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.