She moved slowly, conserving every ounce of strength.
When her fingers reached the cup, they trembled.
She drank.
Not greedily.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Elias watched in silence.
When she finished, he brought another.
Then another.
After the third, color began returning to her face.
She closed her eyes.
For the first time, Elias noticed just how large she was.
She was taller than most men he had known, with broad shoulders and powerful arms. Even exhausted and wounded, she possessed an unusual physical presence.
She tried to stand.
Elias instinctively moved forward.
She immediately reached toward the knife at her belt.
He stopped.
"All right," he said. "You don't need me."
She stood on her own.
For several seconds, she swayed.
Then she steadied herself.
She looked at him.
Neither spoke.
Finally, she touched two fingers to her chest.
"Tala."
Elias understood.
Her name.
"Elias."
She repeated it.
"El...ias."
He nodded.
Tala looked toward the northern mountains.
Then she looked back at him.
There was something in her expression he couldn't understand.
Not gratitude exactly.
Something deeper.
Something solemn.
Then she turned and walked away.
Elias watched her disappear between the rocks.
He stood there for a long time.
He didn't know who she was.
He didn't know why she had been wounded.
And he certainly didn't know that giving a dying stranger three cups of water had just changed the future of the entire valley.
The following morning, Elias discovered tracks.
Dozens of them.
Horse tracks.
Boot prints.
Dragged equipment.
They approached from the west, stopped near the ridge, and disappeared toward the north.
He crouched beside one set of prints.
They were fresh.
Too fresh.
Elias followed them for nearly half a mile before discovering something that made his stomach tighten.
A brass cartridge casing.
Then another.
He picked one up.
Military issue.
But there was something strange about it.
The cartridges had not been fired recently.
Someone had scattered them deliberately.
Elias stood.
He looked toward the mountains.
"You're trying to make someone think soldiers were here."
A voice answered behind him.
"Not soldiers."
Elias spun around.
Tala stood on the ridge.
She had returned.
This time she was armed.
A rifle rested across her back.
Her wound had been cleaned.
She looked stronger.
"You speak English," Elias said.
"I understand English."
"That's not what I said."
"I speak it when I choose."
Elias almost smiled.
"Fair enough."
She descended the slope.
When she reached him, she pointed toward the cartridge.
"Those were planted."
"By whom?"
"Men who want a war."
Elias studied her face.
"With whom?"
She looked toward his ranch.
"Everyone."
That was when Elias realized the danger was larger than he had imagined.
Tala told him about Silas Crowe.
Crowe owned a company called Red Mesa Holdings. Officially, he was a cattle investor. In reality, he had built his fortune by buying desperate ranches, bribing officials, intimidating competitors, and controlling access to water.