He smiled.
She rested her head against his shoulder.
For several minutes they listened to water moving over stone.
Then Abigail whispered, “They almost killed me.”
Mateo’s smile disappeared.
“I know.”
“I thought I was ready.”
“No one is.”
She looked toward him.
“What if you had missed?”
His jaw tightened.
“I didn’t.”
“That isn’t an answer.”
“It’s the only one I have.”
Abigail slipped her hand into his.
Mateo looked down at their fingers.
She could feel how tired he was by the way he finally allowed his weight to rest against the rock.
“What happens tomorrow?” she asked.
“We move east.”
“And after that?”
“Depends on who follows.”
She studied his face.
“I don’t want to spend my life running.”
Mateo looked toward the dark canyon opening.
“Neither do I.”
“Then what do we do?”
He thought for a long moment.
“We survive long enough to choose somewhere.”
At sunrise, Isaiah climbed to the ridge.
He returned ten minutes later.
“Seven riders.”
Mateo was already standing.
“How far?”
“Maybe three miles.”
Abigail’s stomach tightened.
“Rusk?”
Isaiah nodded.
“And Strake.”
Mateo checked the Winchester.
Isaiah looked at him.
“They brought enough men to feel courageous.”
“Then we take that away.”
The canyon narrowed less than half a mile east of camp. High walls rose on both sides with scattered boulders along the ledges. Isaiah had used the pass years earlier while scouting for cavalry and remembered exactly where three men could make twelve feel like too many.
Mateo took the northern ledge.
Isaiah crossed to the south.
Abigail waited near the creek with a rifle and the spare horse.
She hated waiting.
The sound of riders entered the canyon before the men themselves appeared.
Sheriff Rusk rode first.
Gideon Strake followed with one hand bandaged from his fall in Red Hollow. Five other men rode behind them, including two deputies who looked considerably less certain than the sheriff.
Rusk stopped beneath the narrowest section.
“Mateo Begay!”
His voice echoed between the canyon walls.
Mateo answered from somewhere above.
“You ride loudly for men trying to surprise somebody.”
Several riders looked upward.
Rusk could not locate him.
“You kidnapped a condemned prisoner.”
Abigail stepped from the cottonwoods.
“No one kidnapped me.”
Rusk stared at her.
The severed rope was gone now, but the bruise remained dark across her neck.
“Get away from him, Abigail.”
She almost smiled.
“You tried to hang me yesterday.”
“The court sentenced you.”
“The court followed your lie.”
Rusk pointed toward her.
“You don’t understand what you’ve done.”
“I understand exactly.”
His face reddened.
“You have thrown away your home, your reputation, everything your parents gave you.”
Abigail raised the rifle.
“My parents taught me better than to confuse reputation with goodness.”
Gideon Strake drew his pistol.
Mateo’s Winchester cracked.
The pistol flew from Strake’s hand.
Strake shouted and clutched his bleeding fingers.
Isaiah fired from the opposite ridge.
His bullet struck the ground inches ahead of Rusk’s horse.
“Next one moves upward,” Isaiah called.
One deputy immediately lowered his weapon.
Another looked at Rusk.
“You said there was one man.”
Rusk turned. “There are two.”
“There’s three,” Abigail said.
The deputy stared at her rifle.
“Right.”
One of Strake’s ranch hands slowly raised both hands.
“I’m paid to move cattle.”
He dropped his rifle.
“Not enough for this.”
The second ranch hand followed.
Rusk looked around as his posse dissolved.
“You cowards.”
Isaiah laughed from above.
“Cowards are men who need seven friends to hang one woman.”
Rusk’s face twisted.
“This territory will hunt you.”
Mateo finally stepped into view on the ledge.
“Maybe.”
“You think you can hide forever?”
“No.”
Mateo lowered the barrel slightly.
“But today is enough.”
Rusk looked toward Abigail.
“You will regret choosing him.”
She stared back.
“I already regret trusting you.”
That landed harder.
Rusk gathered his reins.
“This is not finished.”
Abigail answered before Mateo could.
“For you, maybe.”
She lowered the rifle.
“For me, it already is.”
Rusk turned his horse.
The remaining men followed.
No one looked back.
For nearly a month, Abigail, Mateo, and Isaiah traveled through the southern Arizona country. They stayed away from roads, slept beneath overhangs, and traded quietly at ranches where people cared more about weather than wanted posters. Stories from Red Hollow followed them anyway.
Some said Mateo had shot six deputies during the rescue.
Others claimed Abigail murdered Judge Bell before escaping.
One newspaper in Tucson described her as a woman bewitched by a savage outlaw.
Abigail read that one twice.
Then she laughed so hard Mateo thought something was wrong.
“What?”
She handed him the paper.
He read the headline.
“What part is funny?”
“All of it.”
“I don’t see it.”
“They spelled my name wrong.”
Mateo looked at the paper again.
“They did.”
Abigail folded it.
“If they’re going to ruin my reputation, they could at least ruin the correct woman’s.”
Isaiah nearly fell from his chair laughing.
They eventually reached a small valley near the San Pedro River. Cottonwoods grew thick along the water, and an abandoned homestead stood beneath a rocky slope. The roof sagged, one window was missing, and the chimney leaned slightly east.
Isaiah stopped his horse.
“Home.”
Mateo stared at the cabin.
“That?”
“You expecting a hotel?”
Abigail walked toward it.
The door opened with a noise that suggested it objected to visitors.
Inside, dust covered everything.
An owl flew from the rafters.
Mateo ducked.
Abigail laughed.
He looked around.
“I hate this place.”
She smiled.
“I love it.”
“Why?”
“Because nobody sentenced me to live here.”
That silenced him.
They stayed.
For the first week, they worked from sunrise until darkness. Mateo repaired the roof and built shutters for the missing window. Isaiah helped fix the stable and complained continuously about being too old for every task while somehow doing more work than either of them.
Abigail cleaned the cabin.
She scrubbed the floor.
Washed the walls.