THEY CHAINED AN APACHE WOMAN BESIDE A DEAD MINE — THEN THE STRANGER LEARNED WHY A JUDGE WANTED HER FATHER ALIVE

Chapter One — The Woman at Red Mesa

The first shot missed Silas Mercer by less than a foot.

It struck the red sandstone wall beside his horse and exploded into a cloud of dust and stone chips. His buckskin mare jumped sideways so violently that Silas nearly lost the reins.

He dropped low over the saddle before the second shot came.

That one struck the trail behind him.

Silas drew his Colt.

He had spent enough years riding through the Arizona Territory to recognize the difference between warning shots and bad shooting.

These men were trying to kill somebody.

He simply wasn't certain yet whether that somebody was him.

Then he heard the woman scream.

The sound came from the canyon below.

Silas reined his horse toward the edge of the ridge and looked down.

Five armed men occupied the narrow floor of Red Mesa Canyon. Three horses were tied near a dry creek bed. A wagon stood partially hidden beneath a sandstone overhang.

And beside it, a young woman was bound to a mesquite tree.

Her wrists had been tied behind the trunk. Dust covered her long dark skirt. A torn blue shawl hung from one shoulder, and blood marked one side of her face where someone had struck her.

A tall man wearing a black hat stood in front of her.

He held a cavalry saber.

Silas recognized him.

Clay Rourke.

That recognition answered several questions at once.

Rourke had once served as a scout during the territorial campaigns, then spent the years afterward turning every skill the Army taught him into something profitable. Cattle theft, land intimidation, armed collection work, and occasionally murder when somebody offered enough money.

Silas had crossed his trail twice.

Neither meeting had been pleasant.

Rourke lifted the saber.

"One more time, Mara. Where did your father hide the ledger?"

The young woman stared at him.

Her voice was hoarse but steady.

"If I knew, I would die before telling you."

Rourke smiled.

"That's the problem with brave people. They always think courage makes them difficult to break."

He placed the flat of the blade against her throat.

Silas's fingers tightened around the revolver.

Another outlaw stood several yards away with a Winchester.

A second man searched the wagon.

The remaining two watched the trail.

Silas counted ammunition.

Six rounds.

Five men.

Poor odds.

But not impossible.

Rourke leaned closer to the woman.

"Judge Halbrook doesn't need you alive."

Her expression changed.

Not much.

But enough.

Silas noticed.

Whatever this was, the name mattered.

Rourke continued.

"Your father is the one he wants. You're just encouragement."

The woman lifted her chin.

"Then you've wasted your time."

Rourke's smile disappeared.

He drew the saber back.

Silas fired.

The bullet struck the blade near the hilt.

Metal flew from Rourke's hand.

He stumbled backward, staring at the empty space where the weapon had been.

Silas fired again.

The rifleman near the wagon dropped behind a wheel as the bullet tore through his sleeve.

"RIDGE!" someone shouted.

Every face turned upward.

Silas kicked his horse forward.

The buckskin plunged down the narrow trail.

Gunfire erupted.

A bullet snapped past his shoulder.

Another struck a stone beneath his horse's front feet.

Silas fired toward the muzzle flash and heard a man curse.

Rourke had already drawn his revolver.

"Kill him!"

The canyon filled with smoke and noise.

Silas reached the floor, threw himself from the saddle, and rolled behind a boulder as three shots struck the ground where he had been.

The young woman pulled against the rope.

One of the outlaws ran toward her.

"You stay right there."

She watched him approach.

Then looked down.

His mistake was assuming the rope meant helplessness.

As he reached for her, she drove both feet into his knee.

The man collapsed with a scream.

She twisted sideways, wrapped the rope around his arm, and used his own weight to pull herself around the tree.

He reached for his pistol.

She kicked it away.

Silas saw the movement.

So did Rourke.

"You little—"

He aimed at her.

Silas fired first.

His bullet struck Rourke's revolver and sent it spinning across the sand.

Rourke stared at his bleeding hand.

For one second, their eyes met.

Recognition flashed.

"Mercer."

Silas froze.

"You remember me."

"I remember a man who should've stayed buried in New Mexico."

Silas fired again.

Rourke threw himself behind the wagon.

The bullet struck wood.

One of his men rushed Silas from the side.

Silas barely turned in time.

They collided hard enough to drive the air from his lungs.

The outlaw swung a knife.

Silas caught the man's wrist, slammed it against the rock, and drove his shoulder into him.

The knife fell.

Silas shoved the man backward.

The young woman had somehow freed one wrist.

She seized the fallen pistol from the sand.

"DOWN!"

Silas dropped.

She fired.

The outlaw behind him staggered away, clutching his upper arm.

Her eyes widened.

She had hit him.

Silas looked at her.

"Can you shoot?"

"Apparently."

Another rifle cracked from near the wagon.

Silas returned fire.

The shooter disappeared behind the wheels.

Rourke shouted something Silas couldn't hear.

Then suddenly the surviving outlaws began retreating.

One mounted a horse.

Another dragged his wounded companion toward the trail.

Rourke climbed into the saddle with blood running across his hand.

He pointed toward the woman.

"This isn't finished, Mara!"

Her pistol remained raised.

Rourke looked at Silas.

"And neither are you."

Then he spurred his horse toward the eastern canyon.

Three surviving men followed.

Their hoofbeats faded into the rocks.

Silas remained behind the boulder for several seconds.

Silence returned slowly.

Wind.

A frightened horse.

The creak of the abandoned wagon.

Then the woman spoke.

"Are they gone?"

"For now."

Silas holstered his revolver.

He approached the tree carefully.

The woman's pistol moved toward him.

"Stop."

He did.