Judge Elias Vane.
The man who had been hiding behind the massacre for twelve years.
Silas raised his rifle.
Vane's voice came again.
"You should have stayed buried."
Silas looked at Nantan.
The chief nodded.
Ayana stepped beside them.
Silas took a breath.
Then he answered.
"I've been buried long enough."
The canyon fell silent.
And somewhere beneath their feet, far below the red stone and the dry earth, water continued to move through the darkness.
The same water that had witnessed the bloodshed.
The same water that had carried survivors to safety.
The same water that had become the reason men lied, murdered, and betrayed.
And now the truth was finally rising.
Not from a courtroom.
Not from a government report.
Not from the pages of a dead man's notebook.
But from the canyon itself.
From the people who had survived.
From the man who had finally stopped running.
And from a woman who had spent twelve years carrying a broken wooden doll because it was the last piece of her childhood the fire had failed to destroy.
The first gunshot came at sunrise.
Silas fired back.
And Red Willow remembered.
The first gunshot came at sunrise.
Silas fired back.
The report struck the canyon walls and returned in a rolling echo that sounded like a dozen rifles answering at once.
Ayana dropped behind a boulder.
Nantan moved toward the western wall, disappearing into a narrow cleft between two slabs of red sandstone.
Silas remained in the open for one dangerous second.
Then he understood what Vane had done.
The riders at the canyon entrance were not there to attack immediately.
They were blocking the only obvious way out.
The men on the ridges were positioned higher.
The first shots had been warnings.
They wanted Silas, Nantan, and Ayana alive.
At least for now.
Silas crouched behind a rock.
"How many?"
Ayana glanced over the ridge.
"Too many."
"That's not a number."
"Twenty. Maybe more."
Silas almost laughed.
"Twelve years ago, I had an army behind me."
Ayana looked at him.
"And now?"
Silas checked the Winchester.
"Now I have you."
For the first time, she almost smiled.
Then another bullet struck the stone above them.
Fragments of red rock sprayed across their faces.
Ayana ducked.
"They're moving."
Silas looked up.
Three riders were entering the canyon.
At their center rode a tall man in a black coat.
He was perhaps sixty.
His hair was silver.
His face was narrow.
His posture was perfectly straight.
He did not look like a killer.
That was the first thing Silas noticed.
He looked like a judge.
A respectable man.
A man who could sit in a courtroom and sentence another human being without raising his voice.
Judge Elias Vane stopped his horse.
He looked around the canyon.
Then he smiled.
"Carter."
Silas stood slowly.
"Vane."
The judge looked genuinely pleased.
"You remember me."
"I've never met you."
Vane's smile widened.
"Not personally."
Silas raised his rifle.
"You know what happened here."
"Of course."
"You ordered it."
Vane laughed softly.
"Ordered what?"
"The massacre."
The judge looked almost offended.
"Such an ugly word."
Ayana stepped into view.
Vane's eyes moved toward her.
"And you must be Nantan's daughter."
Ayana's revolver rose.
Vane raised one hand.
"Please."
His voice was calm.
"I did not come here to kill you."
Ayana's expression hardened.
"Then why are your men carrying rifles?"
"Protection."
Silas laughed.
"From what?"
Vane looked at the canyon walls.
"History."
Silas stared at him.
Vane dismounted.
His boots touched the dusty ground.
"I've spent twelve years cleaning up the consequences of that night."
"You mean covering them."
"I mean preserving order."
Nantan emerged from the rocks.
His rifle was aimed directly at Vane.
"You call murder order?"
Vane looked at him.
For the first time, the judge's expression changed.
Not fear.
Recognition.
"You survived."
Nantan's voice was cold.
"Yes."
"I had heard rumors."
"You believed them?"
"I believed you were dead."
"You wanted me dead."
Vane sighed.
"Want is such a complicated word."
Nantan's finger tightened around the trigger.
Silas stepped between them.
"Why are you here?"
Vane looked at him.
"Because you found the notebook."
Silas felt a chill.
"You knew about it."
"I knew Mercer kept records."
"Where?"
"Everywhere."
Vane smiled.
"That man was not nearly as intelligent as he believed."
Coyle's name came into Silas's mind.
"Marshal Coyle knows."
Vane's smile vanished.
"Where is he?"
Silas said nothing.
Vane studied him.
"Ah."
The judge understood.
"He's alive."
Silas remained silent.
Vane turned toward his men.
"Find him."
Several riders immediately moved.
Silas raised his rifle.
"Don't."
Vane looked back.
"You misunderstand your position."
"No."
Silas shook his head.
"I understand it perfectly."
He stepped forward.
"You need me."
Vane said nothing.
"You need the notebook."
Still nothing.
"You need the cave."
The judge's face hardened.
Silas knew then that he had guessed correctly.
"The cave beneath the canyon."
Vane looked at Nantan.
"You told him."
Nantan answered.
"He earned the truth."
Vane laughed.
"Earning truth is a sentimental idea."
"No," Nantan said.
"It is an inconvenient one."
The judge's men shifted nervously.
Vane looked toward the cliffs.
"Where is the entrance?"
Nantan smiled.
"You have searched for twelve years."
"Yes."
"And failed."
"Until now."
Silas understood.
Vane had not come because he knew where the cave was.
He had come because he believed Silas knew.
Vane had been watching him.
Waiting.
Perhaps for years.
Silas looked at the judge.
"You could have killed me at my cabin."
Vane nodded.
"I could have."
"Why didn't you?"
"Because I needed you to lead me here."
Silas felt the pieces lock together.
The attack on his cabin.
The wounded gunman.
The knife.
The deliberate shots.
Everything had been designed to push them toward Red Willow.
Vane had wanted them here.
Nantan seemed to realize the same thing.
"We walked into a trap."
Vane smiled.
"Finally."
Silas looked at the canyon walls.
There were too many men.
Too many rifles.
But Vane had made one mistake.
He had assumed the canyon belonged to him.
It did not.
Silas knew this land.
So did Nantan.
They looked at each other.
No words were necessary.
Silas pointed subtly toward the western wall.
Nantan nodded.
Ayana noticed.
"What?"
Silas whispered.
"Water."
Her eyes widened.
"The old channel?"
"Yes."
She understood.
The canyon had an abandoned streambed beneath the western wall.
During storms, water rushed through it.
Most of the year it was dry.
But there was a narrow passage.
A man could crawl through.
Two, perhaps.
It led behind the ridge.
If they reached it, they could flank Vane's men.
But first they needed a distraction.
Silas looked at Vane.
"I'll show you the entrance."
Ayana stared at him.
Nantan remained still.
Vane smiled.
"I knew you would come around."
Silas lowered his rifle.
"But I want something first."
Vane raised an eyebrow.
"What?"
"The truth."
Vane laughed.