Luke rolled behind a boulder as another rifle cracked from the eastern ridge.
Sand jumped beside his hand.
Claire loosed her arrow.
The shaft vanished upward toward the riders.
Luke heard a horse scream.
Hannah shouted something to her sisters.
They scattered instantly.
The transformation startled Luke.
Seconds earlier they had been a family confronting a stranger.
Now they moved like people who had survived this before.
Two women dragged Grace behind the rocks.
Another seized Copper's reins.
Claire climbed halfway up the slope, found cover, and began firing with an old rifle.
Luke remained pressed against the boulder.
He could leave.
The thought came with brutal clarity.
The patrol was focused on the Apache women.
The northern wash was open.
If Luke crawled through the scrub and kept moving, he might disappear before either side remembered him.
That was what the old Luke Mercer would have done.
Never step into another person's trouble.
Then Grace cried out.
Luke looked back.
She was trying to help one of her sisters pull Copper toward cover, but the injured ankle collapsed.
A rifle muzzle appeared on the ridge above them.
Luke drew his revolver.
He fired.
Stone burst beside the rifleman.
Luke deliberately aimed wide.
He wanted the man down.
He did not want him dead unless there was no other choice.
The soldier—or whoever he was—ducked behind the ridge.
Luke ran.
He caught Grace beneath the arms and dragged her behind a thick outcropping.
Hannah stared at him.
Luke pointed north.
“Get her out!”
Hannah understood enough.
She barked an order.
Two sisters lifted Grace.
Then Luke saw something strange.
The riders above them were not wearing full military uniforms.
Some had blue coats.
Others wore brown dusters.
One wore a cavalry hat.
But their clothing did not match.
Neither did their equipment.
Luke had been a soldier too long to miss details like that.
No unit rode that way.
No legitimate patrol mixed uniforms and civilian coats unless something had gone badly wrong.
A man appeared on the ridge.
Tall.
Gray mustache.
Blue cavalry jacket open over a red shirt.
He raised one hand.
“Hold your fire!”
The shooting stopped unevenly.
Luke remained behind the rock.
The man called down.
“Mercer!”
Luke's blood went cold.
Nobody here should know his name.
Hannah looked toward him.
Luke slowly stood enough to see over the boulder.
The man smiled.
“Thought that was you.”
Luke searched the face.
Memory came slowly.
Then all at once.
“Rourke?”
The man laughed.
“Captain Elias Rourke. Though I suppose nobody's called me Captain in a while.”
Luke's hand tightened around his revolver.
Rourke had served in the same regiment thirteen years earlier.
Not the same company, but close enough.
Luke remembered him as ambitious, charming, and cruel in that quiet way officers sometimes mistook for strength.
He also remembered the battlefield where Luke had been abandoned.
Rourke had been there.
“What are you doing?” Luke shouted.
“Cleaning up a problem.”
Luke glanced toward Grace.
The girl went rigid.
Rourke noticed.
“There she is.”
Grace backed away.
Hannah stepped in front of her.
Rourke rested both hands on the saddle horn.
“That girl stole something that belongs to me.”
Grace shook her head violently.
Luke looked toward her.
“What?”
She understood only part of the question.
She reached inside the torn leather pouch hanging from her waist.
Hannah grabbed her wrist.
Too late.
Rourke saw.
His smile disappeared.
“Hand it over, Mercer. This doesn't concern you.”
Luke almost laughed.
Two days earlier, those words would have been exactly what he wanted to hear.
Not your concern.
Keep walking.
Live another day.
“What did she take?”
“Nothing that matters to you.”
“Then it shouldn't matter if I see it.”
Rourke's jaw hardened.
“You always were stubborn.”
Luke studied the men around him.
Twelve riders.
Maybe fourteen.
Only four looked like former soldiers.
The others were hired guns.
Then he looked at Hannah.
Seven sisters, including Grace.
One injured.
Outnumbered nearly two to one.
Bad ground.
Little water.
Luke had been in worse situations.
Most had ended with men dying.
Rourke leaned forward.
“You're standing with people who'll put an arrow through you as soon as this is finished.”
Claire said something angrily.
Luke almost smiled.
“Maybe.”
“You think you're saving them?”
“No.”
“Then move.”
Luke's gaze shifted toward Grace.
She opened the pouch.
Inside was a folded piece of paper.
Even from twenty yards away Rourke reacted.
There it was.
Fear.
Not anger.
Fear.
Luke said, “What's on that paper?”
Rourke raised his rifle.
“That is your last warning.”
Luke stepped farther from the rock.
Hannah caught his arm.
He looked at her.
She shook her head.
Luke realized she wasn't warning him against Rourke.
She was warning him not to sacrifice himself.
For the first time, her eyes no longer held suspicion.
Luke gently removed her hand.
Then he faced Rourke.
“You left men behind once.”
Rourke's expression changed.
The wash became very quiet.
Luke continued.
“West field. Thirteen years ago.”
Rourke glanced at his riders.
“War makes hard choices.”
“You gave the retreat order before the wounded were cleared.”
“We would have lost twice as many.”
“You didn't check.”
“You survived.”
Luke felt something old open inside him.
A wound without blood.
“Yes,” he said. “I survived.”
Rourke lowered his voice.
“Then survive again.”
For one second Luke almost saw the choice laid before him physically.
Walk north.
Find Fort Haven.
Take work.
Forget Grace.
Forget Hannah.
Forget the paper.
Forget the past.
He had spent thirteen years doing exactly that.
Luke holstered his revolver.
Rourke smiled.
Then Luke walked toward Grace.
Rourke's smile vanished.
Grace handed Luke the paper.
Luke unfolded it.
It was a shipping ledger.
Names.
Dates.
Numbers.
Several entries mentioned Fort Haven.
Others listed rifles, ammunition, horses.
Luke's stomach tightened.
Government weapons.
Hundreds of them.
Beside several shipments were payments made by a cattle company Luke recognized.
Crowe Land and Stock.
Another name appeared repeatedly.
E. Rourke.
Luke looked up.
“You've been selling rifles.”
Rourke said nothing.
“To both sides?”
Still nothing.
Luke read further.
A pattern appeared.
Weapons disappeared from military stores.
Some went to ranchers.
Some to raiding groups.
Violence followed.
Then Crowe Land and Stock purchased abandoned parcels for almost nothing.
“You're starting fights.”
Rourke laughed once.
“You think one ledger tells you the world?”
“It tells enough.”
“It tells you that civilization is expensive.”
Hannah understood only fragments, but she understood Rourke's tone.
Grace spoke to her sisters.
Luke turned toward Grace.
She pointed east.
Then mimed flames.
A burned camp.
Rourke had attacked them.
She pointed toward the ledger.
Luke finally understood how she had gotten hurt.
Grace had witnessed something.
Taken the evidence.
Run.
Rourke had hunted her across Redstone Basin.
Luke folded the ledger.
“I'm keeping this.”
Rourke sighed.
“Still trying to be the good soldier.”
“I haven't been a soldier in thirteen years.”
“Exactly.”
Rourke lifted his rifle.
“So nobody will miss you.”
Luke threw himself sideways.
The shot cracked.
The women opened fire.
Chaos swallowed the wash.
Luke crawled toward Hannah.
“We can't stay!”
She understood the gesture toward the western ravine.
Hannah shouted.
The sisters began retreating.
Claire covered them.
Luke reached Copper.
He helped Grace into the saddle.
“Ride!”
Grace caught his wrist.
“Luke.”
“Go!”
She refused.
Another bullet struck stone.
Luke pointed toward the ravine.
“Grace, go!”
This time she obeyed.
The Apache women disappeared between the cliffs.
Luke followed on foot.
Behind them, Rourke shouted for his riders to mount.
The chase began.
The ravine narrowed until horsemen could travel only two abreast.
That bought them time.
Not enough.
Luke ran beside Hannah.
She spoke a few words of English.
“Where?”
Luke pointed northwest.
“Fort Haven.”
Hannah shook her head violently.
“Soldiers.”
“Maybe.”
“No.”
Luke held up the ledger.
“Need witness.”
She looked at him.
Luke struggled for simple words.
“Good soldiers. Bad men. Paper proves.”
Hannah still resisted.
Grace called from Copper.
“Hannah.”
The sisters exchanged rapid words.
Finally Hannah nodded.
Fort Haven was still nearly a day away.
They would never outrun mounted men with Luke on foot.
Grace seemed to realize it.
She stopped Copper.
Luke waved angrily.
“Keep moving!”
Grace slid her good leg over the saddle.
“No.”
Luke stared at her.
She pointed behind him.
“Luke. Horse.”
“You need him.”
Grace shook her head.
Then pointed toward the saddle behind her.
Luke understood.
“No.”
Grace stared stubbornly.
Hannah actually smiled.
It was the first time Luke had seen her do it.
There was no time to argue.
Luke climbed behind Grace.
Copper lurched forward.
The sisters moved through the ravine at speed.
For nearly two hours they rode beneath rising heat.
Rourke remained behind them.
Sometimes close.
Sometimes distant.
Then Claire raised a fist.
Everyone stopped.
Ahead, the canyon split into three passages.
Hannah pointed left.
Luke shook his head.
“Dead end.”
She frowned.
Luke had passed through Redstone Basin years earlier.
He pointed center.
“Fort Haven.”
Hannah pointed right.
Grace said something.
The women began arguing.
Then Luke heard riders behind them.
No time.
Hannah chose the center.
They rode.
By midday, the canyon opened onto a high plateau.
Fort Haven appeared in the distance.
A low collection of adobe buildings surrounded by timber walls.
Luke felt hope.
Then he saw smoke.
Black smoke.
Coming from inside the fort.
Grace whispered, “Luke.”
He knew.
Something was wrong.
They approached carefully.
No sentries stood at the gate.
One section of the wall had burned.
A wagon lay overturned outside.
Luke dismounted.
“Stay.”
Hannah ignored him and came along.
Claire followed.
Luke drew his revolver.
They entered.
The trading post was nearly empty.
Two horses wandered loose.
A storehouse door had been smashed.
Luke found a man behind the main building.
Older.
Bleeding from the shoulder.
Still alive.
Luke knelt.
“What happened?”
The man recognized the women and reached for a gun.
Luke grabbed his wrist.
“Stop.”
“They attacked us.”
“Who?”
“The Indians.”
Hannah stiffened.
Luke pointed toward the hoofprints in the dust.
Shod horses.
Military shoes.
Not Apache ponies.
“You didn't see who did this.”
The wounded man closed his eyes.
“No.”
“Who told you?”
“Lieutenant Vance.”
“Where is he?”
“Gone after them.”
Luke felt cold.
Rourke wasn't merely hiding his crimes.
He was building a story.
By the time official soldiers arrived, the Apache sisters would be blamed for attacking Fort Haven.
The ledger would disappear.
Anyone who contradicted the story would die.
Luke looked toward the northern trail.
A column of dust was rising.
More riders.
Hannah raised her rifle.
Luke studied the formation.
This time the uniforms matched.
Blue coats.
Regular spacing.
Standard cavalry.
Real soldiers.
A lieutenant rode at the front.
But behind them, far out on the southern trail, another dust cloud was approaching.
Rourke.
Luke looked at the ledger in his hand.
Fort Haven had become the worst possible place to be trapped.
Yet for the first time in thirteen years, Luke did not want to run.
He wanted the truth to stay alive long enough to matter.