“Father had himself an Apache woman for a while. She got away from him. Went back to her people. Took his baby with her.”

Cole could not breathe.

“So he came after her?”

“Came after the copper.”

Ephraim grinned.

“But I suppose getting you back was a bonus.”

Isadora began crying.

Nantan translated in a whisper.

“Your mother’s name was Tala.”

A memory exploded behind Cole’s eyes.

A woman singing.

Not English.

Dark hair falling over his face.

Hands shaping bread.

A silver sun pendant.

Tala.

He remembered the name.

Not fully.

But enough.

His knees weakened.

“He killed her.”

Isadora spoke.

Nantan shook her head.

“She says Silas tried to take you. Tala fought him. Another man shot her.”

Cole looked toward Ephraim.

“And Silas still took me.”

“Yes.”

“He raised me to hate her people.”

“Yes.”

Ephraim called down impatiently.

“Now you know. Congratulations. Ride out.”

Cole looked up.

“You poisoned children for copper.”

“Business.”

“You knew they were my family.”

Ephraim smiled.

“That’s why I figured you might get sentimental.”

He raised his rifle.

“You always were soft.”

The shot came first from beside Cole.

Nantan fired.

Ephraim’s hat flew from his head.

Chaos erupted.

Warriors returned fire.

Ephraim’s riders scattered.

Cole grabbed his Winchester.

Two gunmen tried to flank the canyon.

Cole shot the rock ahead of them, forcing their horses back.

Taza led several men up the southern slope.

Gunfire cracked from wall to wall.

Then Cole saw Ephraim dismount and scramble toward a narrow ledge overlooking the newly opened spring.

He carried something under his arm.

A canvas bundle.

Cole recognized the sticks protruding from it.

Dynamite.

“He’s going for the spring!”

Cole ran.

Bullets struck stone behind him.

He climbed, slipped, caught himself.

Ephraim reached the ledge.

He lit the fuse.

“STOP!”

Ephraim turned.

The brothers faced each other across twenty yards of rock.

The fuse hissed.

Ephraim smiled.

“You really choosing them over your own blood?”

Cole stared at him.

Then at the dynamite.

“No.”

Ephraim’s smile widened.

Cole raised his rifle.

“I’m choosing which blood made me human.”

He fired.

The bullet struck Ephraim’s shoulder.

Ephraim spun.

The dynamite fell.

Not into the spring.

Onto the ledge beside him.

His eyes widened.

The fuse burned shorter.

Cole ran forward.

Ephraim scrambled for the bundle.

“Leave it!”

Ephraim ignored him.

“EPHRAIM!”

For one moment Cole could have stopped.

Could have watched the man who had betrayed him die beside the weapon meant to destroy forty innocent people.

Instead, Cole lunged.

He tackled Ephraim.

Both men rolled behind a boulder.

The dynamite exploded.

The ledge vanished in a roar.

Stone and dust filled the canyon.

For several seconds there was no sound but ringing.

Cole opened his eyes.

Ephraim lay beneath him.

Alive.

Bleeding.

Stunned.

Ephraim coughed.

“Why?”

Cole rolled away.

“Why what?”

“Why save me?”

Cole looked at him.

“Because I needed to know I wasn’t him.”

“Who?”

Cole stood.

“Silas.”

The territorial marshal came six days later.

Not because Cole rode to Tucson.

Because among the supplies abandoned by Ephraim’s fleeing men, Nantan found a ledger.

Ephraim had documented everything.

Bribes.

Mining claims.

Payments to men assigned to block springs.

Purchases of chemicals.

Even a notation beside one payment:

REMOVE INDIANS BEFORE SURVEY TEAM ARRIVES.