Instinctively, Marisol stepped between them. “He did what had to be done.”
The woman’s gaze flicked to her. “Maybe. But the desert don’t care what’s necessary. It remembers blood all the same.” She turned and went back to wiping the counter.
Blaze exhaled, his voice barely above a whisper. “She’s right.”
“No,” Marisol said. “She’s old. She’s tired. There’s a difference.”
He leaned on the bar, running a hand through his hair. “It didn’t feel like I thought it would.”
“Killing never does,” she said. “The first time just lets you know you’re capable. That’s the part that eats at you later.”
He looked up at her. “And you?”
Marisol’s expression flickered. “I already had my first time. You don’t forget it. You just learn to live with it.”
“I don’t want to get used to it,” Blaze replied, staring at the floorboards.
The Hollow Creek Riders were bad. Evil, even. But Blaze was no killer.
Even though he wanted them dead, he knew it would take a lot from him to finish what he started.
He just had to remind himself of his father. His mother. Rachel.
“Then don’t,” she said. “Just don’t freeze up next time.”
He looked at her sharply. “You think I froze?”
“You hesitated,” she said. “That’s the difference between you and Wilder’s men. They never hesitate.”
Outside, the sound of hammers and shovels echoed through the morning air. The undertakers dug fresh graves behind the church, their shovels cutting into dry earth with dull thuds. The preacher’s voice carried faintly. He was murmuring prayers for the dead.
Graycloud stood by the fence, watching.
“White men dig fast,” he said. “They bury faster. My people would sing. Speak to the dead so they don’t walk back.”
“Maybe they should sing here too,” Blaze replied, leaning on the fence beside him. “This place could certainly use it.”
“The desert doesn’t care for songs,” Graycloud said without smiling.
They stood in silence as another wagon rolled by.
Marisol came up behind them with a saddlebag slung over her shoulder.
“Food is packed,” she said. “Water too. Not much, but it’ll get us through a few days.”
“Then we leave before the sun is high,” Graycloud replied.
Blaze didn’t move. His eyes stayed on the line of graves stretching to the edge of town.
“What are you thinkin’?” Marisol asked.
He swallowed. “I’m thinking I’m tired of burying people because of Wilder.”
“Then stop burying and start hunting,” Graycloud said.
Blaze looked at him. “That’s what I aim to do.”
They left Red Mesa by noon.
