"Just for a day." He had donned a cleaner shirt and a vest that hid the bandage on his shoulder. He strapped on his gun belt, low, tied down. He didn't look like a scout anymore. He looked like a drifter who had seen hard miles. They rode out under the cover of darkness, leaving Taza to organize the warriors for the strike on the wagons.
They rode double on roan to sell the illusion, leaving Ayanna's mare behind. The ride to town was agonizingly tense. Ayanna sat behind the saddle, her arms around Luke's waist. At first, her grip was loose, barely touching him. But as the terrain grew rougher, she was forced to hold on.
Luke could feel the heat of her body against his back. He could feel the tension in her arms. They didn't speak. There was too much unsaid between them. Too much blood and grief.
But the physical contact, enforced by necessity, began to thaw the ice. They reached the outskirts of town just after sunset. The town was busy, the saloons filling up, the street lamps casting pools of yellow light on the dusty road. Luke pulled his hat low. "Keep your head down," he whispered.
"You are shy. You are tired. Let me do the talking." They rode down the main street. Luke felt Ayanna stiffen against him as they passed a group of soldiers laughing on a porch. She buried her face in his coat, trembling.
"Easy," he murmured, reaching back to cover her hand with his. "I have you." He felt her fingers curl into his palm. It was a desperate grip. In this world of square buildings and loud voices, he was her only anchor. They hitched the horse in an alley behind a livery stable.
Luke helped her down. For a moment, his hands lingered on her waist. She looked up at him from under the shawl. Her eyes were wide, reflecting the distant lights. The anger was there, buried deep, but overlaid with fear and a strange reluctant reliance.
"We need to find the clerk," Luke said, stepping back. "A man named Silas usually uses a lawyer called Higgins, but Higgins has a clerk who drinks, a man named O'Malley. They found O'Malley in the back of a cantina on the edge of the Mexican Quarter. He was a small, rat-faced man nursing a cheap whiskey." Luke left Ayanna in the shadows near the door and approached the table. He sat down without asking.
"O'Malley," Luke said. The clerk jumped, spilling his drink. "Who are you?" "A man with a question," Luke said, sliding a silver dollar onto the table. It was the last of his money "and a thirsty friend." He signaled the barkeep for a bottle. O'Malley eyed the silver, then the bottle.
"What do you want?" "I hear Silas Morgan is buying up the basin," Luke said, pouring a drink. "I hear he has a meeting tomorrow to finalize the deal." O'Malley drank the whiskey in one gulp. "Big deal. Biggest in the territory. Morgan is going to own everything from here to the border." "And Captain Harlan?" Luke asked, pouring another.