By noon, the canyon had become an oven.
Heat shimmered above the red earth in silver waves, bending the horizon until the distant mesas seemed to float over the valley like ships upon a burning sea. No cloud moved across the enormous western sky. Even the hawks had abandoned the open air, choosing whatever scraps of shadow they could find beneath the stone ledges.
Elias Mercer sat straight in the saddle despite the sweat crawling beneath his shirt.
His horse, a rangy chestnut gelding named Bishop, breathed heavily beneath him.
Ahead sprawled the encampment.
Dozens of painted tipis stood along the shallow bend of a river that had shrunk to a ribbon beneath the summer sun. Horses grazed beyond the cottonwoods. Children watched from the shade. Old men sat silently beneath stretched hides. Women stopped grinding corn or carrying water as Elias rode into the heart of the settlement.
Every face turned toward him.
He had known they would stare.
He had not expected twenty-two women to be waiting in formation.
They stood shoulder to shoulder beneath the glaring sun, each dressed in soft buckskin decorated with beadwork, shells, strips of dyed leather, or small pieces of polished metal that flashed when the wind moved them.
Twenty-two.
Elias counted twice because the situation was too absurd to trust the first number.
He dismounted slowly.
His boots struck the earth.
No one spoke.
At the front of the gathering stood an older woman with silver braided into her dark hair. Her back was straight despite her years, and an eagle-bone necklace rested against her chest. Elias had been told her name was Nita Gray Elk and that arguing with her was something even warriors approached carefully.
She raised one hand.
“Elias Mercer.”
Her English was precise.
Elias removed his hat.
“Ma’am.”
A few younger men exchanged glances, apparently entertained by the word.
Nita ignored them.
“You crossed the Red Knife boundary three days ago.”
“By invitation.”
“You entered our council lodge.”
“Also by invitation.”
“You ate at our fires.”
“I was hungry.”
This time several people smiled.
Nita did not.
“And you asked for passage through the western canyon.”
Elias glanced toward the towering wall of sandstone behind the settlement.
“Yes.”
The western canyon was the only route through the mountains that would allow Elias to reach Fort Brennan before the end of the week.
And reaching Fort Brennan mattered.
A leather satchel rested beneath his saddle blanket.
Inside it were survey maps, signed statements, shipping records, and three letters that might be enough to prevent thousands of acres from being stolen.
If he failed to deliver them, men with money, soldiers, lawyers, and railroad interests would soon descend upon the valley.
Most of the people watching him did not know that.
Not yet.
Nita stepped aside.
Her arm extended toward the waiting women.
“Twenty-two women,” she said.
Elias frowned.
“Beg pardon?”
“Choose one.”
Silence settled over the encampment.
Elias stared at her.
Nita continued.
“She may ride beside you as your wife.”
For several heartbeats, Elias assumed he had misunderstood.
Then he looked at the women.
Some appeared solemn.
One seemed irritated.
Another was suppressing a smile.
A young woman near the far end rolled her eyes as if she had somewhere better to be.
Elias turned back toward Nita.
“You’re serious.”
“I rarely waste breath on jokes.”
His jaw tightened.
“Then I’m afraid you’ve wasted twenty-two women’s time.”
A murmur moved through the gathering.
Nita’s eyes narrowed.
“You asked us for the protection of our western trail.”
“I asked permission to cross it.”
“No outsider crosses alone.”
“Then give me a guide.”
“We are offering you more than a guide.”
Elias took one step backward.
His disbelief hardened into anger.
He swept a hand toward the women.
“You expect me to choose a wife like I’m picking a horse from a corral?”
The murmuring died instantly.
Several men stiffened.
Elias knew he had spoken dangerously.
He did not care.
His gaze moved along the line of women.
“They have names,” he said. “Families. Minds of their own. I won’t point at one because somebody tells me she belongs in my saddle.”
Nita’s expression changed.
Not anger.
Something more complicated.
Assessment.
Elias continued.
“If refusing passage is the price, then I’ll ride around the mountains.”
“You will lose four days.”
“That’s my problem.”
“It may become ours.”
Before Elias could answer, movement erupted from the line.
One of the women stepped forward.
Not cautiously.
She came through the dust like a storm.
She was perhaps twenty-six, maybe twenty-eight, though something in her eyes made guessing her age feel foolish. Her dark hair hung in two long braids bound with narrow red leather. A faded blue cloth had been tied around one wrist. A knife rested at her waist, though her hand remained nowhere near it.
She stopped inches from Elias.
He was taller.
It did not feel that way.
Her eyes were dark, furious, and entirely unimpressed.
“You talk too much,” she said.
Her English was better than his manners.
Elias raised an eyebrow.
“That’s been mentioned.”
She pointed toward the line behind her.
“You think you understand what happened here?”
“I understand I was told to select a human being.”
“No.”
Her voice sharpened.
“You were told to choose the woman you would be willing to die beside.”
The canyon went silent.
Then she stepped closer.
“And then,” she said, “she decides whether you are a man worth following.”
Elias stared at her.
Behind them, someone coughed.
The young woman did not blink.
The balance of power shifted so completely that Elias almost laughed.
Almost.
Instead he looked at Nita.
The older woman’s mouth had curled into the faintest smile.
“You might have explained that part.”
Nita shrugged.
“I wanted to see what kind of man you were before explaining anything.”
Elias put his hat back on.
“And?”
The young woman before him answered.
“Undecided.”
A few people laughed openly now.
Elias looked down at her.
“What’s your name?”
“Mara.”
“Mara what?”
“Mara is enough until I decide otherwise.”
He nodded.
“Fair.”
She folded her arms.
“Well?”
“Well what?”
“Choose.”
Elias looked past her at the twenty-one women still standing.
Then back at Mara.
“You already stepped out.”
“I stepped out because you insulted us.”
“You’re the only one who threatened me with a lecture.”
“I can threaten you with other things.”
“I believe you.”
The corner of her mouth moved.
Barely.
Elias pointed toward her.
“Her.”
The settlement went quiet again.
Mara’s amusement vanished.
Nita turned to her.
“He chooses Mara.”
Mara stared at Elias for an uncomfortable amount of time.
Then she walked around him.
She examined his boots.
His revolver.
His worn coat.
The repaired saddle.
Bishop.
Finally she stopped in front of him again.
“No.”
Elias blinked.
“No?”
“No.”
Someone behind them burst into laughter.
Elias turned slowly toward Nita.
The older woman looked positively delighted.
“You told me to choose.”
“You chose.”
“You neglected to mention she could immediately reject me.”
“I did mention it.”
“After making me look like an idiot.”
“That was not difficult.”
The entire camp erupted.
Even Elias laughed this time.
Mara did not.
She was studying him.
After the laughter faded, she said, “Ask me properly.”
Elias sighed.
“Mara, will you ride with me through the western canyon?”
“No.”
He rubbed his forehead.
“Mara.”
“Ask why.”
“Why?”
“Because you still think you need a guide.”
“And I don’t?”
“No.”
She looked toward the western mountains.
“You need someone who knows why men are waiting there to kill you.”
The laughter disappeared.
Elias stopped breathing.
Mara turned back.
For the first time, there was no challenge in her expression.
Only warning.
“Now,” she said quietly, “ask me again.”
