The Hunted by Gloria Skurzynski Read Free Book Online Page A

stock-still in the center of the campsite. Nothing moved, not even the leaves on the wild roses that broke the monotony of green with the colorful splash of their vivid pink blossoms. He turned all the way around, first checking the Jeep parked beside the fir trees. She wasn’t in there.
    She wasn’t sitting at the picnic table farther away in a little clearing, or next to the fire pit sunk in the ground. Probably she was playing mind games, trying to spook him. Maybe she’d hidden behind the brown-painted garbage can bolted to a concrete base. But unless she crouched in exactly the right spot in relation to his line of sight, the garbage can couldn’t hide all of her. One little giveaway patch of red shorts would have been easy to see.
    The creek, then, maybe. Their campsite was nicely located a hundred yards from the rushing waters of Quartz Creek. Jack walked the distance to the creek, which was wide enough to wade across yet swift enough to splash and soak anyone who did. He looked up and down both banks. No Ashley.
    No sense calling out for her beside the creek—its noise would drown out her reply, if she bothered to shout back. Whatever game she was playing, she probably wouldn’t answer him anyway.
    He went back to the trailer. Maybe she’d ducked back inside when he walked to the creek. But she hadn’t. The beds were neatly made, all the boxed dried food was locked away, and the morning’s dishes lay drying on the drain board.
    Next, check the john. Maybe he’d meet her coming back from the john. But when he got there, everything was just as still as before.
    The pump. Another hundred yards down the double tracks left by vehicles stood a green-painted pump, one of those with a handle that you pull up and down to get water—not for drinking, but for washing. Beside it was a flat concrete box of some kind sunk into the ground. It had a sheet metal lid; Jack lifted the lid to find another metal box inside the concrete, and inside that were metal pipes that had something to do with the pump. Ashley might have been able to squeeze inside there, if she were trying to hide from him. But except for the pipes, the box was empty.
    Enough of this! He was beginning to get mad now. “Ashley!” he yelled, “you better answer me.”
    He waited, straining to hear, and then her voice came from—he wasn’t really sure where. “OK.”
    â€œWhere are you? You know you’re not allowed to go off all by yourself.”
    â€œI’m not all by myself.”
    â€œHuh?” Since he didn’t know where to look, all he could do was keep shouting, “Get back here, Ashley! Now!”
    Then, once again pushing through the leaves as she had early that morning, Ashley appeared. And not alone. By the hand, she led a boy, shorter than she was, but close to the same age.
    Jack had the strange feeling that he might still be asleep and dreaming, or reliving his fantasy from Ulm Pishkun. The boy was the buffalo runner of Jack’s fantasy. Brown-skinned: His bare torso, arms, and face were the color of maple-sugar candy. Hair: thick, black, and tangled. Eyes: such a dark brown they looked almost black. But it was his bearing that reminded Jack of the buffalo runner—this boy didn’t hang back; he kept pace with Ashley, not as someone being led, but as someone filled with confidence and curiosity, ready to take charge of any new situation. It didn’t matter that his shorts were torn and dirty, or that his tennis shoes were ragged, or that his legs were scratched and he looked like he could use a good meal: This was a boy who knew who he was and what he wanted.
    Now they were almost up to Jack. They stopped, both Ashley and the boy smiling. “Meet Miguel,” Ashley said.
    â€œWho…how…?” Jack sputtered.
    â€œOur stowaway. He sneaked into our camping trailer when we stopped at the visitor center at Ulm Pishkun,” Ashley