That for the first time in years, I'd found something worth fighting for, something more than just staying alive. "Maybe because it ain't just your fight anymore," I said. We crested a ridge then, and Willow Run stretched out below us. A small settlement built around a natural spring, maybe 20 buildings in all, with a well-kept corral full of cattle. Smoke curled from chimneys, and folks moved about their business like any quiet frontier town.
"There," Sihaya said, pointing toward a house on the edge of town, larger than the rest, well-built. That's where my cousin Merrell lives, with her husband." As we rode down, people started to notice us. They paused, watching. Not hostile, just curious.
Hard not to be with Sihaya's height. You could spot her from a mile out. "Seems like decent folk," I muttered. "Merrell married well," she replied. "Her husband, Garrick, is respected here.
That respect protects those close to him, too." We were just pulling up to the house when the door swung open and a woman hurried out. She was tall, though not like Sihaya, and dressed in a mix of traditional and settler clothes. The moment she saw Sihaya, her face lit up. "Sihaya!" she called, rushing forward.
"Thank the spirits you're alive. We heard about the attack on your village. When you didn't come back." They embraced tightly, speaking fast in a language I didn't understand. But I didn't need the words to see the bond between them, or the way Merrell's expression darkened as Sihaya told her what had happened.
"Varick Holt." Merrell spat the name like poison. "That devil's been a curse on this land for far too long." A new voice cut in then, deep, steady, carrying the slow drawl of Texas. "Someone say Varick Holt?" I turned to see a man walking up from the barn.
Tall, lean, with a face weathered by sun and years of hard work. No doubt about it. That was Garrick Vane. "Garrick," Merrell said, "this is my cousin, Sihaya, and her friend, Dax Calder. They've had trouble with Holt's men."
Garrick's expression hardened as Sihaya told her story again. When she finished, he stood there quiet for a long moment, studying us both. "Holt's been getting bolder lately," he said at last. "Word is, he's planning something big. One last score before he rides south and lives like a king."
"What kind of score?" I asked. "No one knows for sure," Garrick said. "But there's talk of a caravan passing through next week. Families heading west to California, hauling everything they own." Sihaya and I exchanged a glance.
A caravan full of families. That was exactly the kind of target Varick Holt preyed on. Vulnerable people carrying everything with no real way to defend themselves. "We have to warn them," Sihaya said. "We stop him," I corrected.
Garrick looked between us, then gave a slow nod. "Then you'd better come inside," he said. "Let's sit down and figure out how the hell we're going to do it." Inside Garrick's house, the four of us gathered around a heavy wooden table while Merrell set out coffee and fresh bread. Maps were spread across the surface, marked with the main routes heading west.
"The Ash Trail caravan will pass through the canyon in 6 days," Garrick said, pointing to a narrow stretch on the map. "47 wagons, maybe 200 souls. Mostly families carrying everything they've got." "A perfect target for Varick Holt," I muttered. "That pass is ideal for an ambush," Sihaya added, studying the terrain.
"One way in, one way out. High walls on both sides. If Holt places his men right, that caravan won't stand a chance," Sihaya said. Garrick Vane gave a slow nod. "That's exactly what worries me.
But here's the problem. The pass is the only way through those mountains. Every other trail's too rough for loaded wagons. We can't reroute them." "Then we make damn sure Holt isn't there waiting," I said.
Merrell Voss, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. "How many men does he have?" "Last I heard, around 25." Garrick replied. "All killers. Not odds any sane man would take on."
I glanced at Sihaya. The fire in her dark eyes told me she was thinking the same thing I was. Sensible odds had never stopped either of us from doing what was right. "What if we turn some of Holt's own men against him?" Sihaya said suddenly. Garrick raised an eyebrow.
"And how exactly would you pull that off?" "My brother told me things before he died." She said. "Holt rules through fear. But he also pays well. If we can convince a few of his men they'd earn more by betraying him than staying loyal."
It was dangerous. Real dangerous. But it made sense. Outlaws weren't known for loyalty when there was better money on the table. "That means getting close to his operation." I said.
"Close enough to talk to his men without getting shot on sight." "I know where his main camp is." Sihaya said quietly. "And I know someone who can help us." All eyes turned to her. "There's a man named Rook Vatcher." She continued.
"He used to ride with Holt. Left about 6 months ago. Said he was done with all the killing. Now he's hiding out in a cabin about 20 miles from here trying to live straight." "You think he'd help us?" Garrick asked.
"I think he'd help me." Sihaya said. "He was close to my brother. He owes him." The plan we built over the next 2 hours was either brilliant or suicidal. Maybe both.
Rook Vatcher would be our way in. Our only way in. But first, we had to convince him to walk away from the quiet life he'd carved out for himself. "I'll ride out to him tomorrow." I said. "See if I can bring him in."
"We'll go." Sihaya corrected. "Rook knew my brother better than anyone. If we're going to convince him, I need to be there." Garrick frowned. "That's a lot of risk for both of you."
"If Holt's got men watching him." I said. "We'll deal with them." And I meant it. Something had changed in me since I met Sihaya. The cold, calculating gunman I used to be was giving way to something else.
Something warmer. But far more dangerous. A man with something to protect. As the night wore on and we sharpened the details of the plan, I couldn't help but notice how Sihaya filled the room. Not just because of her height.