Chapter 5 - The Apache’s Ledger
The stranger stepped further into the moonlight, his dark eyes shifting from Cole’s steady gaze to the bulging leather satchel strapped across Cole's chest. A cold, sardonic smile touched the corners of the man's mouth.
"Everyone in the territory is running from someone these days," the stranger said. He turned his head slightly toward the trail behind them. "Marcus Vance’s dogs are howling down in the basin. They found your burnt office an hour ago. By sunrise, half a hundred armed riders will be combing these canyons."
"Then we don't have much time to talk," Cole said, keeping his voice calm. "My name is Cole. This is Tomas. We have the financial records from the Territorial Livestock Association—the ones proving who paid the bounty hunters to raid the camps along the Rio Salado last November."
The stranger’s expression hardened instantly. The casual posture vanished, replaced by an intense, piercing scrutiny. He stepped closer, the muzzle of his carbine shifting just an inch.
"You think a few white man's paper bills will buy your way through our territory?" the man asked, his voice dropping into a dangerous whisper. "Your kind brought the fire to our lodges. Now that it’s burning your own houses, you come looking for shelter."
"I'm not looking for shelter," Cole said, stepping his horse forward to close the distance, showing no fear. He reached slowly into the satchel and pulled out a single folded sheet bearing the official seal and signatures. "I'm looking for justice. Vance signed the authorization for the irregular militia, and he used your people as the excuse to bring in federal troops and confiscate the valley water rights. If you help us reach the high pass, I'll give you every name, every bank draft, and every signature in this bag."
The stranger stared at the document in Cole's hand for a long, tense moment. The wind sighed through the canyon pines, the only sound breaking the heavy silence of the night.
Finally, the man reached out, his dark, calloused fingers taking the paper from Cole's grip. He scanned the lines in the pale moonlight, his jaw tightening with every word.
"My name is Tall Hawk," the man said softly, folding the paper and tucking it into his belt. "My uncle was killed in that raid you mentioned. The soldiers called it a battle. We called it murder."
He turned his horse around, gesturing sharply for Cole and Tomas to follow up the narrow, hidden switchback leading deeper into the canyon.
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"Follow me closely," Tall Hawk said over his shoulder. "If Vance’s men catch us on this ridge, neither of our scalps will be worth the ink on that paper. But if we reach the high camp before dawn... we can start writing a very different ending to this story."
Cole spurred his gelding forward, the leather satchel bouncing against his chest as they vanished into the black shadows of the mountain pass, leaving the fire and the hunters far below.
