Three months earlier, one of his horses had been found dead.
Corvin knew what was happening.
Vance was testing him.
Waiting for him to become frightened.
Waiting for him to sell.
But Corvin had spent too many years surviving war to be frightened by a rich man in a clean coat.
He blew out the lamp.
Then he lay down with his Winchester beside the bed.
He slept lightly.
At midnight, coyotes cried from the ridge.
At one o'clock, his horse kicked the corral gate.
At two, the wind died.
At three, somewhere far north, a wolf howled.
And in a hidden canyon thirty miles away, an Apache council gathered around a fire.
The giant woman sat among them.
Her name was Naya Taza.
She was not merely a warrior.
She was the daughter of a respected elder.
And she carried a message.
A message about the white rancher at Cold Springs.
"The water bearer," one elder said.
Naya looked into the fire.
"He gave water without asking my name."
Another man frowned.
"Many white men give water."
"Not like this."
"How?"
"He turned his back."
Silence followed.
The elders understood.
A man who turned his back on an armed stranger was either a fool or a man who trusted his own heart more than his fear.
Naya continued.
"He could have taken my weapon."
"You had no weapon."
"I had my hands."
A few men smiled.
The elder did not.
"And what do you believe?"
Naya looked toward the darkness.
"I believe the man at Cold Springs does not understand the war coming to his door."
The elder's face hardened.
"Neither does he understand that the water he protects is worth killing for."
THREE HUNDRED SHADOWS
Dawn arrived suddenly.
Corvin woke before sunrise.
He knew something was wrong.
He did not know what.
But the desert was too quiet.
Usually, birds announced morning.
Horses moved.
Cattle groaned.
Insects buzzed.
That morning there was nothing.
Corvin remained motionless.
His hand found the Colt.
He slipped out of bed.
He dressed without making a sound.
Then he took his Winchester and moved toward the eastern window.
He looked outside.
His blood turned cold.
There were figures on the ridge.
Dozens.
No.
Hundreds.
Corvin counted as quickly as he could.
Men.
Women.
Mounted riders.
Walkers.
Three hundred shadows stood against the pale morning sky.
Apache.
Corvin's first thought was that they had come for revenge.
His second was that he had made a terrible mistake.
Then he saw the woman from yesterday.
Naya stood at the front.
She was wearing a dark buckskin vest.
A bow rested across her back.
She looked toward the cabin.
Corvin slowly opened the door.
Three hundred weapons shifted.
He stopped.
Naya raised one hand.
The movement silenced everyone.
She walked forward alone.
Corvin stepped onto the porch.
"You came back."
Naya stopped ten feet away.
"My people came."
"Why?"
"Because you gave me water."
Corvin frowned.
"That's all?"
"No."
She pointed toward the southern horizon.
A column of dust was rising.
Corvin grabbed his spyglass.
He looked.
Riders.
White men.
Dozens.
At their center was a black wagon.
Corvin lowered the glass.
"Vance."
Naya nodded.
"He comes for your water."
Corvin stared at her.
"How do you know?"
"Because he came through our land yesterday."
The pieces fell together.
Vance wasn't simply trying to force Corvin to sell.
He intended to take Cold Springs.
And if Apache warriors were nearby, Vance could use the confrontation to create exactly the war he needed.
Corvin looked at the three hundred warriors.
"If he sees you here, he'll claim you're attacking me."
Naya's expression remained calm.
"Let him claim it."
"You don't understand."
"I understand very well."
She stepped closer.
"Your enemies need us to hate you."
Corvin stared.
"They need you to shoot us."
"Yes."
"And then they will shoot you."