Then he went outside.
That night, Bob slept on the porch.
Naya slept on the floor.
At dawn, Bob discovered she was already awake.
She was standing outside the barn holding a bucket.
"Where's the well?" she asked.
Bob pointed.
She walked toward it.
"You don't have to work."
She stopped.
"I know."
"Then why are you carrying a bucket?"
"Because water is needed."
Bob smiled faintly.
"Fair enough."
She drew water.
Then she fed the chickens.
Then she inspected the horse.
Then she walked the fence line.
Bob watched from the porch.
"You ever been on a ranch?"
"No."
"You seem to know what you're doing."
"My father had horses."
Bob said nothing.
The mention of her father changed the air.
Later that morning, Naya finally told him some of her story.
She had been traveling with a small group of Apache families when they were attacked.
The attackers had killed several men.
The women and children scattered.
Naya had tried to escape with her younger brother.
They had been separated.
She had been captured.
She did not know whether her brother was alive.
Bob listened.
He did not interrupt.
"What is his name?"
"Tal."
"How old?"
"Fifteen."
Bob nodded.
"I'll help you look."
Naya stared at him.
"Why?"
Bob shrugged.
"Because five dollars bought me into a problem."
She almost smiled again.
"You are strange."
"I've been told."
Days passed.
Naya became part of the rhythm of the ranch.
She repaired clothing.
Cooked better than Bob had eaten in years.
Learned where the cattle liked to drink.
She spoke little.
But she watched everything.
One afternoon Bob returned from checking the northern fence and found her standing beside his horse.
She had discovered a deep cut on the animal's hind leg.
"Where did that come from?"
Naya pointed toward the fence.
Bob inspected it.
The wire had been cut.
Not broken.
Cut.
His expression changed.
Someone had entered the property.
"Did you see anyone?"
Naya shook her head.
Bob crouched near the ground.
There were boot prints.
Three men.
One had a distinctive heel pattern.
Bob recognized it.
Clay Mercer.
He stood.
That evening he loaded his rifle.
Naya noticed.
"Trouble?"
"Maybe."
"Boone?"
"Mercer."
She looked toward the darkness.
"He will come."
Bob turned.
"You know him?"
"He was there."
"What did he do?"
Naya's expression hardened.
"He watched."
Bob understood.
Some men did terrible things.
Others watched.
Sometimes it was difficult to decide which were worse.
Blood on the Fence
Three nights later, Bob heard horses.
He woke instantly.
Someone was outside.
He reached for his rifle.
Naya was already awake.
She stood in the corner holding a knife.
Bob whispered:
"Stay inside."
She shook her head.
"Naya."
"No."
"You don't know how many."
"Three."
Bob looked at her.
"How do you know?"
She pointed toward the window.
Three shadows moved across the moonlit yard.
Bob's face tightened.
"Stay behind me."
The front door exploded inward.
A gunshot cracked through the room.
Bob fired.
A man outside screamed.
Naya moved.
Fast.
She threw a lamp into the doorway.
Flames spilled across the floor.
The attackers stumbled backward.
Bob fired again.
The horses outside panicked.
One rider fell.
Another ran.
The third disappeared into the darkness.
Silence returned.
Bob stood breathing hard.
Naya stared at him.
"You shot him."
"He was armed."
She looked toward the wounded man.
"Dead?"
Bob checked.
"No."
He tied him to a chair.
The man turned out to be one of Boone's hired hands.
Under questioning, he admitted Boone had sent them.
"Why?"
The man spat blood.
"Boone says the woman belongs to him."
Bob's expression darkened.
"Tell Boone something."
"What?"
"She belongs to nobody."
The man laughed weakly.
"You think Boone will let this go?"
"No."
Bob looked toward Naya.
"But neither will I."
The prisoner escaped before dawn.
Bob knew that was a mistake.
By sunrise, he was preparing to ride into town.
Naya stopped him.
"You cannot fight all of them."
"I'm not fighting."
"You are."
Bob sighed.
"Then what do you suggest?"
"Find Tal."
Bob looked at her.