Chapter 1 - The Pit Beneath the Leaves
Elias Boone knew the riders behind him were gaining.
He could hear them through the pounding of his brown gelding’s hooves—the hard rhythm of horses tearing through the pine forest, the snapping of branches, the short cries men used to communicate without wasting breath.
Then came the arrows.
The first buried itself in a pine trunk beside his head.
The second struck the trail behind his horse.
The third sliced directly through the brim of Elias’s brown hat.
“Move!” Elias shouted.
The gelding stretched into another desperate burst of speed.
Cold evening air burned Elias’s lungs.
He had been riding for nearly an hour.
The leather saddlebag bouncing beside his right leg seemed heavier with every mile.
Three hours earlier it had belonged to a courier working for Harlan Voss, the richest land speculator between Fort Garrett and Cedar Basin.
Now it belonged to Elias.
At least until somebody killed him for it.
Another arrow hissed past.
Elias ducked low over the horse’s neck.
Behind him, a mounted warrior emerged between two trees.
Then another.
Then five more.
Elias had first spotted them when he crossed the northern ridge. He had tried changing direction.
They changed with him.
He crossed a creek.
They crossed it.
He doubled back through a ravine.
They appeared above him.
Whatever they wanted, they were not giving up.
Then a voice thundered through the trees.
“DON’T LET HIM GET AWAY!”
Elias glanced over his shoulder.
The older man leading the pursuit rode a dark horse and wore no expression Elias could read.
Not fury.
Not panic.
Something worse.
Purpose.
A spear flashed through the trees.
Elias jerked sideways.
It buried itself in a cedar trunk inches from his shoulder.
“Damn you!”
He yanked the reins around a fallen log.
His horse nearly lost its footing.
Branches whipped across Elias’s face.
An arrow tore through the loose sleeve of his tan duster without touching skin.
That frightened him more than a wound would have.
They were close enough to kill him.
Yet somehow they kept missing.
Elias had no time to understand why.
His hand dropped to the saddlebag.
“I’m not giving it back!”
He had no idea whether they understood him.
The bag contained papers he had risked hanging to obtain.
Harlan Voss had spent three years trying to take the Boone ranch in Kansas over a debt Elias was certain did not exist.
Yesterday Elias had finally discovered why.
A drunken clerk in Fort Garrett told him Voss kept private ledgers recording every disputed property he intended to acquire.
Elias had followed the courier carrying one of them.
He had waited until the man stopped at a creek.
Then he had stolen the entire saddlebag.
Now half the frontier seemed determined to recover it.
The forest thickened.
Sunlight faded between towering pines.
Elias saw a narrow opening ahead.
He kicked his horse forward.
The ground vanished.
There was no warning.
One second the gelding was running.
The next, leaves and branches collapsed beneath its front legs.
The horse screamed.
Elias flew from the saddle.
He struck earth hard enough to drive every breath from his body.
Then his right leg twisted beneath him.
SNAP.
White pain exploded through him.
Elias screamed.
For several seconds he could see nothing.
When his vision returned, he was lying at the bottom of a deep pit.
The horse had scrambled free and vanished into the trees.
Elias tried to stand.
His right leg folded.
He hit the dirt again.
“No…”
He looked up.
Faces appeared around the rim.
Warriors.
Ten.
Then fifteen.
Arrows pointed downward.
Elias dragged himself backward until his shoulders struck the dirt wall.
The saddlebag had fallen into the pit beside him.
He grabbed it.
“If you want it, come get it.”
No one moved.
The older leader stepped forward.
Elias opened the bag.
“If you kill me, Voss still gets nothing.”
He pulled out the leather ledger.
Then his fingers touched something else.
A small beaded pouch.
Elias frowned.
He had noticed it earlier but assumed it belonged to the courier.
He opened it.
Something silver slipped into his palm.
A baby bracelet.
Tiny.
Old.
Blackened at the edges with age.
Letters had been engraved across its surface.
ELIAS.
His blood went cold.
Beneath it was a faded photograph.
A young Native woman sat beside a rough cabin holding a baby wrapped in a blanket.
The infant wore the bracelet.
Elias stopped breathing.
“What…”
The older man stepped to the edge of the pit.
For the first time, the arrows lowered.
Elias looked from the photograph to the man above.
“You thought we hunted you for stealing,” the Chief said.
Elias tightened his grip on the bracelet.
The Chief pointed at it.
“We hunted you because that belonged to your mother.”
Elias stared.
“My mother died in Kansas.”
Something changed in the Chief’s eyes.
Not triumph.
Grief.
“That woman raised you.”
He pointed toward the photograph.
“But she did not give birth to you.”
Elias felt his heart pounding against his ribs.
“You’re lying.”
The Chief crouched at the edge of the pit.
“Your name is Elias Boone. You were born thirty-three summers ago beside Cedar Basin.”
Elias shook his head.
“No.”
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The Chief’s voice dropped.
“And that is the first lie they told you.”
