomach tightened.

That didn’t necessarily mean anything. Virgil’s property was enormous, his men were moving sheep, and half the radios in this Basin worked only when they were in the mood.

Still.

Seventy minutes was a long time to be gone in this.

She looked across staging. Dana was at the loading alley with another group of mustangs. Kyle stood near the access road directing a returning trailer around one that was pulling out. Willow had three people asking her questions at once. Sandra was farther down the fence line with her camera, staying well outside everybody’s way. Harold had gone to check the south access. Mac was at Hank’s.

Nobody had noticed Virgil hadn’t come back. Because nobody was tasked with keeping track of him, or anyone else but themselves. That was what Jodie and her board were for.

Jodie picked up her handheld. “Virgil, Jodie. Come back.”

Static. She waited.

“Virgil, Jodie. Do you copy?”

Nothing.

A gust drove ash across the table. Jodie turned her face away until it passed, then looked down at Virgil’s line again.

Seventy minutes.

She switched to the BLM channel. “Harold, Jodie at staging. Come back.”

“Go ahead, Jodie.” His voice came through clean, the first clear transmission she’d had in an hour.

“Virgil went out to the north fence about seventy minutes ago and hasn’t checked back in. I can’t raise him. Have you seen him, or any vehicles up that way?”

He paused. “No. I’m still on the south access. Roads are rough down here. Haven’t seen anybody.”

“Copy.”

“I’ll swing north when I’m done down here and take a look.”

Some of the tightness in her chest eased. “Thanks, Harold.”