An office on the east side.
A locked desk.
“You think he keeps records.”
“I know he does.”
“How?”
The former marshal looked at him.
“Because ten years ago I arrested his brother.”
The daughter almost smiled.
The frontiersman sighed.
“So we go back.”
The former marshal shook his head.
“You don't.”
“Why?”
“Because they'll know your face.”
He looked at the daughter.
“Hers too.”
Then he walked to a cabinet.
He removed an old badge.
The metal was dull.
“I go.”
The frontiersman stared.
“You said you're retired.”
“I also said rich criminals write things down.”
He pinned the badge inside his coat.
“I'm curious.”
The daughter looked at the badge.
“Do you still have authority?”
The former marshal shrugged.
“Depends who asks.”
The frontiersman smiled despite himself.
“What do we do?”
“Go warn the camp.”
“And the patrol?”
“I'll handle the patrol.”
“How?”
The old man put on his hat.
“By reminding a young lieutenant that his career will be short if he starts a private war for a cattle thief.”
The frontiersman held out his hand.
The former marshal shook it.
Then his expression changed.
“There is something else.”
“What?”
“You said the ranch owner's man was the sergeant.”
The frontiersman nodded.
The former marshal's eyes hardened.
“He's been asking about you.”
The room became quiet.
“Why?”
“Because apparently someone from Tonto Basin has started telling people the massacre wasn't what the official report claimed.”
The frontiersman's stomach tightened.
“Who?”
The former marshal looked toward the daughter.
“A woman.”
The daughter went still.
“Apache?”
“Yes.”
“My aunt?”
“Maybe.”
The older man continued.
“She gave a statement to a missionary near Camp Verde. Said a white guide showed civilians an escape route. Said the guide argued with the militia captain before the shooting.”
The frontiersman stared at the floor.
The marshal continued.
“The ranch owner knows that if investigators reopen the old incident, his name comes up.”
The daughter looked at the frontiersman.
“So this is also about you.”
He shook his head.
“No.”
“Yes.”
“The traps started before I arrived.”
“But the men who placed them work for someone who remembers you.”
The former marshal nodded.
“She may be right.”
The frontiersman's expression tightened.
“For three years I thought I was running from the past.”
The daughter looked at him.
“Perhaps it has been following you.”
Chapter Eight — The Chief's Daughter
They returned to the mountain camp to find the chief's son awake.
His fever had broken.
He still could not stand, but when he saw the frontiersman, he raised both arms dramatically.
“My husband.”
The frontiersman stopped walking.
The daughter closed her eyes.