Chapter 16
Dawn broke slowly over the desert. The air still carried the bite of night. Inside, the fire had burned down to embers. Blaze woke to the soft scrape of Graycloud stirring the coals and the clink of Marisol’s rifle being checked again.
They didn’t speak much. None of them had slept well. The floor had been cold and uneven, and Blaze’s dreams had been worse: fragments of gunfire, smoke, and the echo of his mare’s dying cry.
He sat up, brushing grit from his hair, and pulled his coat tighter around him.
“Sun’s up,” he said.
Graycloud nodded. “Eat first.”
They gathered near the fire, each moving like clockwork. Marisol opened one of their tins of beans with her knife and set it by the coals to warm. The metallic smell mixed with the faint tang of ash.
Blaze passed around tin plates. The beans were lukewarm and gritty with sand, but no one complained. Marisol stared out the door as she ate, her eyes fixed on the horizon.
He felt the tension rolling off her like heat from a forge. He wanted to say something to fill the silence and smooth over the edge left from the night before. But the words wouldn’t come.
Graycloud was the only one who seemed at ease, his movements slow and deliberate.
“We’ll ride soon,” he said between bites. “Red Mesa’s a two-day ride, maybe less if we keep the pace consistent.”
“Any chance more of Wilder’s men have gone through after the shootout?” Blaze asked.
“If they have, they’ll leave a trail,” Graycloud said. “Men like that don’t pass quietly.”
Marisol rose, slinging her Hawken Plains rifle over her shoulder. “Then we move.”
She kicked dirt over the fire and walked out into the pale light without another word.
Blaze finished what was left on his plate and followed. Graycloud came after him, leading the horses from behind the shack. His Appaloosa mare and Marisol’s white stallion still bore the scars of their last fight.
They rode in silence for a long while. Blaze sat behind Graycloud, the rhythm of the horse’s stride rocking through him. The wind smelled of dust and sage.
Marisol rode ahead, her braid whipping against her back. Blaze could tell she was trying to keep her distance—not just from him, but from the memory of what they’d all survived.
As always, Graycloud said little. Blaze could feel the strength in him, the steadiness of a man who didn’t need to speak to command respect.
Still, Blaze’s thoughts wouldn’t quiet. Every jolt of the horse beneath him brought him back to the day before. He could still smell the blood and dust in his nostrils.
He clenched his jaw. He told himself he wouldn’t freeze like that again.
Then, somewhere between the ridge and the flat, he saw it.
A flicker. It was movement against the glare of the sand. It was small, far out, but wrong. Not the wind. Not a coyote.
“Graycloud,” Blaze said sharply.
The tracker turned his head slightly, reins tightening. “What is it?”
“There,” Blaze pointed ahead, just past a patch of scrub and dry grass. “By that dead tree.”
The Indian slowed the horse, scanning the stretch of ground. His hand drifted toward the rifle strapped to the saddle.
Blaze’s pulse quickened. He leaned forward, eyes narrowing.
“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.
“Bet you belonged to one of Wilder’s men, huh?” he asked. “Don’t matter now. You’re free of them. Just like I am.”
The horse took a half-step forward, nostrils flaring at the scent of food. Blaze’s hand trembled slightly, but he held it steady.
“That’s it,” he whispered. “Easy, boy.”
The horse’s muzzle brushed his palm—warm breath, rough whiskers. Then, in one quick movement, it took the biscuit.
Blaze froze, then smiled faintly. “See? Not so bad.”
The horse lifted its head again, still uncertain but less wild now. Blaze dared to reach out until his fingers brushed the side of its neck. The skin twitched, but it didn’t pull away.
He kept talking. It was soft nonsense, words that didn’t matter except for their calm sound.
“You’re alright,” he continued. “No one’s gonna shoot. No one’s gonna burn you out again.”
Behind him, Marisol lowered her rifle. He could feel her watching, curiosity breaking through her usual steel. Graycloud stepped closer too, his shadow long in the morning light.
“He remembers your smell,” Graycloud said quietly. “You were close when he fled.”
“Maybe he saw Nancy go down,” Blaze murmured, fingers moving slowly along the horse’s mane. It was tangled, full of burrs and sand. “Maybe he remembers the sound.”
The horse’s breath slowed. Its head dropped an inch.
Blaze moved around to its flank, studying the scratch on the hind leg. The wound was shallow. He crouched to get a better look, careful not to startle the animal.
“Looks worse than it is,” he said. “Bullet just grazed him.”
Marisol approached, her boots crunching softly. “You plan on doctoring him too?”
“Someone’s gotta,” Blaze said.
“And then what?” she asked, arching an eyebrow. “We’ve got two horses already. You think we need another mouth to feed?”
The Indian answered before Blaze could. “A wounded horse that runs still has worth.”
Blaze smiled a little, grateful for the ally. He tore a strip from the edge of his shirt and dipped it in his canteen. The water was warm, but it would do.
The horse tensed when the cloth touched the wound, but Blaze soothed him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Easy, Shadow,” he said instinctively.
Marisol tilted her head. “Shadow?”
“That’s his name,” Blaze said without thinking.
The black Morgan flicked an ear as if answering.
“Shadow,” Marisol repeated. “You sure he belongs to you already?”
Blaze looked at her, then back at the animal. “He does now.”
“The spirits favor names given in truth,” Graycloud said.
“If the spirits want to carry your pack next time, I won’t stop them,” Marisol said, rolling her eyes playfully.
Blaze ignored her teasing. He ran his fingers through the horse’s mane again, untangling knots. The animal leaned into the touch.
Something eased in Blaze’s chest too—a small knot of tension he hadn’t realized he’d been carrying since Nancy’s death. He hadn’t thought he’d ever want to ride again, not after seeing her fall.
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.