Keeping low, I moved carefully toward a side window, making sure not to offer them a clean target. I drew back one corner of the curtain and studied the trail. Six riders. Hank Dodd rode several yards behind the others, one arm wrapped in a rough bandage after the confrontation at the tracks. Finn Ror had returned as well.
His face was twisted with pain, and a blood soaked cloth covered his wounded thigh, but the hatred in his eyes seemed strong enough to keep him in the saddle. Neither of them, however, was the man who held my attention. A stranger rode at the head of the group. He wore a long black coat, an unmarked hat, and boots that had been cared for far better than the men around him. Beneath him, a black horse walked forward with unnatural calm.
The rider sat straight and motionless, as if he were traveling along an ordinary town street instead of approaching a cabin prepared for war. The most dangerous men rarely feel the need to advertise what they are. That must be Silus Crow, I murmured. Nia followed my gaze. You know him?
I slowly shook my head. No, but I know his kind. She studied him in silence. He doesn't raise his voice. He doesn't need to.
Outside, Silas urged his horse several steps closer. Wade Coulter, I've heard stories about you. They say you were a fine marshall once. People say plenty of foolish things. A nearly invisible smile appeared beneath the brim of his hat.
Then you understand that this does not have to end in bloodshed. That depends on who came here intending to spill it. His expression remained unchanged. Send out the Apache woman. I looked toward Nia.
She held the rifle with absolute steadiness. There was no fear on her face, only a cold, focused calm that would have unsettled most gunmen. I turned back toward the window. No. One word, final and immovable. Silus drew a slow breath as though my answer had been expected from the beginning.
That's unfortunate. Without looking back, he raised one hand. The other riders understood the signal immediately. That was when I saw one of Silus Crow's riders take a bow from his saddle. Another man touched a torch to the wrapped head of an arrow.
A chill moved down my spine. Get down. The first burning arrow cut across the sky and buried itself in the cabin's wooden roof. A second followed. Then a third.
Small islands of flame appeared across the dry shingles, spreading quickly as the desert wind fed them. The fire was growing far too fast. I rushed toward a bucket of water, but Nia reached it first. She seized a blanket, plunged it completely into the bucket, and climbed the narrow ladder into the loft without waiting for an order. From there, she shoved open the roof hatch.
Smoke immediately rolled into the cabin. Through the darkening air, I caught sight of her beating at the first flames with the soaked blanket. She did not shout. She did not hesitate. She simply did what had to be done.