The cavalry column entered Fort Haven twenty minutes later.
Luke stood in the middle of the compound with his revolver holstered and both hands visible.
Hannah and her sisters remained near the damaged stable.
Their weapons were lowered but not surrendered.
Grace sat on a crate with her injured ankle elevated.
Copper stood beside her.
The commanding officer dismounted.
He was younger than Luke expected.
Early thirties.
Clean-shaven.
Dusty uniform.
Captain Samuel Whitaker.
Luke recognized the insignia.
Whitaker surveyed the burned building, the wounded trader, the armed Apache women, and finally Luke.
“This your doing?”
“No.”
“Name?”
“Luke Mercer.”
The captain paused.
“Mercer?”
Luke knew that look.
The name still existed in army reports somewhere.
“Yes.”
“You served?”
“Thirteenth Regiment.”
Whitaker studied him.
“I've heard your name.”
“Can't imagine anything good.”
Before Whitaker could answer, Grace called sharply.
Riders were approaching.
Rourke entered Fort Haven five minutes later.
He arrived smiling.
That worried Luke more than anger would have.
Rourke dismounted slowly.
“Captain Whitaker.”
Whitaker stiffened.
“Mr. Rourke.”
So they knew each other.
That complicated everything.
Rourke looked toward the women.
“You found them.”
Whitaker frowned.
“Found who?”
“The raiders responsible for this attack.”
Hannah's sisters reacted immediately.
Luke stepped between them and the soldiers.
Rourke continued.
“They hit a supply wagon three nights ago. Killed two men. Then attacked this post.”
Grace shouted, “Lie!”
Every eye turned toward her.
Rourke appeared almost amused.
“She speaks English now?”
“A little,” Luke said.
Rourke looked at him.
“Mercer has been traveling with them. Might want to ask why.”
Whitaker turned.
Luke removed the ledger from inside his shirt.
“Because this girl was carrying something Rourke wants.”
Rourke's eyes hardened.
Luke handed the pages toward Whitaker.
The captain did not immediately take them.
“What is it?”
“Records of stolen army weapons.”
Silence.
Luke continued.
“Rifles disappear from supply depots. They get sold to ranchers and whoever else Rourke thinks will cause trouble. Violence follows. Land gets abandoned. Crowe Land and Stock buys it cheap.”
Rourke laughed.
“That's quite a story.”
“It has dates.”
“Numbers can be written by anyone.”
“Your name's on it.”
“Which proves whoever forged it wanted my attention.”
Whitaker finally accepted the ledger.
He read.
Luke watched his face.
There was no dramatic shock.
Good officers rarely showed everything they thought.
Rourke stepped closer.
“Captain, you know me.”
“Yes.”
“You know what I've done for settlements throughout this territory.”
Luke said, “He means what he's taken.”
Rourke ignored him.
“These women killed settlers.”
Hannah suddenly spoke.
Her English was limited but clear.
“No.”
Rourke smiled.
“Convincing.”
Grace stood despite the pain.
“Hannah no kill.”
She pointed toward Rourke.
“Him.”
Then she pointed toward the burned building.
“Him men.”
Whitaker looked at the hoofprints.
Luke saw him notice what Luke had noticed.
Shod horses.
Rourke said, “Apache groups steal cavalry mounts all the time.”
“Those prints came after the rain three nights ago,” Luke said. “Grace's people ride smaller ponies. Look at the stride.”
Whitaker crouched.
He examined the tracks.
Rourke's smile weakened.
Luke pressed.
“Ask the wounded trader what he actually saw.”
Whitaker did.
The man admitted he had been struck from behind before the attackers entered.
He had seen no faces.
Rourke's voice turned sharper.
“We're wasting time.”
Whitaker stood.
“Maybe.”
That single word changed the air.
Rourke's men shifted subtly.
Luke noticed.
So did Hannah.
Whitaker had twenty soldiers.
Rourke had fourteen gunmen.
If shooting started inside Fort Haven, the outcome would be ugly.
Rourke looked toward Luke.
“You've always had trouble knowing when to stop.”
Luke said nothing.
“Tell him, Mercer. Tell the captain why you left the army.”
Luke felt every muscle tighten.
Whitaker looked between them.
Rourke continued.
“Luke Mercer was court-martialed for striking an officer.”
Grace stared at Luke.
Hannah remained expressionless.
Rourke smiled.
“That officer was me.”
Luke had spent thirteen years trying not to remember.
Now the memory returned perfectly.
The battlefield.
The retreat.
Wounded men left behind.
Luke had survived by crawling through mud after darkness.
Three others had not.
Days later he had confronted Rourke in front of the regiment.
Rourke called the losses necessary.
Luke hit him.
One punch.
Enough to end Luke's military career.
Whitaker said, “Is that true?”
“Yes.”
“You struck a superior officer?”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Luke looked directly at Rourke.
“Because he abandoned wounded men.”
Rourke spread his hands.
“And there it is. Thirteen years later, still blaming everyone for what war did to him.”
The words hit deeper than Luke wanted.
Because part of them was true.
Luke had blamed the army.
Rourke.
The war.
The men who left.
He had blamed every town where he could not sleep.
Every job he abandoned.
Every person who tried to know him.
Perhaps it had been easier to wander than admit he was afraid of belonging anywhere again.
Grace stepped toward him.
She touched his sleeve.
A tiny gesture.
Luke looked down.
She said, “Luke no leave.”
Rourke's face changed.
Grace repeated louder.
“Luke no leave.”
Hannah understood.
Her sisters did too.
Grace pointed toward Copper.
“He give.”
Then toward herself.
“Help.”
Then the road behind them.
“Walk.”
Whitaker studied Luke for a long time.
Rourke scoffed.
“A sentimental story doesn't erase a military record.”
“No,” Whitaker said quietly. “But neither does a military record erase evidence.”
Rourke's expression hardened.
Whitaker ordered two soldiers to secure the ledger.
Rourke moved.
Fast.
His gun cleared leather.
Luke saw it before anyone else.
He slammed into Whitaker.
The shot missed the captain by inches.
Chaos erupted.
Rourke's men opened fire.
Soldiers scattered.
Hannah shouted.
Her sisters moved behind cover.
Luke drew his revolver.
Rourke disappeared around the storehouse.
Luke fired at a gunman advancing toward Grace.
The man dropped his weapon and dove behind a trough.
Luke reached Grace.
“Inside!”
She refused.
“Hannah!”
“She's fine!”
Grace couldn't understand.
Luke pointed toward the trading office.
“Go!”
A bullet shattered the window beside them.
Grace ran awkwardly, half hopping.
Luke grabbed her and carried her the final yards.
He put her behind the adobe wall.
Then Hannah appeared.
For one second Luke thought she might shoot him.
Instead she pressed a spare rifle into his hands.
Luke took it.
The fighting lasted less than ten minutes.
It felt like an hour.
Rourke's men had expected confusion to give them an advantage.
Instead Whitaker's soldiers recovered quickly.
Three gunmen surrendered.
Two fled over the eastern wall.
Several were wounded.
Rourke vanished.
Luke found Captain Whitaker beside the gate.
Blood ran down his left arm.
“Bad?”
“Scratch.”
Luke looked toward the south.
Rourke's horse was gone.
So were four of his men.
Whitaker cursed.
Luke said, “He's heading for Crowe.”
“You know that?”
“Where else?”
Crowe Land and Stock owned half the territory south of Redstone Basin.
If the ledger threatened Rourke, it threatened Crowe too.
Whitaker ordered a sergeant to prepare ten men.
Luke shook his head.
“You can't ride straight there.”
“Why?”
“Rourke knows you're coming.”
Whitaker glanced at him.
“What do you suggest?”
Luke looked toward Hannah.
She had gathered her sisters around Grace.
Their voices were low.
Hannah met Luke's gaze.
For the first time, Luke realized their problems were larger than the ledger.
Grace had run because Rourke attacked their camp.
But why?
What else had happened?
Luke approached slowly.
“Hannah.”
She waited.
Luke pointed toward Rourke's trail.
“Why him chase Grace?”
Hannah answered in fragmented English.
“Men come night.”
She pointed toward the west.
“Burn food. Take horses.”
Her face hardened.
“Take people.”
Luke stared.
“People?”
Grace spoke.
“Children.”
The word hit like a fist.
Whitaker had followed Luke.
“How many?”
Hannah held up four fingers.
Then three.
Seven.
Seven children missing.
Rourke had not simply attacked a camp.
He had taken children.
“Why?” Whitaker asked.
Grace struggled to explain.
Then Claire spoke for the first time in English.
“Make us fight.”
Luke understood before Whitaker did.
Rourke wanted retaliation.
If Apache warriors attacked settlements looking for the children, Crowe and Rourke could call it another uprising.
More troops.
More violence.
More abandoned land.
More profit.
The ledger was evidence.
The missing children were leverage.
Whitaker's face changed.
“We ride now.”
Luke said, “I'm coming.”
The captain looked at him.
“You're not under my command.”
“Good.”
“You're exhausted.”
“Also true.”
“You don't have a horse.”
Luke looked toward Copper.
Grace was already watching him.
She shook her head.
Luke almost smiled.
“No. Copper's hers.”
Whitaker studied him.
Then called toward one of his soldiers.
“Bring Mercer the gray.”
Luke mounted ten minutes later.
Hannah and five of her sisters came too.
Grace tried.
Hannah refused.
Grace argued.
Luke walked the gray beside Copper.
“You stay.”
Grace glared.
“Safe.”
“No.”
Luke smiled despite himself.
“Apparently that's a word you know well.”
She pointed toward him.
“You come back?”
The question silenced him.
For thirteen years, nobody had asked Luke Mercer that.
People assumed he would leave.
Usually they were right.
Grace waited.
Luke looked at the road south.
Then back at her.
“Yes.”
She searched his face.
Luke repeated it.
“I come back.”
Grace nodded.
For once, Luke did not make the promise lightly.
The riders left Fort Haven near sunset.
Ahead lay Crowe country.
Behind Luke stood a seventeen-year-old girl who believed he would return.
For the first time in thirteen years, staying alive meant more than simply avoiding death.
It meant keeping his word.