Nalin had found the message.
Corvin had not found her.
His hands shook.
“I went there.”
Talani nodded.
“So did she.”
Corvin stared at her.
“What?”
“My mother went to the eastern mountains.”
“I waited three days.”
“She arrived on the fourth.”
Corvin shut his eyes.
One day.
Seventeen years of grief because of one day.
“I thought soldiers had taken her.”
“She thought soldiers had taken you.”
Corvin turned away.
His face tightened.
Talani’s father watched him without sympathy and without cruelty.
Only patience.
Finally Corvin asked, “Why are all these men here?”
The old leader answered.
“Not for gratitude.”
Corvin looked toward the ridges.
“I guessed that.”
Talani’s expression hardened.
“Someone is coming.”
“Who?”
“My mother made us promise that if we ever found Elias Vale, we must reach him before Abram Voss did.”
Corvin froze.
“That’s impossible.”
“No.”
“Voss is dead.”
The old leader shook his head.
“No.”
Corvin felt suddenly cold despite the rising sun.
“I saw Fort Mercy burn.”
“Voss survived.”
“No.”
“He has used another name for many years.”
Corvin stared.
“What name?”
Talani answered.
“Judge Abner Crowell.”
Corvin’s blood turned to ice.
Everyone in southern Arizona knew Judge Crowell.
Territorial judge.
Landowner.
Candidate for Congress.
A man newspapers called one of Arizona’s founding pillars.
Corvin whispered, “No.”
Talani stepped closer.
“He has been searching for something.”
“What?”
“Records.”
Corvin said nothing.
Talani watched him.
“Records from Fort Mercy.”
Corvin’s eyes betrayed him.
Her father noticed.
“So you know.”
Corvin looked toward his cabin.
Beneath the floorboards under his bed was a metal military dispatch box.
Inside were ledgers Elias had stolen the night Fort Mercy burned.
Lists of illegal payments.
Prisoner names.
Supply theft.
Orders bearing Captain Abram Voss’s signature.
For seventeen years Corvin had kept them.
Not because he was brave.
Because he had been afraid to destroy the last proof that he had not imagined what happened.
Talani said quietly, “He knows you have them.”
Corvin turned.
“How?”
Before she could answer, a rifle shot echoed from the southern ridge.
Every Apache warrior moved.
Instantly.
Horses turned.
Rifles lifted.
Men spread across the valley.
Talani’s father shouted an order.
Another shot cracked.
Then Corvin saw dust rising beyond the southern pass.
Riders.
Dozens.
Then wagons.
Talani looked at him.
“He found you.”
Judge Abner Crowell arrived beneath an American flag.
That was the part Corvin found almost funny.
Forty armed men rode behind two deputy marshals.
A wagon carried a mounted Gatling gun.
Crowell sat in a polished carriage as though arriving for church.
Seventeen years had changed him.
His hair was white.
His body heavier.
But when he stepped down and removed his hat, Corvin recognized Captain Abram Voss instantly.
