Page 29 of His Texas Claim

“Comforting.”

I glanced back at him. “Don’t you worry, cowboy. I’ll protect you from the scary snakes.”

I tried to steady my pace a little, quiet my stride in the water. The soundscape was beautiful…I hated disturbing it.

“So what are we looking for here?” he asked.

“Hush,” I said. “Just follow my lead.”

“Bossy.”

“Only seems fair after spending the last three days being told what to do.”

“You liked it.”

“Shh!”

I listened closely…waiting for the sign. Even in this small, dark ecosystem, isolated from the rest of the creek, my frogs would be hard to find⁠—

A single chirp broke through the dripping water, close, echoing off the walls until it seemed to come from three directions at once.

I froze. Stetson froze behind me, hand still at my back.

Another chirp answered it. Then a third, farther back in the cave.

"There," I whispered. "That's them."

I moved the flashlight slowly across the nearest rock shelf. A tiny shape sat pressed against wet limestone, throat pulsing, calling into the dark like it had been doing it for a thousand years with nobody listening.

"Not a satellite population. Not even the pool from yesterday." I could barely keep my voice steady. "This is it. The actual source. Everything downstream comes from right here."

I crouched and let the beam settle instead of sweep. More shapes emerged out of the dark the longer I looked — five, then eight, tucked into cracks and ledges all along the walls.

"They live in here," I said. "Not just breed. Live. Year-round, probably, given the temperature stability."

Stetson crouched beside me, quiet.

“Explains why nobody’s ever found ‘em,” he said. “Nobody comes looking this far back.”

“Well, we just⁠—”

Buck let out a low growl.

Stetson’s head whipped around, his finger going to his lips.

Past the dripping water, past the frogs still calling from every ledge, I heard it: an engine, faint, cutting off somewhere close outside. A truck door. Voices, muffled by rock and distance.

Stetson shut off his flashlight; I followed suit.

Dark swallowed us.

The only light was the glimmer of fern-filtered sun from up ahead, and that sliver of light from the entrance. Someone moved outside; footsteps, more voices.

“Stetson…?” I whispered.

His hand found my arm in the dark, gripping tight, and then he looked over at his dog.

“Buck,” he hissed. “Sit. Stay.”