“I saw it,” Blaze said.
Marisol had already stopped ahead of them. She turned in the saddle, her hand resting on the butt of her rifle.
“Talk to me,” she called.
“Movement,” Blaze said. “Could’ve been a man. Could’ve been nothing.”
“You sure?” she asked, scanning the horizon.
Blaze slid off the horse. His boots hit the ground hard, sending up a puff of dust. “I’m sure.”
Graycloud didn’t try to stop him, but his voice carried a warning. “Be careful.”
Before he started forward, Blaze crouched. Then he began moving through the scrub. Every sound seemed too loud, even the crunch of dry brush underfoot and the wind scraping across the stones.
He could feel Graycloud’s gaze following him—watchful but distant. He kept his hand near his gun.
The sun had climbed higher now, throwing harsh light across the sand. It made everything shimmer and harder to read. For a long moment, Blaze saw nothing.
Then the shimmer ahead shifted. Not a man, not a mirage. It moved with rhythm.
A horse.
Blaze blinked against the glare and focused. The animal stood half-hidden near a cluster of boulders, its sides heaving and its coat streaked with sweat and dust. The reins hung loose, torn halfway through, dragging in the sand.
It was a dark Morgan, almost black where the sun didn’t hit, with a star on its forehead like a faint white flame.
The sight of it hit Blaze in the chest. Yesterday’s fight flashed back all at once. He remembered one breaking from the chaos, galloping wild into the desert as bullets whined past. This must’ve been that one.
A survivor, just like him.
He lowered himself onto one knee, keeping still. The horse’s ears flicked toward him, eyes wide and rimmed with white. Its nostrils flared. It stamped once nervously.
“Easy,” Blaze murmured. His voice came out dry, rough from dust and a night without sleep. He swallowed and tried again, softer this time. “Easy now...I ain’t gonna hurt you.”
The horse tossed its head, backing a few steps. Its muscles bunched beneath the hide, ready to bolt. Blaze stayed crouched, making himself smaller. He knew that look—the wild fear that came when something living had seen too much fire and death.
Behind him, he could feel Graycloud’s presence. Marisol stood a few paces off, rifle low but ready.
“Blaze,” she said quietly, “leave it. It’ll run itself dead before you get close.”
He shook his head without looking back. “No. I can calm him.”
Graycloud’s tone was even. “Do not move too fast.”
“I won’t.”
Blaze took a slow step forward, then another. The horse snorted, muscles rippling beneath its coat. It was still trembling, still halfway between fight and flight.
Up close, Blaze could see the dried sweat crusting its neck and the lines of exhaustion cutting through its flanks. There was a faint dark streak on the hind leg. It was half-dried blood.
A graze, maybe from a bullet that barely missed.
He eased a hand toward his pocket and drew out a small scrap of biscuit he had meant to give to Nancy, holding it out on his palm. The horse eyed it warily, shifting weight from one foot to another.
“C’mon,” Blaze said under his breath. “You’ve had it worse, haven’t you? So have I.”
The animal’s ears flicked again, catching his tone more than the words. Blaze kept talking the way he remembered his father doing when breaking in skittish colts.
