Nathaniel immediately dismounted.
He examined the animal's leg.
“She's favoring the right hoof.”
Ayana knelt beside him.
A sharp stone had lodged near the edge of the shoe.
Together, they removed it.
The mare shifted uneasily.
Ayana stroked her neck.
“Easy, girl.”
Nathaniel watched her.
She spoke to animals the way she spoke to frightened children—with patience and certainty.
The mare settled.
Nathaniel smiled faintly.
“What?” Ayana asked.
“Nothing.”
“Then why are you looking at me?”
He hesitated.
“Because you're remarkable.”
She looked away.
“Don't.”
“Don't what?”
“Say things like that.”
“Why?”
“Because I might start believing you.”
Nathaniel touched her hand.
“I hope you do.”
They camped that night beside a narrow stream.
Nathaniel took the first watch.
Ayana slept beneath a blanket near the fire.
He sat with his rifle across his knees, listening to the woods.
Around midnight, a branch snapped.
He froze.
Another sound followed.
A horse breathing.
Nathaniel stood silently.
He moved away from the fire.
Then a voice came from the darkness.
“Evening, Brooks.”
Clay Mercer stepped between the trees.
Two armed men appeared behind him.
Nathaniel raised his rifle.
Mercer smiled.
“Careful now.”
“What do you want?”
“You know what I want.”
“The papers aren't here.”
“Then this will be easy.”
Mercer glanced toward the sleeping figure near the fire.
“Pretty companion you've got.”
Nathaniel's voice turned cold.
“Don't look at her.”
Mercer laughed.
“Still pretending to be a hero?”
Nathaniel shifted his stance.
“You've got three men. I've got a rifle. Somebody's going to have a bad night.”
Mercer shrugged.
“Maybe.”
Then he raised his voice.
“Miss Ayana? You can wake up now.”
Nathaniel felt a terrible chill.
Ayana sat up immediately.
She had not been sleeping.
Her knife was already in her hand.
Mercer grinned.
“There she is.”
Nathaniel moved between them.
“Leave her out of this.”
“Mr. Hargrove has been generous,” Mercer said. “He wants his property returned. That's all.”
“Those documents don't belong to him.”
“Everything belongs to somebody, Brooks. The question is who's strong enough to keep it.”
Ayana stood.
“And who gave him the right to our water?”
Mercer looked amused.
“Well, now. She speaks.”
Nathaniel took a step forward.
Mercer raised his revolver.
“Careful.”
Ayana's eyes moved toward the horses.
Then toward the dark stream behind Mercer.
She noticed something Nathaniel had not.
The ground beneath the gunmen was soft from recent rain.
A narrow bank sloped sharply toward the water.
She slowly shifted her grip on the knife.
Mercer extended his hand.
“The documents.”
Nathaniel remained still.
“No.”
Mercer sighed.
“I was hoping you'd be sensible.”
He aimed at Nathaniel's chest.
Before he could fire, Ayana grabbed the burning kettle from beside the campfire and hurled its contents toward him.
Boiling water struck his arm.
Mercer screamed.
Nathaniel fired.
One gunman dropped his weapon and fell backward.
The other fired wildly.
The shot struck a tree.
Ayana lunged toward her horse.
Nathaniel seized Mercer's wounded arm and drove him against the muddy bank.
The ground collapsed beneath them.
Both men fell toward the stream.
Mercer struggled to raise his revolver.
Nathaniel struck his wrist against a rock.
The weapon disappeared into the water.
Above them, Ayana fired Nathaniel's spare revolver into the air.
The remaining gunman fled.
Nathaniel managed to climb from the stream.
Mercer lay half submerged, groaning.
Ayana stood beside the fire, breathing hard.
Her hand shook around the revolver.
Nathaniel approached slowly.
“Ayana.”
She looked at him.
“Are you hurt?”
She shook her head.
He checked her arms and shoulders anyway.
Then he pulled her into his embrace.
She held him tightly.
For several moments, neither spoke.
Finally, she whispered, “I thought he was going to shoot you.”
“He nearly did.”
“I was frightened.”
“So was I.”
She leaned back.
“You?”
Nathaniel gave a humorless laugh.
“Terrified.”
“But you looked so calm.”
“That's because panic doesn't improve my aim.”
She laughed weakly.
He touched her face.
“You saved us.”
“We saved each other.”
Nathaniel nodded.
“Yes.”
They tied Mercer to a tree and secured his injured arm.
Ayana treated the burn despite his earlier threats.
The man stared at her in disbelief.
“Why are you helping me?”
She tightened the bandage.
“Because I know how.”
“I would've killed you.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
Ayana looked at him.
“Because your cruelty doesn't decide what kind of person I become.”
Mercer had no reply.
At dawn, Nathaniel left him with water, food, and a note identifying his crimes, knowing that a freight patrol regularly passed the trail.
He took Mercer's ammunition and disabled his revolver.
Then he and Ayana continued toward Prescott.
They reached Judge Whitcomb's property two days later.
The retired judge was a tall, thin man with white hair, tired blue eyes, and a habit of examining people as though they were witnesses on the stand.
He greeted Nathaniel without warmth.
“Brooks.”
“Judge.”
“I thought you were dead.”
“Nearly.”
Whitcomb looked at Ayana.
“And this is?”
“Ayana, daughter of Tavish of Red Willow Valley.”
The judge bowed his head politely.
“Welcome.”
Inside, they presented the documents.
Whitcomb read them slowly.
He requested a magnifying glass.
Then another lamp.
Hours passed.
Nathaniel paced.
Ayana sat quietly, watching the old man's expression.
At last, Whitcomb removed his spectacles.
“Where did you find these?”
“In an abandoned mission,” Ayana replied.
“Who preserved them?”