Sliding between the cornstalks, he followed the prints, the deeper in, the less certain the path of travel, but they seemed to be leading to woods on the other side of the fields.
Once he reached the woods, he slowed, trying to quiet his ragged breath. In the distance, he heard water, a river or creek. Pausing a moment, he let his eyes adjust to the heavily shadowed woods, except for the occasional beam of bright sunlight that penetrated the thick canopy.
Gun in hand, he made his way deeper into the woods, toward the sound of water. Once he got to the clearing, he caught sight of a man on a dock, leaning over something. A boat, maybe?
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