Chapter 2 - The Twenty-Two
Cole counted thirty-one riders before the light became too poor to distinguish one from another.
“They know I’m here?”
The English-speaking woman nodded.
“How?”
“Your horse.”
Cole looked at Dust.
“He’s not famous.”
“Your saddle mark is.”
The leather bore a small burned emblem.
A split M.
Maddox.
Cole had inherited the saddle from his father.
The woman pointed toward it.
“The men on the ridge work for Vernon Hale.”
Cole’s stomach tightened.
He knew the name.
Everyone between Tucson and the eastern mining camps knew Vernon Hale.
Freight contractor.
Cattle buyer.
Land speculator.
And once, years earlier, business partner to Cole’s father.
“What does Hale want with you?”
The woman looked toward the exhausted families.
“Water.”
Cole almost laughed.
“They’re dying because he wants water?”
“He wants land that has water.”
“What does that have to do with me?”
The chief spoke.
The translator started to answer.
The woman stopped him.
“I will translate.”
The young warrior’s expression hardened.
She ignored him.
The chief spoke again.
The woman listened.
Then turned to Cole.
“He says your father signed papers eleven years ago.”
Cole’s jaw tightened.
“My father signed plenty.”
“These gave Hale rights to three springs.”
“Which?”
The woman named them.
Cole recognized two.
The third made him go still.
“Coyote Spring?”
“Yes.”
“That’s mine.”
“No.”
The answer came calmly.
Cole looked at her.
“My family has held Coyote Spring since before I was born.”
“On paper.”
“That usually matters.”
“It matters when the paper is true.”
Cole felt something shift.
“Who are you?”
“My name is Mara.”
“Family name?”
She gave him a look.
“That is enough for tonight.”
Fair.
Cole looked toward the ridge again.
The riders had stopped.
Why?
Thirty men could descend easily.
Yet none moved.
“They waiting for dark?”
“No,” Mara said.
“For what?”
“For us to run.”
Cole studied the basin.
There was nowhere useful to run.
Red cliffs boxed the north.
Open desert south.
A narrow canyon cut east.
“That canyon.”
Mara nodded.
“They want us in it.”
“Ambush?”
“Yes.”
Cole turned toward the chief.
“You knew.”
The chief responded.
Mara translated.
“He knew they had followed for two days.”
“Then why bring forty people onto open flats?”
“There was supposed to be water here.”
Cole looked around.
No spring.
No pool.
Nothing.
“Where?”
Mara pointed toward a stone depression thirty yards away.
Cole walked to it.
The ground was damp several inches below the surface.
Recently disturbed.
Shovel marks.
Someone had filled the seep with rocks and clay.
Cole swore.
“They blocked it.”
Mara nodded.
“Yesterday.”
“How do you know?”
“One of our scouts saw them.”
“So Hale’s men drove you toward a spring they had already destroyed.”
“Yes.”
“Why?”
Mara looked at the twenty-two women.
“That is why we are here.”
Cole stared.
She explained.
Each woman represented one household from several dispersed communities and settlements using springs along an old travel corridor.
Apache families were not the only ones affected.
Mexican ranchers.
A Mormon freight family.
Two prospectors.
Even soldiers from an abandoned way station.
Twenty-two witnesses had separately seen Hale employees fencing, poisoning, blocking or claiming water sources.
“They chose you as witnesses?”
“Some chose themselves.”
“And the chief?”
“He is responsible for getting everyone to Fort Grant.”
“Why Fort Grant?”
“An inspector is coming from Washington.”
Cole laughed without humor.
“Hale’s trying to stop testimony.”
“Yes.”
“And me?”
Mara looked at his saddle.
“Your father’s papers connect him.”
Cole shook his head.
“My father’s been dead six years.”
“Hale does not fear your father.”
“Then?”
“He fears what your father left you.”
Cole stared.
“I inherited cattle and debt.”
“And a black strongbox.”
The words hit like a physical blow.
Cole had never told anyone about the strongbox.
It sat beneath the floor of his ranch office.
Locked.
His father had given him the key two days before dying.
Cole had never opened it.
Not because he lacked curiosity.
Because Elias Maddox’s final words had been:
Nothing in that box will make you happier.
Cole had believed him.
Mara watched his face.
“So there is a box.”
He looked away.
“Who told you?”
“My father.”
“Who was your father?”
Before she could answer, a rifle shot cracked from the ridge.
Everyone dropped.
Dust jerked violently.
Cole drew his rifle.
The bullet struck sand thirty feet away.
Warning shot.
Not an attack.
Mara crouched beside him.
“They want us moving.”
Cole studied the darkening canyon.
Then the basin.
He looked toward the exhausted people.
Some could barely stand.
They could not outrun horses.
His canteens were empty.
His barrel dry.
Night temperatures would fall, but dehydration would continue.
“How far to water?”
Mara answered:
“Eight miles north.”
“That’s toward the riders.”
“Yes.”
“Anything west?”
“Twelve miles.”
“Can everybody walk?”
“No.”
Cole thought.
Then looked at Dust.
The gelding’s ears moved.
Cole remembered something.
An old cattle trail.
Abandoned after a washout.
There had been a stock tank.
Maybe dry.
Maybe not.
“Four miles southwest.”
Mara frowned.
“What?”
“Old Maddox holding tank.”
“Water?”
“Used to be.”
“When?”
“Six years ago.”
“That is not comforting.”
“It’s what we have.”
The chief listened to Mara’s translation.
He nodded.
Cole pointed toward a low saddle between cliffs.
“We leave after dark.”
Mara studied him.
“You are coming?”
Cole looked toward the riders.
“They’re after my name too, apparently.”
He put his hat back on.
“And somebody just ruined two good canteens by emptying them.”
For the first time Mara smiled.
Only slightly.
Then she said:
“The women were never offered to you as wives.”
“I gathered that.”
“The young translator chose the word.”
“Why?”
Mara glanced toward him.
“To see your reaction.”
Cole looked annoyed.
“That chief let him?”
“The chief wanted to know whether the son of Elias Maddox had become like his father.”
Cole went still.
“What was my father like?”
Mara’s smile disappeared.
“You should open the box.”
Another shot cracked from the ridge.
Closer.
Cole looked toward forty exhausted people.
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Then toward the path southwest.
“First,” he said, “we stay alive long enough to reach it.”
