Cole glanced toward the sick people.
“Poison?”
“They did not know. The next morning animals died. Then children became sick. They left the spring, but the next water hole was dry.”
Cole looked again at the stamped plate.
“That could have come from anywhere.”
The woman answered before the translation had even finished.
The young interpreter swallowed.
“She says one wagon burned. The plate came from it.”
“How did the wagon burn?”
A long pause.
“The men killed two boys who saw them.”
Cole’s face went cold.
“The women attacked.”
He looked along the line.
Twenty-two women.
Not captives.
Not offerings.
Witnesses.
One had a bandage wrapped around her shoulder.
Another bore a deep cut along her cheek.
The woman holding the silver watch had burn marks on her hands.
Cole slowly understood.
These women had not been brought forward because they were weak.
They had been brought forward because they had fought back.
The older leader spoke again.
This time the interpreter did not hesitate.
“He says you saved lives when you did not have to.”
The chief pointed toward the iron plate in Cole’s hand.
“He asks whether you will save them again.”
Cole’s mouth went dry.
“How?”
The interpreter pointed north.
“Fort Vane.”
Cole almost laughed.
Fort Vane was nearly sixty miles away.
There was an Army post, a telegraph station, and a federal Indian agent there.
If twenty-two witnesses reached it alive, perhaps someone would investigate.
Then Cole looked again at the Maddox mark.
A terrible thought entered his mind.
“My name is Cole Maddox.”
The interpreter translated.
The chief did not react.
Cole held up the iron plate.
“Maddox.”
The interpreter spoke again.
This time murmurs passed through the crowd.
Several warriors reached immediately for weapons.
The little girl’s mother pulled her daughter closer.
Cole’s hand hovered near his revolver.
The chief raised one hand.
Silence returned.
Then he stepped toward Cole.
He studied Cole’s face for a long time.
And slowly nodded.
The interpreter translated his words.
“He says he already knew.”
Cole felt the desert tilt beneath him.
“How?”
The chief answered.
The interpreter looked almost reluctant to continue.
“The men at the poisoned spring spoke your name.”
Cole did not sleep that night.
The Apache group camped in the shelter of a rocky basin while a few stronger men searched for water farther south.
Cole sat alone beside a tiny fire, turning the iron plate over in his hands.
Maddox Freight & Supply had once belonged to his father.
After their mother died, Cole and his older brother Wade had been expected to run it together.
Wade had loved business.
Cole had hated it.
Wagons, contracts, Army suppliers, mining companies—Wade could look at an empty stretch of desert and see money.
Cole saw sky.
They had fought constantly.
Then, three years earlier, Wade disappeared while inspecting a freight route near Red Mesa.
