Page 46 of Capture the Moment
“Fourteen.”
Coop practically choked on the berries. “No way. You have got to be kidding me! That makes you one of the youngest Eagle Scouts. Ever.”
“Eh. I think there’s like nine or ten of us.” Frankie looked away. “It was something my dad and I did together.”
Coop took another swig of water. “Tell me about this dad of yours. I hear he’s a muckety-muck.”
Frankie lifted a shoulder in a careless shrug. “He rose through the ranks of the forestry service.”
“So you basically grew up in national parks?”
“Pretty much. We kept getting moved around.”
“Like which parks, exactly?”
“Alaska, a couple of times. Acadia, Great Smokies, Yosemite.”
“Not Yellowstone or Grand Teton?”
“Yeah, but I was really small. I don’t remember them.”
“So where are your folks now?”
“Dad sold out and went to the den of iniquity.”
Coop practically choked on a mouthful of berries. “I take it you mean Washington DC.” There was a saying among rangers—all roads in the NPS led to the nation’s capital.
“Yep.”
“How long ago?”
“Last year. I refused to go with him, so I got shipped off to boarding school.”
“What about your mom?”
“She died. Car accident. Drunk driver crossed the median and crashed right into her.”
Oh man.That would be tough to get over. With a jolt, Cooprealized he’d completely forgotten to call his mother on Mother’s Day.Tonight, he told himself.Call Mom tonight.“So it’s just you and your dad.”
“Yeah. Kinda. Mostly, it’s just me.”
Coop nodded, gaining a new perspective on Frankie. They got ready to resume their hike when the sound of a distant gunshot pierced the quiet. Coop froze, high alert, expecting another shot to ring out, ears straining to capture the location. But none came.
Frankie pointed behind them. “Came from that way.”
Coop’s mind jumped to Tim’s warning that there was a credible threat of a poacher after 399. “Let’s go,” he said, grabbing his backpack.
They rushed along the trail, boldly leaping across the creek in spots where they had struggled just thirty minutes earlier. They saw nothing unusual until they weren’t far from the start of the Middle Pilgrim Creek Trail. Frankie saw it first—a blood trail running into the creek from the bank, where someone had dragged an animal.
Climbing up from the rocky creek, Frankie suddenly crouched to check something out. “Hey, Coop!” he yelled, trying to be heard over the creek’s roar, waving him over excitedly.
Coop hurried over to see what had caught Frankie’s attention.
“Check out these tracks.” Frankie pointed out their outlines pressed into the wet, matted debris. “Definitely not big enough for a full-grown bear, but they could be from a cub, you know, a COY.”
Coop bent down to look more closely. “I think it’s a wolf.” Still crouching, he gazed around at the peaceful setting. So much wildlife frequented creeks, looking for food, water, or low spots to cross over.
He wondered why this wolf had been targeted and if thepoacher planned to return. He stood up. “Frankie, help me look around for bullet casings.”
