The seven Apache warriors remained. They were a constant, ominous presence on the fringes of Kora's world. They no longer approached the hut, respecting the boundary she had established. Their discipline was absolute. They hunted in the hills beyond her valley, returning with deer or peccary, and the silent work of skinning and butchering was a methodical, distant ritual.
They spoke little, their voices a low murmur that rarely reached her. They were waiting, but she didn't know what. They were waiting for her to finish her food, for her to lose courage, for her to simply give in to the psychological burden of their presence.
Her supplies were running low, especially flour and salt. It was a journey she had postponed, but now it had become necessary. The mere thought of leaving her farm unattended, even for a day, sent shivers down her spine.
But staying put wasn't an option. She had to go to Redemption Gulch and maybe, just maybe, she could find help.
The thought seemed foolish, even as it formed in her mind. Who in the Gorge of Atonement would aid her against seven Churikawa warriors?
On the fourth day, he rose before dawn, expertly saddling his strongest mule, Jezebel. He packed two empty sacks of flowers and a small list, imprinted in his memory. As soon as the first pale light of dawn illuminated the mountaintops, he opened the door and emerged, clutching a rifle.
The Apache camp was already awake. Gochimin stood by the small fire, a steaming cup in his hand. He watched her, his expression unreadable in the dim light. He made no move to stop her as she led Jezebel toward the path that wound out of the valley.
As she passed their camp, keeping her distance, she felt the eyes of all seven men fixed on her. It was like walking through a corridor of silent judgment.
The trip to Redemption Gulch took half a day.
The town was nothing more than a single dusty street lined with a dozen sun-bleached wooden buildings, a general store, a saloon, a blacksmith, a nonfiction office, and the sheriff's office with a small jail attached.
It was a place populated by hardened gold miners, weary ranchers, and women whose eyes reflected the same resilience Kora saw in her own reflection. She was a familiar, if not understood, figure in this place, the Abernathy girl. They called her the hermit, who lived near the old dragon pass.
He tied Jezebel to the post outside Henderson's store, and the bell above the door announced his arrival with a cheerful tinkle that jarred with his mood. The store was cool and dark, and smelled of coffee beans, leather, and dried apples.
Florence Henderson, a stout woman with a kind face and sharp, curious eyes, looked up from behind the counter.
"Cora, my child, it's been a while," he said warmly. "You seem to be in great shape. Everything is fine with you."
Cora nodded, not trusting her own voice. "I just need some flour, salt, coffee, and cartridges. 4570 for the rifle."
As Florence gathered her items, a man who had been lingering near the barrels of pickles and crackers turned to her. It was Sterling Croft, a man who was rapidly buying up land throughout the county. He was charming in a shrewd, predatory way, with a well-trimmed mustache and clothes too elegant for a dusty town like Redemption Gulch.
He owned the large ranch that bordered Kora's property to the north.
"Miss Abanathy," Croft said, doffing his hat. His smile didn't reach his cold, calculating eyes. "It's a pleasure to see you in town. I hope your spring still flows clear."
“It is,” Kora said sharply.
Croft had made her several offers to buy her land, which she had flatly refused. He wanted water and wasn't used to being told no.
"Good, good," he said, stroking his mustache. "A precious resource like this. A young woman all alone. You must be careful. These are dangerous times. I hear the Apaches are restless."
The opportunity was there. Kora hesitated, torn between her innate self-confidence and the desperate need to talk to someone. The pressure had been building for days, and it suddenly exploded.
"I have a problem, Mr. Croft. There are seven of them. Apaches have camped on my property."
