The ranch owner's face changed slightly.
“Lies.”
The marshal nodded toward the frontiersman.
“Then maybe you'd explain the traps.”
The ranch owner saw him.
Recognition appeared instantly.
For a fraction of a second, fear followed.
Then it vanished beneath anger.
“You.”
The frontiersman said nothing.
The ranch owner turned to the lieutenant.
“That man is a deserter and murderer.”
The lieutenant frowned.
The frontiersman answered calmly.
“I was never enlisted.”
“You were at Tonto Basin.”
“Yes.”
A murmur moved through the soldiers.
The daughter watched him carefully.
The ranch owner smiled.
“Ask him what happened there.”
The frontiersman stepped forward.
“I'll tell you.”
The smile disappeared.
The frontiersman looked at the lieutenant.
“I guided the militia through the southern pass. The ranch owner rode with the captain.”
The ranch owner shouted, “He's lying.”
The stranger continued.
“He supplied ammunition.”
“That is enough!”
“He told the captain that any Apache found in the basin should be treated as hostile.”
The lieutenant looked toward the ranch owner.
The frontiersman felt his heart pounding.
Three years of silence stood before him like a wall.
He pushed through it.
“When we reached the settlement, there were women and children there.”
The ranch owner's face drained of color.
“I told the captain.”
The soldiers listened.
“I did not fire.”
The stranger swallowed.
“But I guided them there, and when the killing started, I failed to stop it.”
Nobody moved.
The frontiersman looked toward the chief.
Then the daughter.
“I have carried that as if carrying it were punishment enough.”
His voice cracked.
“It wasn't.”
He looked again at the lieutenant.
“I will make a sworn statement.”
The ranch owner reached for his pistol.
The daughter saw it first.
“Gun!”
The frontiersman turned.
The ranch owner's revolver cleared leather.
A shot exploded.
The frontiersman felt the bullet pass his sleeve.
Then the daughter fired.
Her bullet struck the ranch owner's hand.
The revolver fell into the snow.
Soldiers rushed forward.
The cattleman screamed.
The lieutenant stared.
The daughter lowered her rifle.
She looked at the frontiersman's torn sleeve.
“You are alive.”
He examined the hole.
“Mostly.”
“You should thank me.”
“I thought we weren't keeping debts.”
She almost smiled.
The ranch owner was restrained.
But the frontiersman knew it was not over.
The rancher's hired men remained free.
So did the former sergeant.
And frightened men with everything to lose often became more dangerous than confident men.
That proved true before sunset.
A rider arrived from the mining settlement.
Breathless.
Bleeding.
The former marshal caught him as he dismounted.
“What happened?”
The rider looked toward the frontiersman.
“The sergeant took the records.”