We both knew that would have been a lie. Plenty of men would have kept writing. I had nearly been one of them. Because I was still able to. I finally answered.
She lowered her eyes for a moment. The answer did not seem to satisfy her. Truth be told, it did not satisfy me either. My cabin came into view on a low rise shortly before noon. It was a plain structure built from logs bleached and cracked by years beneath the Arizona sun.
A narrow porch ran along the front with a small stable, a rough corral, and an old water tower that had leaned to one side for years without ever surrendering to gravity. It was not much to look at, but it had been built to endure. From that rise, a man could watch nearly a mile of the main trail. Anyone coming toward the cabin would have to cross open ground without so much as a decent boulder for cover. I reigned in my horse.
Welcome to the dullest patch of ground in all of Arizona. For the first time, something changed in Nia's expression. It was not quite a smile, but it came close. We dismounted quickly. While I led the horses toward the corral, she was already studying the property.
Her eyes moved from the windows to the stable, then measured the distance to the fence, the small water tank, and the dead trees surrounding the cabin. She was not looking at a home. She was reading a battlefield. We went inside. The interior was as modest as the outside.
A wooden table, two chairs, an iron stove, a narrow bunk, several folded blankets, and an old cabinet packed with ammunition. I lifted a rifle from the pegs on the wall, and held it out to her. She did not ask whether I trusted her. She simply took it. With practiced speed, she opened the action, checked the ammunition, inspected the mechanism, and closed it again.
Every movement belonged to someone who had handled firearms for years. I raised an eyebrow. You don't look like someone who learned yesterday. Her fingers rested along the rifle's wooden stock. My father used to say a weapon is only useful when the person carrying it can keep a cool head.
Sounds like a wise man. Nia's eyes changed at once. I had brushed against a memory buried deeper than I realized. His name was Taza. She fell silent for several seconds before continuing.
He served as an Apache scout for the army for many years. He knew these valleys better than any map maker ever could. I waited, giving her room to continue when she was ready. She drew a slow breath. He tried to persuade the men of the Red Canyon Railroad to negotiate with our people.
He told them no company could claim the water because it was meant to keep everyone alive. Her voice weakened. They answered him with gunfire. For several moments, neither of us spoke. I had seen too many stories end the same way.
Powerful men used money to buy whatever they wanted, and when money failed, they finished the purchase with gunpowder. I opened the cabinet and began stacking boxes of cartridges on the table. How many killed him? Four. She raised her eyes to mine.