Kenny babbles something from the ground. I reach them, but I still can't make out what he's saying.
Then Dalton has his gun trained on Kenny, saying, "Get your ass in the air," and when Kenny doesn't obey within 1.5 seconds, "Get your fucking ass in the air!"
Jacob says, "Eric . . ."
"You think I'm being an asshole?" Dalton snarls and then turns to Jacob. "This is the head of my fucking militia. The man who let Brady get away and then came out here to join him."
"W-what?" Kenny says. "No. I mean, yes, I let him get away. I didn't do my job right. I screwed up. But I didn't come out here to--"
"Get in position," Dalton says. "Now."
Getting in position means assuming the position that's like a downward dog, feet and hands on the ground, butt in the air. The first time I saw Dalton make a guy do it, I thought Dalton was trying to shame the guy, make him look ridiculous. And while it does, that's just a bonus. The beauty of the position is that the average person cannot leap out of it and attack. If he tries to rise, a foot on the ass will put him down again.
It is also, as I later discovered, a trick Dalton learned from Cypher.
Kenny gets into position, saying, "Just listen to me, Eric. I left a note. Didn't you get--"
"Yeah, Casey found it. Covering your ass, in case we found you alone. You weren't alone a couple of hours ago, were you."
"What?"
"You were seen with Oliver Brady."
Kenny starts sputtering denials, which only pisses Dalton off, and Jacob is trying to interject until finally I step in, arms waving for silence. Dalton gets the last word, of course, but then backs down, a jerk of his chin telling me to handle this.
"Kenny?" I say. "Just be quiet and listen, okay?" I turn to Jacob. "Is this the guy you saw with Brady?"
"I didn't get a look at the guy's face," Jacob says. "This could be him. That's all I can say."
"It wasn't--" Kenny begins.
"Wait," I say.
"He's the right size," Jacob continues. "Jeans. Boots. Jacket. All the same or close enough to what I remember."
"Which is town-issue clothing," I say, and Kenny nods, relieved.
"Eric? Can you give me one of Kenny's boots?"
I train my gun on Kenny while Dalton removes a boot and hands it to me. It's the one I expect. Town-issue. Same tread as the prints I saw with Brady's.
"Have you been tracking Brady?" I say.
"I've been trying," Kenny says. "But I'm not Eric. I made a lot of noise, and I figured maybe Brady would see me and think I looked like easy pickings, and then I'd get the jump on him. It was a stupid plan. I haven't even heard anyone until this morning, and that was you guys." He glances at Jacob. "You're . . . one of Eric's contacts?"
The inflection tells me he knows full well Jacob is more. The resemblance is undeniable. But I only say, "Yes, Jacob is a local scout."
"I thought he was Brady. He's about the right size. And he's got light hair. His hood was up or I'd have noticed his hair's too long. Plus, uh, the beard." Kenny exhales. "I'm sorry. I heard someone, and then I saw a guy the right size, and I jumped the gun."
I compared Kenny's boot to Dalton's. Kenny's is a couple of sizes smaller.
"Have you been on this path?" I say.
"I was on a bigger one over there." He points left. "I might have been on this one earlier, but I don't think so. I've been heading for that mountain." He points to our right.
I look at Jacob. "The person you saw with Brady . . . He was definitely with him. Talking to him? Sitting with him?"
"I heard voices. They seemed to be talking. They sat together, and I saw the guy pass Brady food."