Eleven
The trail was easy to follow even without the markers; someone had been out on it on a snowmobile since the snow had fallen. Shane was in no more hurry than anyone else, and they took their time traversing the three-mile trail, pausing often for the guests to take pictures or simply to admire the sunset that exploded across the sky and tinged the wintry landscape with a reflected rosy glow. A slender, waxing crescent moon peeked out between the fiery clouds. Most of the trail wound through open meadows, but occasionally, it crossed through copses of lodgepole pine, Douglas firs, and spruces decorated with thick pillows of powdery snow that drifted in glittering curtains from the branches when disturbed by a horse’s shoulder or a young boy’s gloved hand.
When they reached the Harri
