Hiding in the Hollow
Elsie guided him through the woods one careful step at a time. The stray dog followed close behind as though he had always belonged on this mission.
About a hundred yards in, Elsie steered Wade into a shallow hollow beneath a limestone ledge. It was screened by brush and shadow, nearly invisible to anyone who didn’t already know where to look.
“Stay here,” she whispered. “Don’t sleep. Don’t move. Don’t make noise.”
Wade caught her wrist gently.
“Where are you going?”
“Back to the clearing.”
Worry hardened his expression.
“No. Absolutely not.”
Elsie looked him straight in the eye.
“If they see the rope gone and our tracks leading here, they’ll find you. If I change the trail, they’ll lose time.”
“Elsie, you’re eight.”
“Almost nine.”
That did not make Wade feel any better.
But she had already decided.
The Trail She Changed
Elsie returned to the clearing and worked quickly.
She removed the rope, scattered leaves over the disturbed ground, and brushed away the most obvious footprints. She didn’t try to make it look perfect. Her grandfather had taught her that perfect looked suspicious.
The goal was uncertainty.
When the engines cut out nearby, Elsie pressed herself behind a tree.
Four men entered the clearing. Their voices turned tense and sharp when they found Wade gone.
“Somebody helped him,” one said.
Another answered, quieter and more calculating.
“Find the tracks.”
Elsie held her breath.
Then, while two men argued with each other, she moved.
Not toward Wade.
Away from him.
She let them catch just enough of her trail to follow.
Then she ran.
The Girl They Couldn’t Catch
Elsie knew those woods better than grown men who saw only trees.
She cut down a slope, crossed a dry creek bed, and pushed through a stand of young pines too narrow for broad shoulders. Behind her, the men stumbled, cursed, and fell behind.
One managed to cut her off on a deer path.
“Where do you think you’re going, little girl?” he asked.
Elsie stood still for one second, reading the space around him.
“Home,” she said.
Then she darted sideways into the trees before he could reach her.
She took a hidden gully, ducked beneath low branches, and disappeared into brush that closed behind her like a curtain.
By the time she circled back to the hollow, Wade was sitting upright, pale but alert.
The dog wagged his tail when he saw her.
Wade exhaled hard.
“You’re okay.”
“For now,” Elsie said. “But we need to move again.”
The Man Who Knew Her Grandfather
Before they could leave, a measured set of footsteps approached the hollow.
Elsie signaled Wade to stay quiet, then stepped out where the man could see her.
He was older than the others, with gray hair and watchful eyes.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
“Walking my dog,” Elsie said.
He studied her carefully.
“What’s your name?”
“Elsie Warren.”
Something shifted in his face.
“Warren?” he repeated. “Was Samuel Warren your grandfather?”
Elsie went still.
“Yes.”
The man looked down, then back at her.
“He trained me when I was a teenager,” he said quietly. “He was the first man who ever made me believe I could become better than my worst day.”
Elsie didn’t know what to say.
The man glanced toward the woods, then away.
“The man you’re hiding,” he said, “I won’t look for him.”
Then he turned and walked the way he had come.
Before disappearing between the trees, he added, “Your grandfather was right about you.”
