The summer of 1881 had turned the Arizona Territory into a furnace.
For weeks, no meaningful rain had fallen across the broken country east of the San Pedro River. The grass had faded to the color of old straw, cattle wandered farther each day in search of something green, and the shallow creeks that usually carried a little water through the valleys had become nothing more than chains of cracked mud.
Only one place still had water.
Cold Springs.
The spring emerged from beneath a limestone shelf on the northern edge of a three-hundred-acre ranch belonging to a man named Corvin Torne.
Corvin was thirty-eight years old, although years of frontier living had made him appear older. His face was narrow and weathered, his gray eyes permanently narrowed against the desert sun, and a pale scar crossed his left eyebrow.
He had once been a cavalry scout.
Now he was a rancher.
He preferred the second life.
The first had taught him too much about what men could do to one another when they convinced themselves they were fighting for a cause.
The second had taught him that survival could sometimes be as simple as keeping a well full, a fence standing, and a horse healthy.
Corvin lived alone in a stone-and-adobe cabin overlooking his pasture.
He owned forty cattle, four horses, a small vegetable garden that barely survived the summer, and one Winchester rifle that had never failed him.
He also owned the most valuable thing in twenty miles of desert.
Water.
That was why Harlan Vance wanted his land.
Vance was the owner of Iron Valley Cattle Company, a wealthy land syndicate based in the nearby town of Oakhaven. He had spent the previous two years buying ranches, controlling wells, bribing officials, and persuading desperate farmers that selling their land was the only sensible choice.
Corvin had refused him three times.
The fourth offer had never reached his table.
Vance's messenger had simply ridden away after Corvin burned the letter.
That morning, Corvin was repairing the western fence.
The sun was already brutal even though it was not yet noon.
He drove a hammer into a cedar post, stepped back, and wiped sweat from his forehead.
His dun horse suddenly raised its head.
Corvin stopped.
The animal stared toward the western fence.
"What is it?"
The horse gave a low warning sound.
Corvin looked.
At first he saw nothing.
Then something moved.
A dark shape lay beside the fence.
Corvin immediately reached for his rifle.
He did not pull it from the saddle.
Instead, he watched.
The shape moved again.
A human being.
Corvin scanned the ridges.
Nothing.
He checked the dry wash behind him.
Nothing.
He waited another thirty seconds.
Then he walked toward the fence.
As he came closer, he realized the stranger was a woman.
An Apache woman.
She was enormous.
Even lying on her side, she seemed larger than most men Corvin had known. Her shoulders were broad, her arms heavily muscled, and her long black hair was tangled with dust.
Blood covered one side of her face.
Her clothing was torn.
Her lips were cracked.
She was dying of thirst.
Corvin stopped several feet away.
His hand remained near his revolver.
The woman opened her eyes.
They were black and alert despite her condition.
She immediately looked at his gun.
Then his knife.
Then the ranch house.
Then the horses.
She was still assessing threats.
Corvin understood that.
He had seen wounded soldiers do the same thing.
He slowly raised both hands.
"No trouble," he said.
She did not respond.
"I won't hurt you."
Her eyes remained fixed on him.
Corvin glanced toward the well.
Then back at her.
He made a decision.
He turned around.
For a wounded stranger, turning one's back could be dangerous.
Corvin knew that.
But he also knew something else.
A dying person needed water more than they needed another man pointing a gun at them.
He walked to the well.
Lowered the bucket.
Pulled it up.
The rope creaked.
Cold water shimmered in the wooden bucket.
Corvin filled a tin cup.
Then walked back.
He stopped outside the fence.
He did not cross it.
He extended the cup through the rails.
"Water."
The woman stared at it.
Then at him.
For several seconds, she did nothing.
Finally, she reached forward.
Her fingers closed around the cup.