Sombra turned beneath him.
Cody kicked lightly.
The Mustang started north.
Behind him, Red Creek slowly disappeared into the dust.
Nobody followed.
Nobody offered help.
Nobody believed the stranger would return.
But six hours later, Cody found the first sign.
A horseshoe.
Freshly broken.
Half buried in the sand.
He dismounted.
Picked it up.
And looked toward the darkening mountains.
The trail was real.
And it was heading exactly where Samuel Reed had predicted.
Cody put the horseshoe into his saddlebag.
Then he whispered to Sombra.
"Let's see what they're hiding."
The black Mustang snorted.
Together, they rode into the desert.
THE TRAIL OF TWO HUNDRED
By midnight, Cody had learned three things.
The thieves were moving quickly.
They were careless.
And they were afraid.
The first clue had been the horseshoe.
The second was a broken branch.
The third was something Cody had never expected to find.
Blood.
Not much.
Just a dark stain on a rock beside the trail.
Cody crouched and touched it.
Horse blood.
He followed the trail for another mile.
Then he found a piece of rope.
Then a torn strip of blue cloth.
Then hoofprints.
Hundreds of them.
Cody stood silently beneath the moon.
Two hundred horses had passed through this canyon.
The ground looked as if a storm had walked across it.
Sombra shifted nervously.
Cody placed a hand on his neck.
"Easy."
The Mustang lowered his head.
Cody looked up.
Far ahead, between two walls of rock, he saw a tiny orange glow.
A campfire.
He extinguished his lantern.
Dismounted.
And continued on foot.
He moved slowly.
Silently.
The desert night was cold enough to make his fingers stiff.
After nearly forty minutes, he reached the top of a ridge.
Below him was a narrow canyon.
And there they were.
Two hundred horses.
Cody counted them twice.
Some were tied to rough wooden posts.
Others had been packed into a natural enclosure made from rocks and ropes.
Several animals were restless.
A few were limping.
Cody's expression hardened.
The thieves had not cared for them.
They had simply driven the herd until the animals could go no farther.
There were twelve men around the camp.
Cody watched them for several minutes.
One man stood apart.
He wore a black coat despite the heat.
Cody recognized him.
Ezekiel Voss.
He had heard the name before.
A horse thief.
A gunrunner.
A man wanted in three territories.
Voss was speaking to another rider.
"Tomorrow morning we split the herd."
"Where?"
"South. Three different buyers."
"And the Apaches?"
Voss laughed.
"They'll never see these animals again."
Cody's hand tightened around his rifle.
He could not defeat twelve men alone.
Not directly.
But he didn't have to.
He studied the canyon.
A steep wall on the east.
A dry creek bed on the west.
A narrow entrance.
A wider exit.
Then he noticed something else.
Smoke.
Not from the thieves' fire.
A second column of smoke rose beyond the western ridge.
Someone else was nearby.
Cody backed away.
He returned to Sombra.
The Mustang had remained exactly where he had left him.
Cody climbed into the saddle.
He didn't go back to Red Creek.
Instead, he rode west.
The smoke led him to a small valley.
There, beneath a group of cottonwood trees, stood an Apache camp.
Cody stopped.
Immediately, bows appeared.
Then rifles.
A woman stepped forward.
She was perhaps thirty years old, wearing a dark blue shawl and carrying a rifle.
Her eyes were hard.
"Stop."
Cody raised both hands.
"I'm looking for the stolen horses."
The woman stared at him.
"So are we."
Cody dismounted.
"I found them."
The camp went silent.
A young man stepped forward.
"Where?"
"Dry Bone Canyon."
The woman lowered her rifle slightly.
"How many men?"
"Twelve."
"Are you certain?"
"Yes."
"How many horses?"
"Two hundred."
The young man closed his eyes.
For a moment, nobody spoke.
Then the woman asked:
"Why did you come here?"
Cody answered honestly.
"Because I saw them."
"That isn't an answer."
He looked at her.
"Because they were stolen."
She studied him.
"Many men saw them being stolen."
Cody said nothing.
"They watched," she continued. "They did nothing."
Cody's eyes moved across the camp.
He saw tired faces.
Children sleeping beneath blankets.
Elderly people sitting near a fire.
Women repairing leather.
Men checking weapons.
Then he understood.
The stolen horses weren't simply animals.
They were the tribe's future.
The woman finally lowered her rifle.
"My name is Mara."
"Cody."
"You came alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
Cody glanced at the stars.
"I've spent enough years watching people decide that somebody else's suffering isn't their problem."
Mara stared at him.
Something changed in her expression.