“That’s just over the hill,” she said.

Joe had a decision to make. He could drive the remaining five miles to the ranch headquarters, where Julie lived, or take a fork in the road that would deliver him, as well as Sheridan and Julie, to the likely location of an assault in progress.

“I’m taking you home,” Joe said, accelerating.

“No!” Julie cried. “What if it’s someone I know? We’ve got to stop them.”

Joe slowed, his mind racing. He felt it necessary to respond, but did not want to put the girls in danger. “You sure?”

“Yes! What if it’s my dad? Or one of my uncles?”

He nodded, did a three-point turn, and took the fork. He snatched the mic from its cradle. “This is GF forty-three. I’m about five to ten minutes from the scene.”

Wendy said, “You’re literally there on the ranch?”

“Affirmative.”

There was a beat of silence. “I don’t know whether Sheriff McLanahan is going to like that.”

Joe and the sheriff did not get along.

Joe snorted. “Ask him if he wants me to stand down.”

“You ask him,” Wendy said, completely breaking protocol.

AS THEY POWERED up the two-track, Joe could see that Sheridan and Julie had huddled together.

“Can you keep a secret?” Julie whispered, loud enough for Joe to hear.

“Of course I can,” Sheridan said. “You know that. We’re best friends.”

Julie nodded seriously, as if making up her mind.

“You can’t tell your parents,” Julie said, nodding at Joe.

Sheridan hesitated before answering. “I swear.”

“Swear to God?” Julie asked.

“Come on, Julie. I said I promise.”

“Tighten your seat belts, girls,” Joe cautioned. “This is going to be bumpy.”

The scene before them, as they topped the hill, silenced Julie and whatever she was going to tell Sheridan. Below them, on the flat, there were three pickups, each parked haphazardly in the sagebrush, doors wide open. Inside the ring of trucks, three men circled each other warily, raising puffs of dust, an occasional wide swing with a shovel flashing the late afternoon sun.