Sometimes simply to allow the weakest members of the group to rest.

At one point, an elderly woman collapsed.

Two warriors immediately lifted her.

Nathan dismounted and helped them carry her toward a sheltered rock.

The woman looked at him with tired eyes.

Nathan smiled.

"We'll get you there."

She didn't understand his words.

But she understood his tone.

The journey changed something between the two groups.

At first, the Apache warriors watched Nathan as if he might betray them at any moment.

Now they watched him differently.

They saw him give water away.

They saw him walk instead of riding when children needed his horse.

They saw him repeatedly choose the more difficult path because it offered greater safety.

Nathan also learned from them.

Apache scouts could read the desert in ways he had never seen.

One warrior named Koda pointed toward a cluster of stones.

Nathan saw nothing.

Koda walked over and touched the ground.

A faint trail of ants moved beneath a rock.

Koda smiled.

Nathan understood.

Where insects survived, moisture was nearby.

Another warrior discovered edible desert plants that Nathan had overlooked.

The cowboy began realizing something important.

He might know these mountains.

But these people knew the desert in a different language.

Together, they were stronger.

Near midnight, Nathan stopped beneath a rocky overhang.

Everyone slept.

Or tried to.

Nathan remained awake.

He stared toward the black silhouette of Black Mesa.

His father's old memory returned.

Years ago, Thomas Carter had taken him into those mountains.

Nathan had been seventeen.

They had ridden for three days.

His father had shown him a hidden canyon where water emerged from underground.

Nathan remembered the cottonwoods.

The sound of running water.

The coldness of the spring.

But he had visited only twice.

That frightened him.

What if he remembered the location incorrectly?

What if the spring had finally dried?

What if the drought had defeated even that hidden source?

Nathan closed his eyes.

He could still hear his father's voice.

"When the land looks dead, look deeper."

Nathan opened his eyes.

He would keep going.

Before sunrise, they started again.

The temperature was still cool enough to travel.

The group moved silently through the darkness.

Then Nathan saw something.

He raised his hand.

Everyone stopped.

He dismounted.

Near the trail were hoofprints.

Fresh ones.

Several horses.

Nathan crouched and touched the impression.

The ground was still loose around it.

"How recent?" Chief Taza whispered.

"Hours."

Nathan examined the trail.

Then he saw broken branches.

A burned piece of wood.

A small pile of ash.

Someone had camped nearby.

Nathan's stomach tightened.

"The outlaws."

Chief Taza looked toward the canyon.

"How many?"

Nathan shook his head.

"I don't know."

One of the Apache warriors immediately reached for his bow.

Chief Taza stopped him.

Nathan pointed toward the main trail.

"They're probably watching that route."

The chief understood.

"Then we don't use it."

Nathan nodded.

But there was a problem.

The hidden spring lay beyond the canyon.

The easiest route passed directly through the place where the outlaws were likely waiting.

Nathan stared at the mountains.

Then he remembered something.

A forgotten trail.

His father had once used it.

It climbed higher into the mountains before descending behind Black Mesa.

The route was dangerous.

But the outlaws would not expect anyone to use it.

Nathan turned to Chief Taza.

"I know another way."

The chief looked at the steep cliffs.

"Can we travel it?"

Nathan hesitated.

"Not easily."

Chief Taza looked at his people.

Then he nodded.

"We have already traveled through death."

Nathan understood.

They began climbing.

The trail was barely visible.

Sometimes there was nothing more than a narrow shelf of stone.

Children had to be lifted.

Pack animals had to be guided one at a time.

At one crossing, a horse lost its footing.

Three Apache warriors grabbed the reins while Nathan pulled the animal upward.

Nobody spoke.

Everyone worked together.

Hours later, they reached the ridge.

Nathan looked down.

Far below, several riders moved along the easier trail.

Six men.

Maybe seven.

All carrying rifles.

The outlaws were searching for travelers.

They had no idea the people they wanted were watching them from above.

Chief Taza stood beside Nathan.

"You saved us."

Nathan shook his head.

"Not yet."

He pointed toward the mountains.

"We still need water."

The descent began.

By afternoon, the heat returned.

The tribe's water was almost gone.

A little boy stumbled.

Nathan lifted him onto Scout.

The boy's mother protested.

Nathan shook his head.

"He rides."

The mother looked at her son.

Then at Nathan.

She bowed her head gratefully.

The child fell asleep against Scout's neck.

Nathan walked beside him.

The mountains seemed endless.

But then something changed.