Page 4 of Scent of Fear

“Shane, I don’t understand why you’re playing with Bryce when we need to keep looking for my grandfather.” She looked annoyed.

“I need to reward Bryce for the find; besides, it’s time to give him more water.” Since they’d already stopped there, Shane shrugged out of his backpack and set it on the ground. He filled the collapsible bowl with water. “Bryce, come.”

The dog galloped toward him.

“Hand.” Shane held out his hand for the yellow ducky. Bryce obediently regurgitated it into his palm, then lowered his head to lap at the water.

“Wow, that’s amazing,” Libby murmured, her previous annoyance having dissipated. “I can’t believe he just hands over his toys.”

“He’s a good boy.” Shane ruffled Bryce’s fur. The dog’s tail wagged as if in agreement. He held Bryce’s gaze. “Sit.” The shepherd lowered his back haunches. “Lie down.” Now Bryce lowered the rest of his body so that he was stretched across the ground near the fallen log. “Good boy,” he praised again.

Bryce understood this was a rest break. The Sullivan K9s were well trained and had done this often enough that they understood the routine. The only dog that tended to balk at orders was Chase’s K9, Rocky.

Rocky’s independent streak was a source of amusement for the rest of the siblings, mostly because Chase was the second oldest of the family and accustomed to being in charge. Rocky had a way of humbling their sometimes-bossy brother.

“I wish I understood why Grandpa came this way.” Libby’s voice interrupted his thoughts. “I wonder if he was following a wounded animal.” Her eyes widened. “Maybe he saw a poacher and was determined to get proof to provide to the local game warden.”

“Maybe.” He figured that theory was slightly better than the idea the old man had decided to take a hike. “I haven’t noticed any animal blood as we moved through the woods, though.”

“I wasn’t paying attention.” She flushed. “I should have thought of that sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter, Bryce will follow your grandfather’s scent, not that of a wounded animal.” He stroked a hand over Bryce’s fur. “Dogs can distinguish between two hundred million scents. Bryce will know a wild animal is nearby, but he’ll stay focused on the search command I’ve given him.”

“Wow.” Libby looked at the dog with renewed respect. “That’s amazing.”

“Yeah.” He emptied the water from the collapsible dish and tucked it away. “Ready, Bryce? Search! Search for Marvin!”

Bryce jumped to his feet without hesitation. The K9 sniffed near the fallen log, then began following the scent trail heading in a northeastern direction.

“How much land does your grandfather own?” He scanned the wilderness around them. “I’m just wondering if we’ll end up trespassing on someone else’s property.”

“Grandpa owns about ten acres. The rest is public land. The Bighorn national park is a few miles from here too. That’s federal land.” She frowned. “It’s all a little confusing to me. I guess everyone is supposed to know where the boundaries are located. Grandpa has complained about hunters being on his property, though.”

“He’s had trouble with the locals trespassing and hunting on his land?” He was intrigued by the idea of a poacher or two drawing her grandfather into the woods. Most hunters went out in pairs because an elk was too big for one man to haul out on his own.

Not that June was hunting season for elk or other big game.

“Not recently.” Libby shrugged. “The last time he mentioned it was maybe two years ago. And I still think the hunters probably crossed the property line by mistake. Grandpa hasn’t put up no hunting signs warning them away, so there’s no way they could know they were trespassing.”

“Yeah, but hunters are supposed to know where they can and can’t hunt. Maybe he did hear a pair of poachers. A gunshot could have startled him enough to drop his coffee.” Shane quickened his pace as Bryce followed the scent trail. “Maybe he jumped up, kicking the chair over to yell at them.”

“That could be, but where is he now?” Libby’s wide brown eyes were filled with concern. “Grandpa would answer us if he could.”

Shane nodded. “I’m sure he would.”

They followed in Bryce’s wake for the next ten minutes. They were heading deeper into the woods now, and that was starting to worry him. How far would Marvin go to nab a poacher? Especially if he had arthritis in his hip?

Bryce jumped over a downed tree. The dog liked to run and jump, which meant Shane had to do the same.

“Hurry,” he urged Libby. “I don’t want to lose him.”

“Don’t worry. I’m coming.” She gamely climbed up and over the log. “Why doesn’t your dog take a straight—” Her comment was cut off by the crack of gunfire.

“Down!” Shane grabbed Libby’s hand and yanked her down. “Bryce!” His shout was strangled. “Bryce, come!”

His breath froze in his throat as he waited for his K9 to return. The gunfire may prove their theory about poachers drawing her grandfather into the woods, but why would a hunter shoot at them?

Shane had a bad feeling that there was more going on here than Libby’s missing grandfather. And he didn’t like knowing he, Libby, and Bryce were in danger.

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