The daughter touched the frontiersman's arm and pointed.
A saddle near the fire carried a brand.
The frontiersman recognized it.
A hooked letter inside a circle.
His stomach tightened.
He knew that brand.
The daughter saw the change in his face.
“What?”
He whispered, “Those men work for a cattle outfit south of the Verde.”
“You know them?”
“Not those three.”
“But the brand?”
“Yes.”
“Whose?”
The frontiersman did not answer.
Below them one of the trappers spoke.
“Boss wants the next one closer to camp.”
Another laughed.
“What if it catches a woman?”
“Better.”
The daughter's fingers tightened around her rifle.
The frontiersman caught the barrel before she could raise it.
She glared at him.
He shook his head.
“Three men.”
“We are four.”
“They may have others.”
“We have enough.”
“Not if we're dead.”
Below, another man said, “Army patrol comes through in two weeks. By then, we need them angry enough to start shooting.”
The frontiersman and the daughter exchanged a look.
The meaning was obvious.
The traps were not merely cruelty.
They were bait.
Someone wanted violence.
Someone wanted the Apache camp to retaliate.
And someone expected the Army to arrive afterward.
The daughter whispered, “Why?”
The frontiersman stared at the branded saddle.
He knew the cattle outfit.
He knew the owner.
And suddenly he understood.
“Land.”
She looked at him.
“What?”
“The valley south of your camp.”
“What about it?”
“A freight road is being surveyed through there.”
Her expression changed.
“Who owns this cattle outfit?”
The frontiersman was silent.
She grabbed his coat.
“Who?”
He looked at her.
“A man I used to work for.”
Her hand slowly released him.
Below them, one of the trappers stood.
The frontiersman immediately pulled the daughter lower.
The trapper looked toward the ridge.
Silence.
Then he turned away.
The frontiersman whispered, “We leave.”
The daughter shook her head.
“We take them.”
“No.”
“They are hurting my people.”
“And somebody is paying them. Those three are proof.”
“They are murderers.”
“Then we need them alive.”
She stared at him.
There was fury in her face.
But she understood.
They withdrew.
Half a mile from the canyon, she stopped.
“You worked for the man doing this.”
“Years ago.”
“As what?”
The frontiersman looked toward the mountains.
“Scout.”
The daughter became completely still.
“For cattle?”
“Sometimes.”
“For soldiers?”
He did not answer.
The silence answered for him.
Her voice lowered.
“Where?”
He knew what she was asking.
He could have lied.
He had lied to himself long enough.
“Tonto Basin.”
She stepped back.
Everything about her changed.
She looked at him as though the snow itself had opened beneath her feet.