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"I know what you meant." He recapped his bottle and pushed aside a thorny branch that was in his path. "But when we find him, he better have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud for mercy."
"Or what?"
"Or I'm gonna consider him a fugitive in flight."
The afternoon wore on. The temperature rose, and water bottles emptied. One by one searchers surrendered to the elements until only a few diehards continued on, and then that number dwindled.
When the remaining troop stopped again to rest, Ski sidled up to Dodge, who was laboring over every breath. "You've gotta call it quits."
"When hell freezes over." He mopped his florid face with a handkerchief. "Which sounds pretty damn good r
ight now."
"Look, Dodge," Ski said angrily, "I don't want you dying on me."
"Have you developed a crush?"
Ski didn't take the gibe. "You croak on my watch, and those two women in your life will never forgive me."
Dodge seemed on the verge of making a stinging retort when he thought better of it. He replaced the handkerchief in his pants pocket. "I'm not quitting."
Ski gave him a level look, then said tightly, "Have it your way."
The going got even rougher. One of the dogs on the trainer's leash began to limp. "She's picked up a thorn," the trainer told Ski after an inspection of the dog's front paw.
"Can she make it back?"
"She'll have to. It'll be slow going."
"You see to her. I'll take the other one."
The trainer transferred the second dog's leash to Ski. "Those two usually don't like each other. But maybe they're too tired to give you any trouble."
By now the group had decreased to only a handful. Dodge was still with them. When one of the FBI agents suggested they call it a day and resume tomorrow, Dodge said scornfully, "You can puss out. I'm not going to."
Ski told them he was in for the long haul, too. "The dogs haven't quit. They're still on Starks's trail."
The Rangers wouldn't quit, either, although one was regarding Dodge with concern. It was almost painful to watch him breathe. Ski made another attempt to get him to stop. "I know you want to be in on the capture, but--"
"Lead on, Deputy."
"I could order you to go back. I could get one of these Rangers to take you back."
"You'd have to kill me first."
"You're about to save me the trouble."
He motioned Ski forward. "I'm right behind you."
And he was, even when others couldn't keep up. Ski's threat to have him escorted back seemed to have imbued Dodge with strength. But the elements and the terrain were more powerful even than his fierce determination.
He and the few remaining fell farther behind until Ski was alone out front with the two dogs, whose past differences seemed to have given way to their common goal. They continued to thrash through the underbrush. They dragged Ski through marshes.
And finally they caught up with their quarry.
Oren Starks didn't have his hands on top of his head, praying out loud. He was sitting on the edge of a swamp among the knees of a giant cypress tree that jutted out of the murky water. His back was against the main trunk of the tree. He was slumped to one side, his forehead almost touching his thigh.
The dogs, barking in wild delight over their achievement, splashed through the water, separating the duckweed that covered the surface like a film of pea soup. When within a few yards of Starks, Ski reined them in and securely wrapped their leashes around a tree branch. He fired his pistol into the air three times to signal those men behind him that the search had ended, then waded through the knee-deep water, stumbling over tree roots concealed by the opaque surface, until he reached Starks.
