He never once placed a hand where it did not belong. Another rider fired. The bullet missed by several feet disappearing into the darkness behind them. Elias mounted the second horse in one smooth motion. "Stay behind me."
he called. They pushed deeper into the twisting canyon instead of racing toward open country. The hunters expected frightened prey to run across the plains. Elias had spent enough years driving cattle through flash flood country to know every narrow turn favored patience over speed. The canyon tightened until only one horse could pass at a time.
Hoofbeats echoed violently against the stone walls. Rainwater rushed beneath the horses legs carrying branches, loose rocks, and red clay downstream. For nearly an hour they climbed through broken trails that barely deserved the name. No one spoke. Every breath was saved for survival.
Eventually the gunshots faded behind them. Only the storm remained. Near midnight Elias found an abandoned shepherd's shelter tucked beneath an overhanging cliff. Three rough walls, half a roof, dry enough to survive the night. He dismounted first and stepped away giving Iona room to climb down without assistance.
She tried anyway. The injured ankle folded beneath her instantly. Before she struck the ground Elias caught only her forearm, steadying her until she regained balance. Then he released her immediately. No lingering touch, no unnecessary closeness.
She noticed that, too. Inside the shelter, Elias gathered dead cedar branches left by travelers months before. Soon a small fire crackled softly against the darkness. Smoke drifted upward through gaps in the broken roof, while the scent of burning cedar slowly replaced the smell of rain. Elias removed a small cloth bundle from his saddlebag.
Two pieces of dried venison, half a loaf of coarse bread. He broke the bread evenly and placed the larger piece beside her without saying a word. Ayanna looked at the food, then at him. "You don't know if I'll steal your horse before sunrise." Elias stared quietly into the fire.
"If you wanted my horse more than your freedom, you'd already have taken it." She almost smiled. Almost. Instead, she pulled the weathered coat tighter around her shoulders. It still carried the scent of leather, cedar smoke, and open prairie.
For the first time in many years, she realized she had fallen asleep beside a white man without spending the entire night waiting for his footsteps to come closer. Outside, the storm finally drifted east. But somewhere beyond the mountains, five determined riders continued following tracks that rain alone could not erase. Morning arrived quietly, as though the mountains wished to erase every trace of the night's fear. Sunlight spilled through the broken roof of the shelter in narrow beams, warming the cedar smoke that still lingered in the cool air.
Somewhere beyond the cliffs, a hawk circled above the valley, its cry drifting across endless stretches of stone and sage. Elias had been awake long before dawn. He sat outside sharpening a small hunting knife, not because it needed sharpening, but because old habits kept restless thoughts occupied. Every few minutes, he studied the muddy trail leading toward the canyon. No riders.
Not yet. Behind him, he heard careful footsteps. Iona emerged slowly from the shelter. Leaning on a weathered branch, she had turned into a walking stick. Her injured ankle still forced her to favor one side, but she refused to show pain.
Pride had become her second skin long before this journey began. Elias stood immediately. "How's the ankle?" She shrugged. "Still attached."
It was the closest thing to humor he had heard from her. He nodded toward a small kettle hanging above fresh coals. "Coffee?" She looked almost offended. "Apache don't usually drink cowboy coffee."
"Neither do most cowboys," Elias answered, "but it keeps us moving." A faint smile threatened the corner of her mouth before disappearing almost instantly. They shared breakfast in silence. Dry bread, venison, bitter coffee strong enough to wake the dead. Neither hurried.
Out on the front tier, rushing usually meant someone had already made a mistake. As they prepared to leave, Elias noticed fresh tracks crossing the damp earth just beyond the shelter. Small footprints. Bare feet. He crouched beside them.
Iona joined him. "Child," she whispered, "the prince wandered toward a narrow grove of juniper trees." Without another word, both followed. They found him only a few hundred yards away. A little Apache boy, perhaps 7 years old, sat beneath a fallen tree clutching his arm.
His face was streaked with tears and dust. His horse stood nearby, tangled in thorn bushes after throwing him during the storm. The boy looked up. The moment he saw Elias, fear filled his eyes. He scrambled backward despite the obvious pain.
"No," Iona said softly in Apache. "He's here to help." The child hesitated, but continued staring at the cowboy. Elias remained where he was. He did not move closer.
Instead, he slowly removed a clean strip of cloth from his saddlebag and placed it on the ground between them. Then he stepped back. "You can give him this," he told Iona. She looked at him curiously. "You know how to set broken bones?"
"Enough to keep one from becoming worse." Iona carefully examined the boy's arm. It was not broken, only badly sprained. Together, they wrapped the joint while the child watched Elias with growing confusion. "Why are you helping us?"
the boy finally asked in hesitant English. Elias tied the last knot before answering. "Because you're hurt. That's all." Elias looked surprised by the question.
"Should there be another reason?" The child fell silent. Iona did, too. She had spent years believing every act of kindness carried a hidden price waiting to be collected later. Yet, since meeting Elias, every expectation she held had quietly failed.
He never demanded gratitude, never reached beyond necessity, never treated vulnerability as weakness to exploit. As they prepared the boy for the ride home, Iona found herself watching Elias instead of watching the trail. For the first time, she wondered if the man beside her had been misunderstood just as completely as she had. Neither of them noticed the distant reflection of sunlight against a rifle barrel high on the ridge above. Someone else had already found them again.
The rifle cracked across the valley before either of them understood where the sound had come from. A cloud of dust burst from the ground beside Elias's boot. The little Apache boy cried out in terror, instinctively throwing himself behind Iona. Elias reacted without hesitation. "Down."
He pulled neither the child nor Iona. Instead, he dropped behind a weathered boulder and pointed toward another stretch of rocks several yards away. "Take him there." Iona grabbed the frightened boy and hurried across the open ground as another shot echoed from the ridge. A second bullet shattered a juniper branch above their heads.
Whoever watched them possessed patience instead of panic. A hunter, not a desperate outlaw firing wildly. Elias finally reached for his revolver. He fired only once, not to hit anyone, but to force the hidden rifleman back behind the rocks. Silence returned almost immediately.
Too much silence. "They're spreading out." Elias muttered. Ayanna looked toward the surrounding hills. She could not see them, but she knew he was right.
Five men rarely stayed together once they cornered frightened prey. They became wolves circling from different directions. "There's another trail." she whispered. "North."
Elias shook his head. "That's where they'll expect us to run." He looked instead toward the steep ridge opposite the gunfire. Nearly impossible on horseback, difficult even on foot. Exactly the kind of route sensible men avoided.
"We climb." Ayanna stared at the jagged cliffs. "With an injured ankle?" "With determined people." The answer came so naturally that she almost laughed despite the danger.