"There she is!"

One shouted.

"The widow ain't worth much dead!"

Elias's jaw tightened.

He turned his horse.

"Hold on."

They rode deeper into the canyon.

The hunters followed.

But Elias knew the terrain.

He knew where the ravine narrowed.

He knew where floodwater had carved hidden passages through the rocks.

He knew that speed wasn't always the answer.

They disappeared into the darkness.

Behind them, five men continued the chase.

Ahead of them waited an abandoned shepherd's shelter.

And neither Elias nor Ayana yet understood that their meeting had already changed the course of both their lives.

They rode for nearly an hour.

Rainwater rushed beneath the horses' hooves.

The canyon twisted and narrowed until the walls rose on both sides.

Elias knew the hunters expected them to flee toward open country.

He did the opposite.

He led Ayana deeper into the mountains.

Eventually, he found what he had been searching for.

An abandoned shepherd's shelter.

Three rough walls.

Half a roof.

Enough protection to survive the night.

Elias dismounted.

He stepped away from Ayana's horse.

She tried to climb down.

Her injured ankle failed immediately.

Elias caught her forearm.

Only her forearm.

As soon as she regained her balance, he released her.

Ayana noticed.

She noticed everything.

Inside the shelter, Elias gathered dry cedar branches left by travelers.

Soon a small fire burned.

Smoke drifted through gaps in the roof.

The storm continued outside.

Elias opened his saddlebag.

He had dried venison and half a loaf of coarse bread.

He broke the bread evenly.

Then placed the larger half beside Ayana.

She looked at it.

Then at him.

"You don't know if I'll steal your horse before sunrise."

Elias stared into the fire.

"If you wanted my horse more than your freedom, you'd already have taken it."

Ayana almost smiled.

Almost.

Instead, she pulled his coat tighter around herself.

The coat smelled of leather and cedar smoke.

It was warm.

For the first time in years, she realized she was sitting beside a white man without waiting for his footsteps to become threatening.

That frightened her almost as much as the hunters.

Trust was dangerous.

She knew that.

Trust had nearly killed her.

Her husband had taught her that.

His name had been Samuel Gray.

He had been kind once.

At least she had believed he was.

They had married young.

They had built a small life together.

Samuel traded horses and worked between settlements.

For years, Ayana believed he was simply struggling to make enough money.

Then he began changing.

He became secretive.

He stopped telling her where he traveled.

He returned home with bruises.

Once, she asked him what had happened.

He said he had fallen from a horse.

She didn't believe him.

But she believed him when he told her he loved her.

That had been her second mistake.

One evening, Samuel never came home.

Ayana searched for him.

She asked traders.

She asked ranchers.

She asked men who claimed they had seen him.

Everyone gave her a different story.

Some said he had left.

Some said he had been killed.

Others told her she should forget him.

Then men came looking for her.

That was when she understood.

Samuel had not abandoned her.

He had discovered something.

Something men were willing to kill for.

Land.

Money.

And people.

The next morning, Ayana woke before sunrise.

The fire had burned low.

Elias was outside.

He sat sharpening a knife.

Not because it needed sharpening.

Because his hands needed something to do.

Ayana stepped from the shelter.

He immediately stood.

"How's the ankle?"

"Still attached."

Elias nodded.

"Good."

She leaned against a branch she had found.

He poured coffee.

"Want some?"

"I don't drink cowboy coffee."

"Neither do most cowboys."

She looked at him.

"Then why make it?"

"It keeps us moving."

She accepted the cup.

It was terrible.

She drank anyway.

For several minutes, neither spoke.

Then Elias noticed tracks near the shelter.

Small footprints.

Bare feet.

He crouched.

Ayana came closer.

"Child."

They followed the tracks.

A few hundred yards away, beneath a fallen tree, sat a little boy.

He was perhaps seven.

His arm was injured.

His horse stood nearby, tangled in thorn bushes.

When he saw Elias, he scrambled backward.

Ayana spoke softly in Apache.

"It's all right."

The boy stared at Elias.

Elias slowly removed a clean cloth from his saddlebag.

He placed it on the ground.

Then stepped away.

"You can give him this."

Ayana looked at him.

"You know how to set bones?"

"Enough to keep them from getting worse."

The boy's arm was badly sprained, but not broken.

Together, they wrapped it.

The child watched Elias carefully.

"Why are you helping us?"

Elias looked surprised.

"Because you're hurt."

"That's all?"

"Should there be another reason?"

The boy fell silent.

So did Ayana.

She had spent years believing every kindness carried a price.

Yet Elias seemed incapable of asking for one.

They prepared to leave.

The boy followed them.

He was still frightened, but less than before.

Then the rifle cracked.

Dust exploded beside Elias's boot.

"Down!"

Elias dropped behind a boulder.

Another bullet struck a branch.

Ayana pulled the boy behind the rocks.

Elias drew his revolver.

He fired once.

Not to hit.

To force the shooter back.

Silence followed.

"They're spreading out," Elias said.

Ayana looked toward the hills.

"North."

"No."

"They'll expect us to run there."

"Then where?"

Elias looked toward the steep ridge.

"We climb."

Ayana stared at the rocks.

"With this ankle?"

"With determination."

She almost laughed.

Instead, she followed.

They climbed.