Red Wash had been full of rumors that summer. Missing cattle, broken fences, frightened travelers: every unexplained trouble was blamed on the nearest Apache community, often before anyone had checked whether a person or a storm was responsible. Voss repeated those stories at the saloon with the certainty of a man who benefited from people being afraid. Corvin had never liked the talk, but he had rarely challenged it either. Silence was easier when you still needed to buy feed from the men doing the talking.
Now there was no saloon, no audience, and no convenient silence. There was only a man on the ground whose breathing sounded like paper scraping against stone.
Corvin knelt beside him. "Can you hear me?"
The stranger's eyelids stirred. He tried to speak, but no words came.
"Don't try to sit up," Corvin said. "I'm getting you loose."
It took nearly twenty minutes to lift the saddle enough to free the injured leg. Corvin wedged stones beneath the leather, cut two straps with his pocketknife, and pulled the man into the thin shade of a cliff. His own hands trembled when he finished. The stranger tried to lift his head toward the canteen at Corvin's belt, then collapsed again.
Corvin uncorked the first canteen. It was nearly empty. He had expected the spring to be running. The second canteen held only a little more. The trip home would be long, and his horse would need water too.
He looked at the man, at the sun lowering over the stone, and at the tin cup hanging from his saddle.
"All right," he murmured. "A little at a time."
He poured a small amount into the cup, supported the man's head, and touched the water to his lips. Much of the first spoonful spilled. Corvin found the small metal spoon he carried with his lunch gear and used it carefully, offering just enough for the man to swallow without choking. He waited between each sip. The man's throat worked. His breathing eased a little. When he could speak again, he whispered a word that Corvin did not understand.
"My name's Corvin," he said. "You can tell me yours when you feel stronger."
The stranger closed his eyes. Corvin did not know whether he had fallen asleep or was slipping away. He kept two fingers against the man's wrist, watching the thin pulse beneath the skin. He had never considered himself brave. But he knew the difference between a difficult choice and one a man would be ashamed to remember. He emptied the rest of his drinking water into the cup.
The man opened his eyes again when the wind shifted. He watched Corvin work a strip of cloth around the injured leg, then made a small movement toward the ravine above them.
"Others," he managed.
"Friends of yours?"
A nod.
"Then let's hope they're looking for you."