A bitter smile touched my mouth. The years taught me that the world always finds a new way to break. Nia listened without moving. There was no pity in her eyes, only respect. I drew a deep breath.
Rose Coulter was a far better person than I ever was. I had not expected to speak her name that night, but once I did, the rest of the words came without resistance. When fever reached the town, everyone locked their doors because they were afraid. Rose did the opposite. She went from house to house caring for the sick, delivering food, and changing bandages.
She never asked whether they were rich or poor, white or Apache. The memory tightened around my chest. In the end, she was the one who caught the fever. I lowered my gaze. I carried a badge, a revolver, and all the authority the territory could give one man.
A dry laugh escaped me. But none of those things are worth much when the outlaw you're trying to arrest is death. Silence filled the cabin again. Jeb already knew the story. He had lived through it beside me.
Nia had not. After a long moment, she answered with unexpected gentleness, "My people believe those who leave this world do not want the living to stop living." I looked at her. My father always said, "The finest way to honor the dead is to keep walking with your head held high." A knot formed in my throat.
Perhaps I had spent 5 years waiting for someone to say those exact words. Nia continued. Taza knew the Red Canyon Railroad would eventually try to take our land. She slowly opened a small leather pouch hanging from her belt. Inside was a carefully folded piece of paper.
She spread it across the table. It was a handdrawn map. The sketch showed the riverbed, several water storage sites, and a series of charcoal marks. It started here. She pointed to a narrow stretch of land near the Red Mesa Apache settlement.
I saw the railroad water crew emptying barrels into the water after dark. Jeb leaned over the drawing. What was inside them? I don't know. She drew a slow breath, but the fish were dead the next morning.
Then the horses began dying. And one week later week later, our children started getting sick. Anger spread through the cabin like heat from an open furnace. Nia continued speaking. My father began collecting proof, survey plans, receipts, maps, names, dates.
She looked directly at Jeb. After they killed him, I carried on his work. His eyes lifted immediately. Where is the evidence? Nia waited several seconds before answering.
Hidden. No one spoke. Then Jeb understood what had just become clear to me. The Red Canyon Railroad was not hunting, only a witness. It was searching for something far more dangerous.