Chapter 2

Beyond the water, dark, fertile soil stretched toward another line of low, protecting hills.Maverick slowly removed his battered felt hat, wiping his sweat-stained forehead with the back of his sleeve."Well," he whispered.Bramble let out a long, blowing snort, dropping his head to nudge a patch of dry grama grass near his hooves."Yeah," Maverick murmured, his gray eyes wide. "I know."He had found it. The trader's whiskey-soaked story was real. The green valley existed.Unfortunately, Maverick realized within five seconds, someone else had found it several generations earlier.By the time Maverick reached the flat floor of the valley, the quiet rustle of the cottonwood leaves was cut short by the sound of approaching hooves. Six mounted Apache riders emerged from a thicket of wild willow, their horses picking their way smoothly through the tall grass.Every warrior carried a rifle—a mix of repeating Winchesters and old cavalry carbines. Their weapons remained pointed downward, resting across their saddle horns.That small detail did not make Maverick feel a bit safer.He kept both of his hands clearly visible, resting his palms flat against his saddle horn, keeping Bramble at a slow, unhurried walk."I’m not here for trouble," Maverick said, his voice raspy from trial dust.One of the riders—a broad-shouldered man with a sharp jaw and two dark braids—studied him with unblinking eyes. "Everyone says that."Maverick’s mouth twitched, almost forming a dry smile. "Then I suppose I’m not very original."No one smiled back.Without another word, the six riders swung their horses into formation, three in front and three behind, escorting him silently toward the heart of the camp.As they rode deeper into the valley, Maverick’s eyes took in every detail. Men and women paused in their work, watching him from shaded porches and canvas doorways. Children stopped their games to stare at the stranger.He saw horses—fat, healthy stock—grazing in fenced paddocks. He saw racks of drying meat, intricate beadwork stretching over leather frames, beautifully woven baskets, and tools neatly arranged outside shelters. Farther upstream, neat rows of young corn and squash greened the dark soil.This was not an abandoned patch of wilderness. It was not a temporary hunting camp.It was a home.

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