But standing there and feeling the heat of this living creature against the cold wind...something in him began to mend.
When he finally looked back, Marisol and Graycloud were both watching.
Graycloud’s eyes were unreadable, but Blaze thought he saw respect there. Marisol just shook her head, though her mouth twitched as if fighting a smile.
“Guess he’s yours then,” she said. “But if he throws you, don’t expect me to chase him down.”
“He won’t,” Blaze said.
She raised an eyebrow. “You sound awful sure of that.”
“I am.” Blaze gave Shadow one last pat, then stood. “He’s like me. Stubborn.”
Graycloud laughed quietly. It was a low, brief sound that seemed to surprise even him.
“Then perhaps he was meant for you,” he said.
The three of them lingered a moment longer before mounting up again. Blaze led Shadow by the reins, walking beside Graycloud’s horse. The new addition limped slightly at first but soon found his rhythm.
As they moved south again, the wind shifted. Blaze glanced back at the abandoned shack, now just a dark speck behind them. Then he looked ahead toward the horizon.
For the first time since the fire, the world didn’t feel completely empty. Shadow walked steadily beside him, matching his pace.
Chapter 17
The desert stretched wide and endless before them. It had been three long days since they’d left the cabin behind. Three days of dust, silence, and the ache of old wounds that hadn’t quite healed. The sun burned hotter with each mile, and their horses moved slower, ribs showing through dust-caked hides.
Blaze rode ahead, the dry wind tugging at his shirt. Every bone in his body ached from the saddle, and every time he glanced toward the horizon, he thought of Nancy. She was the mare that had carried him since boyhood.
Now she was buried beneath a dry creek bed, and her death still sat like a stone in his gut.
Marisol rode behind him, her Hawken Plains rifle slung crosswise over her back. She hadn’t said much since the fight; she only watched.
Graycloud brought up the rear, silent as a shadow, his eyes reading the trail like scripture. He hadn’t spoken in an hour, but Blaze could feel the man’s awareness everywhere.
By the third evening, they crested a low bluff. And there it was.
Red Mesa.
It burned beneath the setting sun like a city made of fire. The plateau rose high above the desert floor, streaked with veins of orange and gold. Thin smoke curled from chimneys below, faint against the horizon.
Blaze reined in and rested a hand on his saddle horn.
“There,” he murmured. “That’s it.”
Marisol drew alongside, narrowing her eyes. “Looks smaller than I remember.”
“A place like that can change quick,” Graycloud said. “Gold comes, people swarm. Gold runs out, people scatter.”
Blaze squinted down at the town. The buildings sat close together, warped by heat and time. He saw a crooked church steeple, a saloon sign swaying on rusty chains, and dust blowing through the narrow street.
Somewhere below, faint music drifted. It was a fiddle half a note sharp.
“You sure this is Red Mesa?” Blaze asked.
“Sure enough,” Marisol said. “Ain’t another town foolish enough to build this close to the cliffs.”
Graycloud pointed with his chin. “Smoke from cook fires. Stables full. We’ll find what we need.”
