ABEL TORNE — PAYMENT RECEIVED.
And beside one entry:
RED BASIN SETTLEMENT — COMPLETED.
Corvin’s hands began trembling.
“What settlement?”
Captain Hale looked away.
Sena whispered something.
The elder closed his eyes.
She translated.
“People lived here.”
Corvin stared around his ranch.
The barn.
House.
Corral.
Cottonwood trees.
Nothing remained of anyone before Abel.
“What people?”
Sena’s answer came quietly.
“Ours.”
The word hollowed something inside him.
Corvin looked down at the ground beneath his boots.
“My father killed people for this land?”
Hale laughed.
“Your father did what men were paid to do.”
Corvin turned.
The captain shrugged.
“You think ranches appear because God drops deeds from heaven?”
The old warrior raised the pistol again.
Corvin held out a hand.
“No.”
The elder looked at him.
Corvin shook his head.
“Let him talk.”
Hale smiled.
“Thirty-three years ago, Red Basin had water, grass and a wagon route.
That made it valuable.
Your father helped remove the people living here.”
“Remove?”
“You know what that means.”
Corvin did.
His stomach twisted.
Sena’s expression had turned to stone.
“Some survived,” she said.
The elder spoke.
Sena listened.
Then translated.
“His daughter survived.”
Corvin looked toward the old man.
“Whose daughter?”
The elder touched his own chest.
Corvin stared.
The old man’s daughter had survived the attack.
Something cold moved through him.
“Where is she now?”
Sena looked away.
“Dead.”
Corvin lowered his eyes.
“I’m sorry.”
The old warrior watched him.
Then said something softly.
Sena did not translate.
“What did he say?”
She hesitated.
“He said you were sorry before you knew her.”
Corvin frowned.
“I didn’t know her.”
Sena stared at him.
Before she could answer, a rifle cracked from the southern ridge.
Every rider moved.
The transformation was terrifying.
Men who had been statues became motion.
Horses wheeled.
Rifles lifted.
Dust erupted across the hills.
Another shot echoed.
Then a third.
A rider galloped down toward the elder, shouting.
Sena listened.
Her expression sharpened.
“Soldiers.”
“How many?”
She looked at Corvin.
“Many.”
Captain Hale smiled.
“They’re right on time.”
The cavalry appeared from the southern pass twenty minutes later.
Close to eighty men.
Behind them rode civilian gunmen.
Corvin recognized several.
Employees of Barstow Mining Company.
That told him more than any confession could have.
Barstow had spent years buying land through Red Basin.
Corvin had refused every offer.
His ranch controlled the only permanent water source between two proposed mining sites.
Suddenly the puzzle fit.
Start a war.
Remove the Apache.
Kill Corvin.
Claim the ranch abandoned after a “hostile raid.”
Control the water.
Control the valley.
Men would die so a company could own a well.
Corvin felt sick.
The Apache riders disappeared from the exposed ridges with astonishing speed.
Within minutes, the hills looked nearly empty.
Captain Hale laughed.
“They ran.”
Sena looked at him.
“No.”
Gunfire exploded from the southern pass.
Hale’s smile vanished.
The cavalry formation broke apart.
Shots came from rock shelves, dry washes and hidden gullies.
Not wild shooting.
Precise.
Controlled.
The soldiers attempted to spread.
More gunfire pinned them down.
Corvin realized the Apache warriors were not trying to slaughter them.
