Samuel had come prepared.
A man like him did not build a plan depending on forty riders staying loyal.
Ethan looked toward the dynamite.
The fuse was burning.
“DOWN!”
Someone had lit it from behind the rocks.
Ethan ran.
A hidden rider appeared on the ridge.
The man had been waiting.
Ethan fired once.
Missed.
Ayana fired.
The rider fell.
But the fuse kept burning.
Twenty feet.
Fifteen.
Ten.
Ethan sprinted toward it.
Ayana screamed his name.
He reached the first charge and yanked the fuse.
It broke.
But a second fuse burned beneath the stone shelf.
Separate ignition.
Five feet.
Ethan dropped to his knees and clawed through dirt.
Two feet.
One.
He grabbed it.
The flame entered the hole.
Then the mountain exploded.
Ethan woke to darkness and the taste of blood.
For several seconds, he believed he was buried.
Then he heard Ayana.
“Ethan.”
Her voice sounded impossibly far away.
He opened his eyes.
She was kneeling over him.
Dust covered her face.
Blood ran down one cheek.
But she was smiling.
“You are alive.”
“Debatable.”
She laughed once.
Then slapped his shoulder.
He groaned.
“That answers it.”
The explosion had destroyed part of the shelf, but not enough to redirect the river.
The first charges Ethan disconnected had been the most important.
He sat up slowly.
Samuel was gone.
Ethan’s heart sank.
“How?”
“Horse waiting behind the ridge.”
Whitehawk’s men had pursued.
But night was approaching.
Samuel knew the country.
“He’ll head for Tucson,” Ethan said.
Ayana nodded.
Ethan tried to stand.
Pain shot through his ribs.
“You are not riding.”
“Yes, I am.”
“No.”
“Ayana—”
“You are stubborn.”
“So are you.”
“That is why this may work.”
He looked at her.
She was smiling again.
Against his better judgment, he smiled too.
Then Whitehawk returned.
Alone.
Ethan immediately knew something was wrong.
“Samuel?”
Whitehawk held up a small object.
A silver pocket watch.
Samuel’s.
“He abandoned his horse three miles east.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone.”
Ethan frowned.
Whitehawk’s expression was unreadable.
“But we found something else.”
He handed Ethan the watch.
Inside the cover was a tiny engraving.
A.W.
Ethan frowned.
“Samuel’s initials are S.W.”
Ayana whispered, “Then whose watch is this?”
Ethan opened the second compartment.
Behind the clock mechanism was a miniature photograph.
A woman.
Young.
Dark-haired.
Ethan stopped breathing.
His mother.
Anna Walker.
On the back, written in faded ink, were four words.
For S. My beloved brother.
Ethan stared.
His mind rejected it.
“That doesn’t make sense.”
Whitehawk sat beside him.
“There is something you must know.”
Ethan almost laughed.
“I’m starting to dislike those words.”
Whitehawk looked toward Ayana.
She seemed confused too.
So she did not know.
“Your mother did not die in the wagon accident.”
Ethan stopped breathing.
Whitehawk continued.
“Your father did.”
Ethan felt the earth disappear beneath him.
“My mother survived?”
“Yes.”
“Where?”
Whitehawk looked directly at him.
“She came here.”
The silence was enormous.
Ethan whispered, “Why?”
“Because she knew Samuel would search for her.”
“Then where is she now?”
Whitehawk’s eyes carried pain.
“She died thirteen years later.”
Ethan couldn’t speak.
He had been told his mother died when he was four.
