An older Apache warrior descended toward the ranch.
Long gray hair rested across his shoulders.
He wore no elaborate decoration, yet every man nearby watched him closely.
He stopped roughly fifty feet from Corvin.
Then raised one hand.
Instantly, every rider became still.
The older man pointed toward the stone well.
A strange movement began along the ridge.
Warriors guided their horses aside.
A narrow path opened.
Another horse appeared.
Corvin’s breath caught.
It was her.
The woman he had given water to.
But she looked completely different now.
She rode upright and powerful, her face clean, her dark hair arranged into careful braids.
The turquoise beads around her neck gleamed in the sunrise.
She no longer looked like a dying traveler.
She looked important.
Two warriors followed behind her, carrying something long and heavy beneath a dark buffalo hide.
The three entered the ranch yard.
They dismounted.
The two warriors lowered the covered object onto the ground between Corvin and the woman.
Corvin stared at it.
Then at the hundreds of riders watching from the ridges.
The older warrior spoke in a language Corvin could not understand.
The woman stepped forward.
She stopped beside the covered bundle and looked directly into Corvin’s eyes.
For several long seconds, neither of them moved.
Then she bent down.
Her fingers closed around the edge of the buffalo hide.
Across the ridges, hundreds of warriors lowered their heads at the exact same moment.
Corvin’s stomach tightened.
Whatever was hidden beneath that hide was not ordinary.
And neither was the woman.
Slowly, she pulled the covering away.
Corvin expected a weapon.
Perhaps a body.
Maybe some object stolen from settlers or soldiers.
He was wrong.
Beneath the hide lay a cavalry officer.
Alive.
Barely.
The man’s blue uniform was ripped across the chest.
Blood had dried along his collar.
His wrists were bound, and one eye had swollen shut.
But it was the insignia on his shoulder that made Corvin stiffen.
A captain.
United States Cavalry.
The officer coughed.
Then lifted his head.
“Thank God.”
His voice came out broken.
“They’re going to kill you, Torne.”
Corvin looked at the woman.
She showed no reaction.
The captain continued.
“They killed my men.”
One of the warriors behind him shifted.
The captain flinched.
“Cut me loose.”
Corvin did not move.
The woman reached inside the officer’s coat.
The man jerked violently.
“No!”
She pulled out a folded packet.
Blood stained one corner.
She handed it to Corvin.
His own name had been written across the front.
CORVIN TORNE — RED BASIN RANCH.
Corvin stared at it.
The handwriting was military.
“What is this?”
The woman pointed toward the officer.
Then toward the paper.
Finally she spoke.
Her English was rough but clear.
“He came to kill you.”
The captain exploded.
“She’s lying!”
Every horse on the surrounding ridge seemed to shift at once.
Corvin tore the packet open.
Inside was a map.
His ranch had been drawn at the center.
The barn.
Corral.
House.
Even the well.
A red circle marked each building.
At the bottom, beneath a series of military notations, someone had written:
