I saw where the shot came from. It was behind you. It was not him. He nodded at Guan. Not her either.
Corporal Davies told me this morning the captain said something would happen. He did not say what. He said we would know. Son, what's your name? Weller.
Weller, ride to Fort Kesler. Tell every man you meet what you saw. They will not believe a private. Then tell them anyway. Tell the cook.
Tell the horses. The boy laughed. A cracked, terrified laugh. Then he lifted the corporal's body across his saddles and rode out onto the road without another word. Guan watched him go.
They will kill him. Not if he rides fast. He is 19. Then he'll ride very fast. They did not speak again until sunset.
Cedar Wash, the upper channel, the place where Wade had seen the neat line of broken rock. They lay in the cottonwoods above it and looked down. It was a wall 40 ft long. The boulders chinkedked with clay and behind it heavy green, shining like a coin in the red light, a lake, all that water 300 from 61 thirsty people. Wade crawled to the edge, cuped his hands, drank, and felt like a thief.
Nalin said Dia take Guan. Watch the horses. Why? Because I need to say something to Wade. Guan's eyes narrowed.
But she went. Wade sat against a trunk, drew out the order, smoothed it on his knee, and did not look up now, he said. Now, you said when the boy was safe. He is safe. Then talk.
Tea lowered himself slowly. His face was gray. Your father did not die of fever. The Cottonwoods whispered, "I know. You do not know.
I've known since I was 14. " A man who was never sick one day doesn't die of fever in one night. He was shot. Dakaya spoke very quietly at the well on the second night of September 1860 by Garrett Voss. Wade did not move, did not.
Something cold went through him like a river through a canyon. Jonas would not tell him where he had hidden the originals. So Voss asked him and asked him and then he stopped asking, "I was there. You were in the wellhouse. Your father put you there.
He told you to cover your ears. I covered them. I know. I heard a voice. You heard me.
There is a passage beneath. Your father showed me years before that night. He asked me to wait there in case they came. I was down there when they came praying. I could hear everything and I did nothing.
Wade's hands were shaking. He pressed them flat against his knees. You let him die. Yes. You were a grown man.
I was a coward. I heard a voice singing over and over. I thought I'd imagined it. You were not imagining. I was singing so you would not hear him.
Wade stood. He did not remember standing. He crossed the space between them and grabbed the old man by the collar, hauled him to his feet. Face an inch from face. And Dia did not resist.
Did not flinch. Just looked at him with eyes that had waited half a lifetime for this. Who else? Wade whispered. Wade.
Who else was there? A long pause. Amos Rudd. He held the lantern. The world tilted.
He pulled me out of the river, Wade said. When I was 19, yes, he bought the coffin. Yes, he sat at my kitchen table and cried. I believe he meant it. How can he mean it?
Because men are rarely one thing, said Da gently. Not good men, not bad men, Rudd was afraid. Then he was sorry. Then he was afraid again. Sorry does not make a man brave.
It only makes him sad. Wade let go, stumbled back, pressed his palms to his eyes. Why did you come? He said, after 24 years. Why now?
Because your father asked me the last day he lived. He said, "If Voss ever touches Cedar Wash, mine, my boy, he will not know what to do, and he will do it anyway. " Wade laughed. A terrible, cracked, wonderful laugh. That's a hell of a compliment.
It was meant as one. He signed it, Dakaya. The deed in his own hand. Yes, he signed. So he was a forger.
He was a great many things. Tea's voice dropped. Do not hate him yet. Look at the seal again. The seal.
Look. Wade pulled out the deed, unfolded it, turned it to the light, the bronze seal, the red wax, and beside it, along the edge of the ribbon, a faint trail of tiny holes barely visible, like pin pricks. The moths, he had thought in Fenwick. What am I looking at? That is what I cannot tell you.
Only your father could. That's not a wad. Guan scream cut through the dusk. Torches all around the ridge. Ring of fire closing in, hooves, rifles, and in the middle, riding slow and easy on a tall black horse.
A man in black with a crooked rib in a very bad mood. I never lose one, Callaway called pleasantly. A rope hissed out of the dark, looped Nalin around the chest, yanked him off his feet. He screamed, dragged across the rocks towards the horsemen. Guan missed.
Another rope took her. She fired. A man yelled. Then somebody drove a rifle butt across her wrist and the gun spun away. Wade drew eight rifles answered.
He stopped. The ring part the buggy rolled through and out of it one bandage sleeve first stepped Garrett Voss singed at the elbow. Fresh white linen on the rest of him. Mr. Harland, he said that was a clever little receipt. Thank you.
I hated it. That was the idea. Do you see what you have done? The Voss gestured at the dam at the shining lake. This is a beautiful thing.
All that water and it belongs to whoever owns the ground beneath it. It belongs to whoever's thirsty. Spoken like a man with no deed. I have a deed. Voss smiled.
You have my deed which I am about to take. And then I am going to tell you what happens to the people at the bottom of this creek. Captain Pike. Voss's eyebrows rose. You found the letter.