The first thing Daniel Cole noticed about the valley was that it was too quiet.

Not peaceful.

Quiet.

There was a difference.

Peace belonged to places where people had nothing to fear. Silence belonged to places where something had already happened—or where something was waiting to happen.

Daniel had spent most of his twenty-nine years learning to recognize that difference.

He had worked cattle across Arizona Territory since he was old enough to sit a horse. He knew the sound of coyotes circling a camp after midnight, the distant crack of a rifle carried by mountain wind, and the strange stillness that settled over the desert just before a summer storm.

But he had never heard silence quite like this.

He had been riding since sunrise, following the trail of a bay gelding that had broken loose from his small cattle outfit sometime before dawn.

The horse was valuable.

Not because it was particularly beautiful.

It wasn't.

The bay had a crooked white mark above one eye and a habit of biting anyone who tried to saddle him too quickly.

But Daniel's father had given him that horse before dying.

Daniel had kept it for six years.

So when the animal disappeared, Daniel went after him.

The trail had taken him away from the main road and deeper into a maze of red sandstone cliffs.

By late afternoon, Daniel had become certain he was lost.

The canyon walls rose on either side of him like enormous walls built by some ancient civilization. The sun was already slipping toward the western horizon, turning the rocks the color of blood.

His canteen was nearly empty.

His horse was tired.

And then he saw smoke.

Thin gray smoke rose beyond a line of cottonwood trees.

Daniel stopped.

Someone was living here.

He considered turning around.

Then he heard music.

Not the kind played in a saloon.

A flute.

Slow.

Almost mournful.

Daniel dismounted and tied his horse beneath a tree.

He walked forward carefully.

Then the trees opened.

And Daniel stopped breathing.

Below him was a hidden settlement.

Dozens of people moved among tents and small wooden structures. Horses grazed beside a shallow stream. Children ran between cooking fires. Women carried baskets. Warriors stood along the outer edge of the settlement.

And at the center of everything was a large open circle.

A ceremony was taking place.

Daniel immediately realized he had wandered into a place where he had no right to be.

He took one step backward.

A voice shouted.

Dozens of heads turned.

Within seconds, several warriors had weapons in their hands.

Daniel raised both palms.

"Easy."

Nobody moved.

"I'm not looking for trouble."

An older warrior stepped forward.

He carried no rifle.

Only a long knife at his belt.

His hair was streaked with gray, and his face was marked by years of sun and wind.

Daniel knew immediately that this man was important.

The warrior stared at him.

"Who are you?"

"My name is Daniel Cole."

"Why are you here?"

"I was following my horse."

The warrior's eyes narrowed.

Daniel pointed behind him.

"He ran this way."

The older man said nothing.