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Blizzard blows, bringing with it a woman with no past.

He had a hundred questions, but the answers had just jogged off on a big lineback dun.

"Let's go."

His voice was too loud and a little wobbly.

* * *

By the time the sun was directly overhead and burning down fiercely, Seth Bowman was where he had meant to be. He tied the dun in an arroyo where the scant shade of the wall would give the tired horse some relief from the heat. He exchanged his boots and spurs for resilient, silent moccasins. On practiced feet, he went down the arroyo, then up out of it by way of a deep, water-slashed cut in the wall. Then there was nothing but rock, cactus, and mesquite. He went slowly, taking every bit of cover there was.

Nearly an hour later, he was able to step in soundlessly under the shade of a huge ironwood and say, "Don't move."

A bleary-eyed redhead scrambled for a handgun that lay beside him on his blanket. Beyond him, a second and third man sat up out of a sound, hot sleep, eyes big and startled.

"I said don't," Bowman repeated harshly. The man with the wooly red beard and mane was assisted into wakefulness by the sound of Bowman's single-action .44 cocking.

He blinked up at Bowman, owl-like, and said, "Oh. It's you."

Bowman's expression might have been carved out of the ironwood at his back. There was a slight curve to his mouth; no one would have mistaken it for a sign of amusement.

"Judas Priest," one of the younger men said. "You scared me about half to death. What's goin' on, Philo?"

The redhead slowly relaxed but did not take his eyes from Bowman's face.

"Never mind," he said. His voice was like gravel tumbling in a drum. By contrast, Bowman's was like velvet.

"Keep your hands away from your guns," Bowman said softly. "Just listen. Don't talk."

"It doesn't have to be like this," the man called Philo said. "Sit down and have something to drink. You look mighty hot."

Bowman considered them for a moment. The muscles flexed across his chest and down his free arm, as if holding on came with difficulty.

"Just shut up and listen." He saw a slight movement and added, "You tell those little snots that when I said, 'Don't move,' I meant not a muscle."

The redhead tore his eyes away from Bowman's and looked around at his companions. "Stop it," he growled. "He'll kill you where you sit."

Bowman watched until their stillness satisfied him.

"They're about half a day from you. They'll be comin'. So far, you've left tracks most any decent tracker could read. Without me, it'll take 'em a time to pick it up, but they'll do it. Bank on it."

"You said you'd keep them away from us! You gave your word on that!"

The curve in Bowman's mouth deepened. "I give my word on nothin' - except to give you a break. I done that. I'm standin' here givin' you another. That's one extra. I reckon you know why you're gettin' that. I wouldn't push my luck, boy, was I you."

"All right." The tone soothed. "But half a day which direction, Seth? Be fair."

The fury that flared in Bowman's eyes startled them. They heard him hiss and then, in something more than a whisper, he said, "You make these boys understand I mean this with all my heart: I'll kill you some way slow if I catch any of you near me. Or mine."

When Bowman had gone, they blinked at each other. Then, Philo said, "Get up. We're going."

"What do you mean, 'we're going'?" came a whine. "Who was he? You just going to let him get away with that? And what are you talking about, going? It's hot high noon!"

The redhead slowly unfolded his slender body from his bedroll. "Yes, I am going to let him get away with that. And it'll get a whole lot hotter if we don't move now. We have a few hours." He began picking up his blankets. "I'm not going to tell you who he was. You're stupid, but you are my kin, and I wouldn't like to see you go after him. He'd kill you."

One of them gave a snort. "That was just wind. 'Seth,' you called him. I don't recollect nobody with a big reputation, name of Seth."

Philo paused and looked thoughtfully in the direction Bowman had taken.

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