Chapter 1 - The Boy on the Platform
Jacob Hayes saw the raised spear before he saw his cousin’s face.
Golden evening light burned across the desert valley, turning every ridge copper-red. Dust drifted between the rawhide tents below, and a ring of mounted warriors surrounded a wooden platform at the center of the encampment.
On that platform stood thirteen-year-old Eli Hayes.
His wrists were bound.
A small leather pouch hung from his neck.
And behind him, a warrior lifted a long spear toward the sky.
“ELI!”
The boy twisted toward the distant ridge.
“Jacob!”
That was enough.
Jacob kicked his brown gelding, Ranger, into a full gallop.
The horse lunged down the slope.
Dust exploded behind them.
Jacob’s tan duster snapped in the hot wind as he pulled his revolver.
“GET AWAY FROM HIM!”
Heads turned throughout the encampment.
Warriors reached for bows.
Jacob saw arrows rise.
He did not slow down.
One arrow hissed past his shoulder.
Another struck the dirt beneath Ranger’s hooves.
A spear landed beside the horse with enough force to send dust into Jacob’s face.
He lowered himself over Ranger’s neck.
“Come on, boy.”
The platform rushed closer.
Jacob fired one shot into the air.
The crack rolled across the valley.
People scattered from Ranger’s path.
Jacob reached the platform, swung from the saddle before the gelding had fully stopped, and landed hard.
Eli’s face was filthy.
His eyes were red.
But something about his expression bothered Jacob immediately.
There was fear there.
Just not the kind Jacob expected.
Jacob slashed through the ropes.
“I told you I’d come back for you.”
Eli stumbled into him.
Instead of relief, the boy grabbed Jacob’s coat.
“You shouldn’t have come.”
Jacob stared.
“What?”
“You have to leave.”
“That’s what I’m doing.”
“No, Jacob. Listen—”
Jacob grabbed his arm.
“Later.”
He pulled Eli toward Ranger.
The boy resisted.
“Stop!”
Jacob swung him into the saddle.
A dozen riders were already closing around them.
Jacob climbed behind Eli and snapped the reins.
Ranger surged away.
Arrows followed.
One struck the saddle.
Another buried itself in the leather roll behind Jacob.
A spear sliced through the tail of his duster without touching flesh.
Eli twisted around.
“Jacob, stop!”
“What are you talking about?”
“They weren’t—”
An arrow struck Ranger’s harness buckle.
The startled gelding bucked.
Jacob fought for control.
Then a spear hit the dirt directly beneath Ranger’s forelegs.
The horse stumbled.
Jacob wrapped one arm around Eli.
They crashed into the dust.
Jacob rolled hard, ears ringing.
He reached for his revolver.
When he lifted his head, warriors surrounded them.
Spears pointed inward.
Jacob moved in front of Eli.
“Stay behind me.”
The Tribal Chief approached on a dark horse.
He was perhaps fifty-five, broad-shouldered, his expression calm rather than triumphant.
That calm frightened Jacob more than shouting would have.
Jacob lifted the revolver.
The Chief looked at it.
Then at him.
Eli suddenly grabbed Jacob’s wrist.
“No!”
Jacob looked back.
The boy was shaking.
“Let go.”
“Don’t shoot!”
“They tied you to a platform!”
“They weren’t going to kill me.”
Jacob stared at him.
The words seemed impossible.
“What?”
The Chief dismounted.
He stepped toward Eli.
Jacob raised the gun again.
The Chief stopped.
Then he pointed toward the leather pouch around Eli’s neck.
A warrior removed it.
Eli did not resist.
The Chief opened the pouch.
Inside lay a carved medallion darkened by dust.
Jacob had never seen it before.
But the reaction around the circle was immediate.
The warriors became utterly silent.
The Chief held it toward Jacob.
“He stole what should never have left this valley.”
Jacob looked at Eli.
“You stole that?”
Tears filled the boy’s eyes.
“I had to.”
“Why?”
“I was trying to bring it to you.”
Jacob’s anger turned to confusion.
“Why would you steal something from them for me?”
Eli’s face crumpled.
“Because they said Mom died for it.”
Jacob stopped breathing.
Eli’s mother, Clara Hayes, had died eleven months earlier.
A wagon accident.
That was what everyone had been told.
Jacob had helped bury her.
The Chief watched him closely.
Then he spoke.
“Your family told you Clara Hayes died on the north road.”
Jacob’s hand tightened around the revolver.
“She did.”
“No.”
The Chief placed the medallion inside his palm.
“She died less than two miles from here.”
Jacob felt the desert tilt beneath him.
“That’s a lie.”
The Chief’s expression did not change.
“We carried her body to the road because she asked us to.”
Jacob looked at Eli.
The boy was openly crying now.
“She came here?”
The Chief nodded.
“Three times.”
“For what?”
The Chief looked toward the western ridge where the last sunlight touched a narrow line of cottonwood trees.
“For the same thing your people have been killing each other over for thirty years.”
Jacob stared at the trees.
Water.
There was only one reason cottonwoods grew in that valley.
A spring.
The Chief closed Eli’s pouch.
“Your cousin stole the medallion because someone told him it would prove who killed his mother.”
Jacob slowly turned to Eli.
“Who told you that?”
Eli lowered his eyes.
Jacob grabbed his shoulders.
“Eli.”
The boy whispered:
“Uncle Silas.”
Jacob’s blood went cold.
Silas Hayes had raised Jacob after his father died.
Silas had paid for Clara’s funeral.
Silas had been the one who told Jacob where her wagon had crashed.
The Chief watched recognition spread across Jacob’s face.
Then he delivered the sentence that changed everything.
“Silas Hayes is the reason the boy was brought here.”
Jacob looked at him.
“You captured Eli because of Silas?”
“No.”
The Chief’s eyes hardened.
“We brought him here because he came carrying Silas Hayes’s gun…”
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He glanced toward the platform.
“…and asking where to burn the treaty.”
