Before Ethan could respond, a gunshot cracked across the valley.
Boone jerked.
Ethan turned sharply.
The shot had not come from the settlement.
It had come from the ridge behind him.
A bullet struck the dirt less than ten feet away.
Tomas immediately swung his horse around.
"Down!"
Ethan dropped from Boone as another shot tore through the air.
The Apache riders scattered.
Children screamed.
Women grabbed jars and pulled children toward the trees.
Ethan crawled behind a rock and drew his revolver.
He saw movement on the opposite ridge.
Three men.
Then four.
All carrying rifles.
Tomas looked at Ethan.
"Your people?"
Ethan's jaw tightened.
"I don't know them."
"You are certain?"
"I'm certain."
Another shot.
This one struck a cottonwood.
Ethan peered over the rock.
The attackers were not firing wildly.
They were shooting toward the spring.
Toward the people.
Toward the water.
Then Ethan understood.
They weren't trying to scare the settlement away.
They were trying to control the valley.
Tomas leaned close.
"Now you understand."
Ethan looked at the stream.
"What?"
"Why this place was supposed to remain dry."
The shooting continued.
And somewhere beyond the hills, Ethan heard the distant thunder of horses.
More riders were coming.
The Hidden Spring
The attackers withdrew before sunset.
They left behind no bodies and few clues.
Only spent cartridges.
Ethan found six.
Winchester .30-30.
Modern enough.
Expensive enough.
And clean enough to tell him the men knew what they were doing.
He sat beside the fire that evening while Tomas cleaned an old rifle.
The settlement had quieted, but nobody slept deeply.
Children were kept inside the shelters.
Adults took turns watching the ridges.
Ethan's three horses stood among the others, completely calm.
They had found water.
They had found safety.
At least for the moment.
"You knew this spring existed," Ethan said.
Tomas continued cleaning the rifle.
"Yes."
"How long?"
"Thirty years."
Ethan stared at him.
"Thirty?"
"Longer."
"Then why doesn't anyone know about it?"
"Some people do."
"Who?"
Tomas looked up.
"Men who would kill for it."
The answer hung between them.
Ethan looked toward the water.
The stream was narrow, perhaps three feet across in the deepest section, but it flowed steadily.
Enough to support the settlement.
Enough to support cattle.
Enough, perhaps, to transform the entire valley.
"Where does it come from?"
"Under the mountain."
"An underground spring?"
"Yes."
"Then why didn't the river find it?"
"Because the river was never fed by this spring."
Ethan frowned.
Tomas pointed toward the western cliffs.
"Long ago, water flowed from another source. That river made the valley what it was. Then the source failed. People assumed everything beneath the valley had died."
"And this spring?"
"Was protected by stone."
Ethan considered that.
"Protected?"
"Hidden."
"By whom?"
Tomas looked into the flames.
"My grandfather."
He explained that generations earlier, Apache families had discovered the underground water while sheltering in the canyon during a drought.
They had learned that the spring flowed only through a narrow opening beneath the rocks.
Over time, the location became sacred.
Not because the water belonged to one family.
Because it belonged to anyone who needed it.
"Then why hide it?"
"Because people came."
"Settlers?"
"Everyone."
Tomas's expression hardened.
"Ranchers. Prospectors. Soldiers. Traders. Men with maps. Men with money. Men who believed that if they could draw a line around something, they owned it."
Ethan looked at the water.
"Who knows now?"
"Your father's friend."
Ethan looked sharply at him.
"Who?"
"Caleb Mercer."
Ethan's stomach tightened.
Caleb Mercer.
The largest ranch owner in the region.
Mercer Cattle Company owned nearly twenty thousand acres and controlled the only commercial well for miles.
Mercer had recently announced plans to build a pipeline through Dry River.
The official explanation was simple.
A private irrigation project.
But Ethan knew what that meant.
Water.
Money.
Power.
"Mercer knows about this place?"
"He knows enough."
"How?"
"Your father."
Ethan stood.
"My father wouldn't have told him."
Tomas did not answer.
"Would he?"
Still nothing.
"My father died eighteen years ago."
"I know."
"Then tell me what you're not saying."
Tomas slowly placed the rifle beside him.