Chapter 3 - Riders at Dawn
Jonah did not sleep.
Naelli did.
Or lost consciousness often enough that it resembled sleep.
By dawn, the storm had cleared.
The valley turned white beneath a pale sky.
Jonah stood on the porch surveying damage.
One burned barn wall.
Two bullet marks.
Horse tracks.
Three riders had approached from Hartwell and retreated northwest.
Not toward town.
Toward Blackstone Ridge.
That bothered him.
Blackstone belonged to Silas Reed.
Jonah’s uncle.
Silas owned more cattle, more land and more influence than any man within fifty miles.
He had raised Jonah after Miriam died.
Not lovingly.
But reliably.
The thought made Jonah uncomfortable.
Naelli emerged behind him wrapped in one of his blankets.
“You should be inside.”
“So should you.”
He looked at her.
“You walk quietly for someone your size.”
“You listen poorly.”
“Apparently.”
A low sound rolled across the valley.
Hoofbeats.
Many.
Jonah’s hand moved toward his revolver.
Naelli said, “Don’t.”
Riders appeared along the ridge.
Dozens.
Maybe forty.
Mounted Apache men and women spread across the snow.
Some carried rifles.
Others bows.
Jonah felt his throat tighten.
He had lived near Apache country long enough to understand that forty armed riders did not arrive casually.
Naelli stepped beside him.
“You said your father would come.”
“He does not travel lightly when I disappear.”
“Fair.”
The riders stopped.
Their formation opened.
One older man rode forward.
Sixties.
Straight-backed.
Gray streaking long dark hair.
His presence required no shouted orders.
Jonah knew immediately.
Naelli’s father.
He dismounted.
His eyes went first to Naelli.
To the bandage around her side.
Then to Jonah.
“You touched my daughter?”
The question carried no gratitude.
Jonah held his gaze.
“To stop her bleeding.”
Several riders shifted.
Jonah made certain his hands remained visible.
Naelli stepped forward.
“I live because of him.”
Her father examined Jonah.
Then the burned barn.
Then the bullet marks.
“You were attacked.”
“Three men.”
“Four chased her.”
Naelli frowned.
“I saw three.”
Her father’s expression tightened.
“The fourth returned without them.”
“To you?”
“No.”
Jonah asked, “Then how do you know?”
“Tracks.”
The older man moved toward the porch.
Jonah did not step aside.
The man noticed.
“You fear we will enter?”
“I prefer people ask.”
For a moment, silence.
Then Naelli’s father almost smiled.
“May I enter?”
Jonah stepped aside.
Inside, the older leader examined Naelli’s wound.
Jonah remained near the door.
They spoke in Apache for several minutes.
Naelli’s father asked questions.
Naelli answered sharply at times.
Jonah understood nothing.
Finally the older man turned.
“You removed the arrow?”
“Yes.”
“Clean?”
“As clean as I could.”
“You have medicine?”
“Some.”
The man nodded once.
“Good.”
He reached inside his coat.
Jonah tensed.
Naelli noticed.
“Jonah.”
Her father withdrew a wrapped object.
Cloth.
Old.
He opened it.
Silver caught firelight.
A worn silver medallion rested in his palm.
Jonah stepped closer.
Engraved on its face was the Reed brand.
Divided circle.
Vertical line.
Jonah’s stomach tightened.
“Where did you get that?”
“From your father.”
Jonah looked up.
“My father died before I was born.”
“That is what you were told.”
The room became very quiet.
Jonah felt anger rise before disbelief.
“You knew Elias Reed?”
“Yes.”
“When?”
“Before you were born.”
Jonah laughed once.
“That would have been convenient.”
Naelli’s father did not react.
“He saved my life.”
Jonah stopped.
The older man placed the silver medallion on the table.
“Thirty-nine winters ago.”
Jonah stared.
“I am thirty-nine.”
“Yes.”
“My mother said he drowned.”
“He nearly did.”
The words struck harder than shouting.
Naelli sat.
Her father continued.
“Elias Reed was shot near Salt River. His horse carried him into water. Men searching for him believed current took his body.”
“Who found him?”
“My people.”
Jonah’s jaw tightened.
“You expect me to believe my father survived and simply never came home?”
“No.”
“Then why didn’t he?”
The older man looked at Naelli.
Then back to Jonah.
“Because his brother told him Miriam would die if he returned.”
Jonah felt the cabin shift beneath him.
“Silas?”
“Yes.”
Jonah’s hand clenched.
“That is impossible.”
“Why?”
“Silas raised me.”
“That does not make it impossible.”
“He paid our debts after my mother died.”
“Perhaps because he created them.”
Jonah stepped forward.
Naelli’s hand moved.
Not toward her weapon.
Toward Jonah.
“Listen.”
He looked at her.
He hated being told to listen.
Especially when he wanted to reject everything.
He forced himself to breathe.
“What exactly did Silas threaten?”
Naelli’s father answered.
“Elias possessed evidence that Silas and two partners had falsified claims along Cedar Pass.”
“Claims for what?”
“Land first. Water later.”
“This valley?”
“Yes.”
Jonah shook his head.
“My grandfather owned it.”
“Parts.”
“County records say—”
“County records say what powerful men paid them to say.”
Jonah’s anger sharpened.
“You’re accusing half the territory now.”
“I am telling you why Elias disappeared.”
“Where is he?”
The older man looked toward the window.
“Alive.”
Jonah stopped breathing.
Naelli watched him.
He whispered, “Where?”
“Three days west.”
Jonah gripped the chair.
For thirty-nine years he had lived beneath a grave that contained no body.
He remembered asking Miriam why no grave existed.
She said rivers buried men differently.
He remembered Silas standing beside her coffin fifteen years later.
Your father would have wanted me to look after you.
Jonah suddenly wanted to be sick.
“If Elias was alive,” he said, “why did he let me grow up believing he was dead?”
Naelli’s father did not defend him.
“That question belongs to him.”
Jonah looked at the silver medallion.
“What does any of this have to do with Naelli being hunted?”
The older man’s expression hardened.
“Because Elias decided to return.”
Jonah stared.
“When?”
“Now.”
“Why now?”
“Silas Reed is selling Cedar Pass.”
Jonah shook his head.
“He can’t sell my ranch.”
“He does not need your ranch first.”
“What does he need?”
“The water.”
Jonah understood.
Cedar Pass contained the only year-round spring connecting three valleys.
His ranch controlled one approach.
Silas controlled another.
If a mining company gained water rights, every smaller rancher could be forced out.
Naelli’s father continued.
“Elias kept the original agreement proving Silas never owned those rights.”
“And the deed?”
“A copy was being carried to Naelli.”
Jonah looked at her.
She nodded.
“The man I was meant to meet was Elias’s messenger.”
Jonah’s heart pounded.
“And now?”
Naelli’s father looked outside.
“Now Silas knows the papers exist.”
Jonah walked toward the door.
Naelli asked, “Where are you going?”
“To Blackstone.”
Her father said, “No.”
Jonah turned.
“You do not command me.”
“No.”
The older man’s gaze remained steady.
“But anger does.”
Jonah almost answered.
Then remembered the words above the shelter of his childhood—no, that's another story. Here, no. Need stay coherent. Let's adjust mentally: not shelter. Jonah had no rule. He could still pause.
Naelli stepped closer.
“If Silas knows you learned Elias is alive, he will move before you reach him.”
Jonah stared toward Blackstone Ridge.
Then he noticed riders appearing at the far southern trail.
Not Apache.
Five men.
One carried a white flag.
At their center rode Silas Reed.
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Jonah’s uncle had arrived before Jonah could go looking for him.
And judging by the expression on Silas’s face, he already knew exactly who stood inside the cabin.
