A fire burned low.
Several Apache warriors sat around it.
At the center was an old man named Tomas.
He listened while another warrior spoke.
“The woman lives.”
Tomas looked up.
“How do you know?”
“She returned before sunset.”
“And the white man?”
“He gave her water.”
Silence.
Tomas's expression hardened.
“What white man?”
“Corvin Torne.”
Several men exchanged glances.
One spat into the dust.
“A cavalry scout.”
“Former cavalry scout,” another corrected.
Tomas stared into the fire.
“What did he do?”
“He gave her water.”
“That is all?”
“That is all.”
The old chief leaned back.
For generations, men had crossed the desert with guns.
They had taken land.
They had taken horses.
They had taken lives.
But water was different.
Water was life itself.
To give water to an enemy without demanding anything in return was an act that carried weight.
Tomas looked toward the darkness.
“Bring her here.”
An hour later, the wounded woman entered the circle.
Her name was Saira.
She was not a chief.
She was not a warrior in the traditional sense.
But she was the daughter of a respected Apache family, and she had earned a reputation for courage.
Tomas studied her wound.
“Who shot you?”
“Vance's men.”
The circle went silent.
Saira continued.
“They followed us for two days. They wanted the spring at Black Rock. They killed three of our people.”
Tomas's jaw tightened.
“And Torne?”
“He gave me water.”
“Did he ask your name?”
“No.”
“Did he ask for anything?”
“No.”
Tomas looked around the circle.
“That man may not understand what he has done.”
Saira shook her head.
“He understands water.”
Tomas stared at her.
She continued.
“I could see it in his eyes.”
The old chief said nothing.
Then he turned toward the warriors.
“Watch the ranch.”
One young warrior frowned.
“Why?”
“Because men who control water will eventually come for his spring.”
“And when they do?”
Tomas looked into the darkness.
“Then we will know whether the water bearer is worth protecting.”
THREE HUNDRED SHADOWS
Corvin woke before sunrise.
He knew something was wrong before he opened his eyes.
The ranch was silent.
Too silent.
No birds.
No horses moving.
No cattle lowing.
He remained still.
His hand found the Colt.
Then he sat up.
The horses were standing rigidly in the corral.
All four were facing the eastern ridge.
Corvin moved to the window.
He looked outside.
A single rider stood on the ridge.
Then another appeared.
Then three.
Then ten.
Corvin stepped into the doorway.
More riders emerged from the northern hills.
Others appeared to the west.
Within minutes, Cold Springs was surrounded.
Corvin counted.
One hundred.
Two hundred.
Then he stopped counting.
Three hundred.
Three hundred Apache warriors.
They sat on horseback across the ridges, holding rifles, bows, and lances.
They did not shout.
They did not charge.
They simply watched.
Corvin felt the old cavalry instinct return.
He studied the terrain.
No escape.
The cabin could be defended for minutes.
Not hours.
He could shoot perhaps a dozen men.
Then the arrows would come.
Fire would follow.
There was no victory here.
Only a choice between dying quickly and dying slowly.
He stepped into the yard.
A rider separated from the eastern ridge.
The horse descended.
The rider stopped fifty yards away.
Corvin recognized him.
Not from memory.
From the turquoise necklace.
Saira.
She had returned.
Her wound had been cleaned.
A strip of cloth was tied around her head.
She looked stronger.
She dismounted.
Then she walked toward him.
Corvin kept his hands away from his pistol.
“You came back.”
Saira stopped several yards away.
“I did.”
Her English was quiet but surprisingly clear.
Corvin stared.
“You speak English.”
“I listen.”
He almost smiled.
“You're here to kill me?”
“No.”
“Then why are three hundred people surrounding my ranch?”
Saira looked toward the hills.
“Because you are in danger.”
Corvin laughed once.
It was not a happy laugh.
“Three hundred armed people surrounding me usually means I'm in more danger, not less.”
Saira's expression did not change.
“Harlan Vance is coming.”
Corvin's smile disappeared.
“When?”
“Soon.”
“How soon?”
“Today.”
Corvin looked toward the southern road.
“How many?”
“Forty-seven.”
Corvin's eyes narrowed.
“You counted them?”
“We count everything.”