Tainted Trail by Wen Spencer Page B

returned to his own car.
    Â 
    Ukiah ran for another hour, the track still clear. Max and Kraynak talked, but trying to maintain a three-way discussion was maddening, so Ukiah refrained from making comments. Something about the case had triggered the men’s nostalgia, and the conversation covered the hardships of their fifteen-year friendship: the Gulf War, Kraynak’s struggle to quit smoking after his father died of lung cancer, Max’s ordeal to make his Internet startup company a success only to have wealth become meaningless to him, and the harrowing accident that killed Kraynak’s brother. Hinted to, but never spoken about directly, were the death of Max’s wife and his years of near-suicidal depression.
    Ukiah had just gained another ridge, when Max whistled to catch his attention.
    â€œThe road nips in to almost a mile of you, to the west. You want to swing over and pick up food and water?” Max asked.
    â€œYes!” Ukiah replied. He had drained his water bottle along time ago and he was on the verge of starving. “I’m coming in.”
    He swung over to the west edge of the ridge. The rocky hill dropped sharply, nearly a cliff, and then the land leveled out into a small meadow. The Blazer sat pulled off the dirt road. The squad car parked behind Max was marked with UMATILLA COUNTY SHERIFF ’ S DEPARTMENT .
    Max spotted him on the skyline and whistled. Ukiah waved and came down the hillside in a series of leaps and bounds down the rocks.
    â€œShit!” Kraynak’s curse came over the headset. “He’s going to kill himself.”
    Max’s laugh echoed from in front of Ukiah and the radio. “If it makes you nervous, don’t watch him. He’s half mountain goat. I’ve never seen him fall. What do you want, kid, tuna fish or smoked turkey?”
    â€œTuna,” Ukiah answered into his microphone, running through the last sparse stand of trees, “but lots of Gatorade first.”
    Max was dropping the tailgate as Ukiah cleared the last trees. The police officer was beside Kraynak and they were watching Ukiah come at the easy wolf lope. Ukiah could smell the tuna sandwich, though, unwrapped on the truck’s roof. It sucked in his attention.
    â€œI knew you were good, kid,” Kraynak called as Ukiah scrambled down the road’s bank. “But I didn’t know this good. You’ve been running at that speed for the last three hours. How long can you keep it up?”
    Ukiah caught an ice-cold bottle of Gatorade from Max. “I don’t know.”
    â€œIt usually gets dark before he tires out,” Max said, pulling out a second bottle of cold Gatorade while Ukiah drank the first one. “That’s as long as you keep him in liquid and food.”
    Ukiah snatched up the sandwich and tore into it. “This was too long, Max. Get me some food to carry when I pull out, okay?”
    â€œYou want a second sandwich now?”
    Ukiah started to nod his head, and noticed for the firsttime exactly who stood beside Kraynak. It was Jared Kicking Deer. Sheriff Jared Kicking Deer, according to the nametag on his neatly pressed gray uniform, complete with handcuffs and service revolver. What a wonderful person to have pissed off with you. Ukiah gave a wary nod to his possible relative.
    Sheriff Kicking Deer nodded back, seemingly just as wary.
    Max noticed the exchange and his body stiffened. “Did I miss something?” Max murmured to Ukiah as he handed the second bottle of Gatorade to him.
    â€œHe’s Jesse Kicking Deer’s grandson,” Ukiah quietly explained. “He threw me out of his mother’s house last night.”
    Max glanced at Jared, and turned back to Ukiah, swearing softly. “Sorry, kid, he didn’t give a name, and I didn’t think to read the nametag. What do you think he wants?”
    â€œThe mind boggles.” Ukiah shrugged, unclipped his water bottle, and handed it to Max.