“You found me,” he said.

Chaska’s expression did something he could not read.

“Yes.”

“How?”

Waya answered.

“A boot print.”

Eli blinked.

Serina rolled her eyes.

“Do not encourage her.”

“It was a very recognizable boot.”

“It was a boot.”

“The heel is repaired badly.”

Eli glanced automatically at his right foot.

Serina laughed.

And something in the sound loosened the strange knot inside his chest.

He stepped aside.

“Come in before the sun cooks all four of us.”

Inside, Eli poured coffee.

Serina tasted hers, considered it, then said, “Better than Gideon’s.”

Eli nearly dropped the pot.

“You know Gideon?”

“We stopped there first,” Chaska said.

“That explains why he didn’t come for coffee this morning.”

“He offered us breakfast.”

“He burns bacon,” Waya said gravely.

“He does.”

That earned Eli the smallest smile from her.

But the humor disappeared quickly.

Chaska put down her cup.

“We have been searching for you since 1874.”

Eli stopped moving.

“Five years?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

Chaska studied him for several seconds.

“Because you do not understand what happened in that canyon.”

“I remember it fairly well.”

“No.” She shook her head. “You remember what happened to you.”

Silence settled over the room.

Chaska leaned forward.

“You remember seeing three women being pursued. You remember helping us escape. You remember riding away.”

Eli said nothing.

“What happened afterward,” she continued, “you do not know.”

Waya spoke from beside the wall.

“My younger brothers still have an older sister because of you.”

Serina touched the scar beside her cheek.

“My mother did not bury her youngest daughter.”

Then Chaska said quietly, “And my son was born seven months later.”

Eli looked sharply at her.

She placed a hand over her heart.

“I did not know I was carrying him yet.”

The room suddenly felt very small.

Chaska’s eyes glistened, but her voice remained steady.

“You thought you saved three women that afternoon, Eli Mercer. You saved four people.”

Eli stared down at the floor.

He had always remembered the canyon as something finished.

A dangerous afternoon.

A decision.

An escape.

Nothing more.

He had never imagined a child growing because of it.

A boy taking his first steps.

Learning words.

Laughing.

Running.

Existing because one stranger had turned his horse east instead of west.

“I didn’t know,” Eli whispered.

“That,” Chaska said, “is why we came.”

But Waya looked at her.

And Eli caught it.

A glance.

Too quick.

Too deliberate.

“No,” he said.

Chaska became still.

“That isn’t all.”

Nobody answered.

Eli looked at the leather satchel near Serina’s feet.

The thing inside shifted.

Clink.

“What did you bring?”

Serina’s fingers closed around the strap.

Chaska exhaled.

“We hoped to wait until tomorrow.”

“For what?”

“To decide how much you could bear in one day.”

Eli almost smiled.

“People have spent twenty years deciding what I can bear.”

He pulled out the remaining chair.

“Try me.”

Chaska looked toward Serina.

After a moment, Serina opened the satchel.

She removed a cloth bundle.

Inside it was a small silver locket.

Eli stopped breathing.

There was a dent along one edge.

A tiny star engraved on the front.

He had seen that star every day of his childhood.

His mother used to wear the locket while kneading bread.

While brushing his hair.

While singing badly over the washbasin.