We follow the Salt River in silence most of the morning. Where the occasional Rose Rider stayed close to the water, hoof marks sink into the damp dirt, marking their trail. But soon I can’t see no sign of ’em, and I ain’t sure if it’s ’cus they turned off to take the Peralta Trail and approach the mountains from the south or if the wind simply erased their tracks.
Despite the breeze, it’s turning into another scorcher of a day, sun beating down overhead. Least we’re on water, able to refill our canteens whenever necessary and stop to let the horses sip at their leisure. As we carry on, the river wanes and swells, sometimes no more than a dry bed with a trickle running down the middle, sometimes wide enough that we’d need to ford it on our horses to cross. It don’t look as deep as the place we crossed last night, though. Hasn’t since we left that shanty.
Mutt sneezes and I jolt in my saddle. I don’t like the quiet. I’s gotten so used to Jesse rambling and jawing all the time that the stillness now seems a distress. Every time I glance his way, thinking of starting a conversation, I end up biting my tongue. I don’t got nothing to say. And besides, Jesse ain’t looked at me normal since last night. I open up and tell him one true thing and he takes to squinting at me like he don’t got a clue who I am.
“We’s got a shadow,” he announces, breaking the silence.
I follow his gaze back the way we came, and see a lone rider in the distance. “One of Rose’s men?”
Jesse pulls out his binoculars and takes a look. “Def-initely not. I think it’s a girl.” He passes ’em over, and I squint through the eyepiece.
“Aw, hell,” I says. It’s the Apache. She’s riding a stout pony and wearing the same smocklike dress she had on at the Tiger, only now it’s bunched up ’bout her waist and she’s got trousers on beneath it. Her hair’s parted into two long braids, and they hang over her shoulders looking like suspenders from this distance. Her pony is a sad-looking thing—saddleless, with a shabby rope bridle—and I wonder how he even made the journey so far. He looks ’bout ready to collapse.
“Friend of yers?” Jesse says.
“No.”
“That’s right. You ain’t the type to have friends.”
I glare. “I helped her outta the Tiger,” I says. “I’ll take care of it.”
I kick Silver into a gallop and ride out to meet the girl. I come up on her fast, but she don’t seem startled or concerned. She folds her arms in her lap and just waits for me to pull Silver to a halt.
“Morning,” she says simple. I notice her palms are wrapped in cloth, protecting the skin that burned last night.
“Yer following us,” I says back.
“I am traveling the same path. It just happens you are before me. I could ride with you instead of behind,” she offers.
“With me? We ain’t looking for a caboose.”
She cocks her head at me, then says, as if it’s already decided, “I will ride with you.”
“You will not,” I snap. “Go back to the Tiger.”
“I’m never going back to that saloon. I used to have family and purpose and hope. White Eyes came and took it. They marched my people to camps like a herd, commanded my life like they were my god. You helped me in town, so I figure you might be fair to ride with; that when I turn off the path and head home, you won’t shoot me in the back.”
“You don’t know nothing ’bout me,” I says. “I’s shot plenty of men.”
“And women?”
I frown.
“You head for the mountains,” she says, regarding the growing Superstitions. “It is sacred land, not to be tampered with. Angry land. A guide might be useful.”
I never even wanted the Coltons round, and yet here I am seriously considering the girl’s offer. As though I actually need another flea on my hide. I’s got the journal. We know where we’re heading. But what if she really do know the area well? What if we run into her kind in the canyons or get lost or can’t find water? She’d be good for that, or so it seems. I can’t figure why else Fort Whipple keeps scouts hired on otherwise. And I know Prescott’s armed division ain’t the only one working with ’em. Use the enemy to fight the enemy, Pa always said. Makes me wonder who’s crazier, the Indians who desert their own kind or the ones fighting an endless supply of uniforms.
I return my attention to the Apache. “You know the mountains well?”
She nods. “My people move when it suits us. When White Eyes came, the men had gone west to what you call Fort McDowell, along the Verde, to retaliate against a recent raid. Us women and children stayed behind only to be rounded up by the very men ours went to fight. The lucky ones got away, the rest walked to a prison White Eyes called a reserve. I was fortunate to escape the march but was picked up and taken to that saloon to work.” Her eyes drift toward the mountains. “I will go back to our stronghold. If what remains of my tribe has not reassembled, I will search for signs of their movement, and I will follow.”
“And yer willing to serve as my guide ’long the way?”
She nods again, then asks, “What do you seek in the mountains?”
“Justice.”
“The mountains are sacred. If you wish to pray to Ussen, there is no better place.”
“Ussen?” I says.
“The creator of life.”
“Right.” Heaven forbid she just call him God.
“And what do you seek justice for?” she asks.
“You always this nosey?”
“If I’m to help you find what you seek, it is only fair that I know your story.”
“A bunch of men hanged my pa,” I says, feeling something harden in my gut. I grab my Colt and sight a cactus several paces to my right, then stuff the gun back into my belt. Draw and sight again. Put it back.
“Sounds like revenge. A personal raid in response to theirs.”
“Revenge, justice, raid. It don’t matter what you call it. I’m only doing what I need to do to set things right.”
“How will you find them?” she asks.
“They’re after a gold mine mapped out in my father’s journal, so that’s where I’m headed.”
“Gold? The yellow iron?”
“Yeah.”
She frowns, looking cross. “It is one thing to pick up gold scattered on the ground and another to dig in Mother Earth’s body for it. To do so will bring Ussen’s wrath and awaken the Mountain Spirits. They will stomp and stampede, causing the ground to heave and destroying everything near.”
“A quake?” I says. “You think all mining’ll cause earthquakes?”
“The Mountain Spirits serve Ussen,” she says, her voice as serious as ever. “They will bring ruin upon those who dig for gold. I cannot help you. Not if gold is what you seek.”
“It ain’t,” I snap. “Haven’t you been listening? I don’t care ’bout the gold. I’m just trying to find the mine ’cus I know that’s where the Rose Riders’ll head. Now, you said it ain’t an offense to pick up gold already lying in plain sight, so surely it ain’t a crime to visit a mine that already exists. It ain’t like I wanna dig round in it.”