Maverick and Hesper stood together on the river gravel beside the three dead raiders. Maverick had reloaded both rifles and had dragged the dead men’s weapons into a neat pile on a flat boulder.
Emerging from the cottonwood grove at a hard gallop came Lobo Negro, followed by thirty mounted Apache warriors.
They rode with their carbines drawn, their faces painted with the black charcoal and white clay of war. At their head rode Goyathlay, his broad chest bare, a red bandana tied around his forehead, his eyes searching the gorge with hungry, predatory anticipation. He had clearly expected to find Maverick’s mutilated corpse lying in the dirt and the eastern pass wide open for McCall’s cattle.
Instead, the warriors pulled their horses to a sliding stop, staring in utter disbelief at the scene before them.
Three of Vance McCall’s seasoned regulators lay dead in the shallows. Four dead horses were scattered among the boulders. The trail leading east was marked with broad trails of dragged blood where the survivors had crawled away in defeat.
And standing in the center of the gap, unmasked, her face lifted proudly to the morning sun, was Hesper. Beside her stood Maverick Cole, his Henry rifle resting across his forearm, his knuckles raw, his eyes as cold and dangerous as two pieces of blue slate.
A stunned silence fell over the war party. Even the painted ponies seemed to sense the change, blowing softly through their nostrils and tossing their manes in the morning mist.
Lobo Negro rode forward alone. His dark eyes took in every detail: the spent cartridge cases littering the ledges, the dead men with their boots in the water, the knife wound in the back of the border ruffian, and the unmasked face of his daughter.
The chief dismounted. He walked to the edge of the river, looked down at the dead men, and then turned to face Maverick.
"Silas Vance?" the chief asked.
"Wounded," Maverick said. "Took a slug in the ribs. He’ll live, but he won't be riding a horse for a month. He took the rest of his dogs and ran back toward the San Simon."
Lobo Negro looked at Hesper. He saw the bruise on her side, the soot on her throat, and the clear, unyielding defiance in her eyes. For the first time since Maverick had entered this country, he saw the old chief’s chest rise with an emotion that was not disguised behind an iron mask.
It was the pride of a father who saw his child whole again.
"You did not wear the skin," Lobo Negro said to her, his voice trembling slightly.
"I will never wear the skin again, Father," Hesper answered, her voice ringing clear across the canyon so that every warrior in the war party could hear her words. "The fire took my skin, but it did not make me a shadow. Maverick looked upon my face and called me beautiful. He stood beside me in the rocks while the guns burned, and he did not run. If any man in this tribe believes I am cursed, let him step down from his horse and tell it to my husband."
A collective murmur rustled through the warriors. Several older men nodded their heads in solemn agreement; two young scouts who had seen Hesper’s marksmanship in the past murmured words of fierce admiration.
At the rear of the war party, Goyathlay sat on his horse, his face twisted into an expression of black, murderous hatred. He saw his five-year scheme crumbling into dust before his eyes. The white man had not died; the woman had cast off her shame; and the chief’s power was stronger than ever.
Goyathlay spurred his pony forward, his hand dropping to the pommel of his saddle where his Winchester rested.
"This is a trick!" Goyathlay shouted, his voice cracking with rage. "The white man brought his own kind to this pass to stage a false battle! He wants us to believe he is our savior so he can steal our water from the inside!"
Maverick didn't wait for Lobo Negro to speak.
He took three long, deliberate strides through the shallow water, stopped ten feet from Goyathlay’s stirrup, and looked up into the warrior's yellowed eyes.
"Get down off that horse, Goyathlay," Maverick said.
The words were spoken without volume, but they had the weight of an iron anchor dropping into deep water. The entire canyon went dead silent.
Goyathlay’s eyes narrowed. "What did you say, dog?"
"I said get down off that horse," Maverick repeated, his voice ice-cold. "Hesper told me about the fire five winters ago. She told me how you barred the door and threw the pitch because she wouldn't let a coward like you touch her. You’ve been hiding behind her veil for five years, pretending to be a warrior while you poisoned this camp from the shadows."
Goyathlay’s hand twitched toward his rifle. "I will cut your tongue out—"