Sal lumbered toward us. “Rosie, you look like you met a ghost. Is everything okay?’’

“It is now. Mace saved Marty’s life.’’ Carlos pointed to the snake. “She killed that with her bullwhip. It was like something out of the Wild West.’’

“Cow whip,’’ I said. “Out west, they say bullwhip. But Florida Crackers have always called them cow whips. And we had cattle in Florida before there even was a Wild West.’’

“That’s right,’’ Maddie nodded. “Spanish explorers brought the first cattle to Florida in the 1500s. It irks Mace we never get credit for starting what the Wild West made famous.’’

Sal clapped me on the back so hard it nearly knocked me down. “Cow whip, bullwhip, whaddever. You’re a hero, Mace.’’

I didn’t mind standing around basking in praise. But now that the adrenaline rush was waning, I wanted to know how the hell a rattlesnake had found its way into my Jeep.

“Marty, where exactly was that snake?’’

She turned her head to stare at the diamondback’s remains, and then hid her eyes against Carlos’ chest again.

“N’dyak-yak,’’ came her shirt-muffled answer.

“Say what?’’ I asked.

Marty lifted her head, but still hung on his neck. Good thing she weighed no more than a flea.

“In your jacket,” she repeated, more clearly now. “It was trapped in there. The zipper was pulled all the way up. The hood was folded over the neck hole, and the two sleeves were tied together over that.’’ She gazed at my Jeep, the passenger door still standing open. “And your jacket wasn’t under the seat, like you said. It was on the dashboard.’’

A chill that had nothing to do with the temperature inched down my spine.

“I figured you’d wrapped it up all small like that so it’d fit on your saddle. It took me a while to unfasten everything. When I did, that’s when I saw the snake.’’ She shuddered.

“I know less about snakes than I do about horses, but they must be the acrobats of the animal world,’’ Sal said. “How the hell did he get himself all contorted inside the jacket?’’

None of us said a word; we just stared at Sal. It took him only a moment to catch on.

“Holy shit!’’ he said.

___

Standing three people back in the potty line, I shifted my weight from foot to foot. I’m calm in a crisis. But after the threat is over, the reality of what might have happened usually hits me right in the bladder. I didn’t even want to think what might be taking so long with the big cowboy who’d closed the plastic door on one of the portable toilets a good five minutes before.

While I waited, I thought of how kind Carlos had been with Marty. My little sister is happily married. Carlos knows that. I knew he wasn’t interested in her in that way. He’d comforted her exactly like a big brother or an uncle would. Caring. Compassionate. Platonic. As I thought about it now, it seemed awfully similar to the way he’d acted with Belle. Had I jumped to conclusions where Carlos and Lawton’s daughter were concerned?

One of the toilets opened. Now I was two people back. I prayed my turn wouldn’t come up on the toilet the big cowboy vacated.

Hurry, hurry, I said to myself.

“They say that guy from Miami killed the rattlesnake with his bare hands. I heard it was six feet long.’’

The young girl’s voice was coming from the opposite side of the toilet trailer.

“Nuh-huh, Lauren. You’re wrong. I heard it was seven feet. And he tossed a buck knife at it and sliced it right in half.’’

I didn’t want to lose my spot in line. But I knew if I didn’t speak to the girls, they’d turn Carlos into King of the Snake Killers before supper. Why should he get unearned credit? Craning my neck, I saw the chatty teens I’d already encountered once.

“You’re both wrong, Amber,’’ I whispered to the closest girl. “It was me who killed the snake, and I used a cow whip, like any good Florida Cracker would.’’

“Weren’t you scared?’’ Lauren asked me.

“Only a fool is without fear,’’ I said, already regretting blabbing about myself.

Amber said, “I would have been peeing my pants!”

Which reminded me of why I was there.

“We can talk later if you want, girls. But right now, nature calls.’’

I was up next, and a door was swinging open. The big cowboy stepped out, waving his hat and looking sheepish.

Ah, the joys of life on the trail.

___

I held a marshmallow on a stick over the campfire. “You’re gonna love this,’’ I promised.

“You’re burning it,’’ Carlos said.

“Not ‘burning,’ toasting. I can’t believe you’ve never eaten a S’more.’’ I rotated the stick to finish off the top side of the marshmallow.

“Mace, it’s black,’’ he complained. “It looks like charcoal.”

“Trust me on this, Carlos.’’ I pulled the stick from the fire and used one half of a graham cracker to slide the marshmallow onto the other half. Topping it with a piece of a Hershey’s chocolate bar, I smashed the two crackers into a sandwich and handed it to him. “The ash only makes it taste better.’’

He picked up the top cracker and peered inside.

“You’re not supposed to arrest it, Carlos. You’re supposed to eat it.’’

By the time he’d “tried’’ four more S’mores, we were both pleasantly full and floating on a sugar buzz.

Dinner was long over. Most of the other riders had left the fire to turn in for the night. Mama and Sal were off settling Marty into a spare sleeping compartment that Mama had wrangled for her in somebody’s RV. They’d moved Mama’s horse and Sal’s Caddy to sleep closer to Marty. The poor girl had a migraine from her near-miss. She didn’t want to spend the night on the ground in a tent, and I can’t say I blamed her. She’d have lain awake all night and worried about giant rattlers. And if Marty couldn’t sleep, neither would I, for worrying about her.

Maddie had met up with a teacher she knew from Seminole County. The two of them were huddled together at the woman’s campsite, catching up on old times and bashing their respective school boards.

All of us were talked out over the rattlesnake incident. We argued over who might have done it and why, and whether it was linked to my shredded tent. Then, we told the trail boss what happened. He made an announcement about it before dinner.

“One of our riders had a run-in with a diamondback this afternoon,’’ Jack Hollister had said, mentioning no names. “There’s a chance someone might have put that snake there as a prank, or maybe as some kind of warning.’’

Several people in the crowd gasped. Lauren and Amber stepped out of the chow line to stare at me, their eyes round as saucers.

Jack’s stern gaze moved over the crowd. “I can’t imagine I need to say this, but I will anyway. If we find out this was intentional, the person who did it will never ride the Cracker Trail again. And we’ll hand them with pleasure over to the county sheriff’s office.’’

Now, Carlos and I were alone by the campfire. It had burned so low it needed another log. I had two final marshmallows and half a chocolate bar left in a plastic bag.

“Can I interest you in S’more, señor?’’

“All that sugar is making you silly.’’ Carlos grumbled, but I saw a tiny smile cracking the granite of his jaw. “I’ll help you out and eat one more if you eat the other one.’’

“Claro que sí,’’ I nodded, showing off some of the Spanish he’d taught me.

This time, his smile was full-fledged. “You’re something, you know that?’’ He squeezed my shoulder. Was the touch just beyond friendly? “I still can’t get over you and that cow whip.’’

“It was really just instinct,’’ I said, trying to sound modest. “My daddy taught me well. Back in his great-granddaddy’s day, the pioneers used their whips for everything. Scaring hogs from the garden. Snatching fruit from trees. Signaling danger on the open range or between far-flung homesteads. You know, the whip’s crack will carry a mile or more through the woods.’’