She looked up at Blaze, her eyes hard. “I buried him myself,” she continued, reminding him. “Haven’t stopped looking for those bastards since.”
“We’ve got the same reason,” Blaze said.
“Maybe,” she said. “But reasons don’t mean much if you can’t back them up.”
He sat up, elbows on his knees. “I’ll back them up.”
Marisol gave a small, humorless smile. “We’ll see.”
That was when Graycloud tossed his knife into the dirt beside them, the blade sticking upright.
“You both talk too much,” he said. “Words don’t find trails. Eyes do. Come. Blaze, your turn to lead.”
He blinked. “Me?”
The Indian pointed at the horizon. “Find where they went.”
Uncertainly, Blaze rose, scanning the sand. He walked a few yards, crouching, studying every mark and shadow. At first, he saw nothing. Then, he spotted a faint scuff trailing north, where dry grass bent in one direction.
“There,” he said. “Wind’s pushing east, but the grass is leaning north. Something moved through not long ago.”
Graycloud gave a rare nod. “Better than I thought.”
“You might just make a tracker yet, kid,” Marisol added with a small grin.
As the afternoon deepened, the training bled into habit. Blaze learned to move quieter, to place his boots where the sand wouldn’t crunch, to breathe slowly so his heart didn’t drown his hearing. Graycloud showed him how to tell fresh droppings from old, how to smell the dust for sweat and iron.
When they stopped their horses again, Marisol tossed him her rifle.
“Your turn,” she said.
Blaze caught it awkwardly. “You serious?”
“You need to know how to handle more than a pistol,” she said.
He sighted down the barrel. It felt heavier, colder, and more alive than his Colt. He supposed it was all good practice.
He had to be prepared for Wilder.
“Hold it tighter,” Marisol said. “Like it owes you something.”
Blaze adjusted, aimed at a lone cactus fifty yards away, and fired. The kick nearly sent him backward. The shot missed cleanly. The horses whinnied at the bang.
Marisol didn’t hide her laughter. It was the most genuine sound.
“Maybe don’t hold it that tight,” she offered.
“Should’ve warned me it bites,” Blaze muttered.
“Everything worth using bites,” Graycloud said.
They moved again as the sun progressed through the sky. Blaze’s body ached, and his arms were sore, but the rhythm of being on the road steadied him. His head was somewhat clearer now.
Instead of thinking about his mother’s death and how he had failed her, his thoughts drifted to his sister and what he could still do to give her a better life.
They made camp near a dry arroyo. Marisol started the fire while Graycloud briefly vanished into the brush, returning with a pair of desert hares. Blaze gathered kindling, his hands raw and blistered.
Marisol looked at him across the flames. “You’ve got heart, Blaze. I’ll give you that.”
