Corvin had spent six days searching the canyon floor.

Eventually, Sheriff Merrick Voss had placed one hand on Corvin’s shoulder and said what everyone already believed.

“No man survives that fall.”

They buried an empty coffin beside the cottonwoods.

Corvin had stood beside it.

He had cried.

Now he walked behind the barn, dropped to his knees beside the grave marker, and stared at his father’s name carved into the wood.

GIDEON TORNE.

1827–1879.

A lie.

Corvin ripped the marker from the dirt.

Naya watched from several yards away.

He hurled it against the barn wall.

“You knew?”

She did not understand.

He pointed south.

“Gideon.”

Then at her.

“You knew?”

Naya nodded.

“How long?”

She held up three fingers.

“Three days?”

Another nod.

Corvin laughed bitterly.

“Three days. I mourned that man seven years.”

Tomas approached carrying a leather satchel.

“Naya took this from one of Gideon’s riders yesterday.”

Corvin opened it.

Inside were cartridges, two telegrams, several folded maps and a packet of letters.

The first map showed the entire valley.

Corvin recognized his ranch immediately.

But someone had drawn a red circle around the stone well.

Beside it were three words.

PRIMARY WATER SOURCE.

Another line had been written underneath.

SECURE BEFORE SURVEY.

“Survey?”

“Railroad,” Tomas said.

Corvin unfolded the telegram.

M. VOSS WILL PROVIDE MEN. INDIAN ATTACK MUST APPEAR GENUINE. TORNE PROPERTY DESTROYED BEFORE FEDERAL PARTY ARRIVES.

Corvin read it twice.

Then a third time.

His mouth went dry.

“Merrick Voss?”

“The sheriff,” Tomas said.

“My friend.”

Naya made a humorless sound.

Tomas did not need to translate.

Corvin opened another letter.

The handwriting stopped him.

He knew it immediately.

Gideon’s.

Corvin had seen that hand on receipts, birthday notes, cattle contracts.

The letter read:

Once the ranch burns, blame rests where intended. C.T. cannot be allowed to survive. His name on the deed complicates everything.

Corvin stared at the initials.

C.T.

Him.

His father was coming to murder him.

Corvin looked toward the ridge.

Three hundred warriors watched the southern horizon.

Suddenly he understood.

“They’re not here because of Naya.”

Tomas shook his head.

“Not entirely.”

“They’re here because an attack is coming.”

“Yes.”

“And she came yesterday to warn me.”

Naya spoke.

Tomas translated.

“She was tracking two of Gideon’s scouts. They discovered her. One struck her with a rifle. She escaped on foot after her horse was shot.”

Corvin remembered her cracked lips.

The blood.

The way she had evaluated the distance to his horses.

“How far did she walk?”

“Nearly twenty miles.”

Corvin stared at Naya.

“You walked twenty miles in that heat?”

She shrugged.

Corvin almost laughed.

Then something else occurred to him.