Back before he left Virginia, he would deliberately take several days away from his land to be alone in the Blue Ridge Mountains. The first couple times, his wife hadn’t understood why he wanted to leave her; but as time wore on she began to see how much those days by himself in the wild restored him.

  He missed her. And if she had lived through the war and had come west with him, she’d be scolding him something fierce for his negligence on this trail. The difference, of course, was that Jacob could always find water in the Blue Ridge Mountains. Water was everywhere in Virginia. He hadn’t thought he would miss it as much as he did at this moment.

  Jacob was startled out of his reminiscing by a heavy thudding sound high above him. He looked up swiftly, trying to identify the sound, just in time to see a piece of the canyon wall crumble. A cloud of dirt puffed out where something—a bird? a stone?—hit the jutting-out corner of canyon wall and broke it off. Jacob watched, fascinated, before he grasped what was happening.

  As high above him as it was, Jacob hadn’t realized just how large the rocky slice of canyon wall was until it was plummeting toward him. Jacob dove to the ground, but it was too little too late. The huge stone crashed into him, jutting hard into his shoulder and ripping his pack from his back, before rolling farther down the canyon.

  He groaned into the dirt. That would be another bruise, maybe worse. This hunt was proving to be more physically demanding than he had expected. It would be worth it when he brought in Jed Corker, though.

  Jacob rolled onto his back, preparing to get to his feet again, when a panicked thought flashed through his head.

  He had rolled onto his back.

  He shouldn’t be able to roll onto his back.

  He should have a canteen strapped there.

  He sat up, fully panicked, looking around, and saw his canteen six feet away, where the stone had ripped it from his back, the cap fallen off and the last drops of his water supply dripping into the dirt.

  “No!” he exclaimed, scrambling on his knees to the canteen. He caught up the leather bag and was immediately dismayed. There was no weight, no tell-tale sloshing.

  The last of his water was gone.

  He punched his fist into the dirt in frustration; the pain shot through his already injured arm.

  No more water.

  He was completely out of water, with who knew how many days of travel in the sun ahead of him, if he couldn’t catch Corker soon. This canyon showed signs of foliage, so maybe there was a chance he’d find water. But only a chance. This was the desert, after all.

  Now Jacob’s best hope was to find Corker and pray the other man still had a supply of water to maintain the both of them.

  He pulled himself to his feet and took a deep breath.

  If anyone could do this, it was Jacob Payne, bounty hunter.

  He began his hike again, deeper into the canyon. The path narrowed ahead, turning slightly to the right. Jacob closed the final steps to meet the unknown around the corner.

  Chapter Eight

  Just before he rounded the corner, another familiar scent arrested Jacob’s progress. He paused and sniffed again.

  For a bounty hunter on the trail in the west, the stench was as common as coffee, and in this case just as welcome. He breathed it in: manure. There was a horse nearby. A horse that would carry him outta here once he’d completed his mission. Like as not, it was Corker’s horse, which meant the outlaw himself would also be close.

  Jacob crept up around the bend, his back to the wall of the canyon, his hand ready on his revolver to draw if need be. As he peeked around the rock, he spotted the source of the stench.

  A dapple gray horse stood near the right wall of the canyon, its reins tied off on the overhanging branch of a mesquite tree. Jacob waited and watched for at least a minute, to be sure, but the horse seemed more or less content. And alone. Its owner was nowhere in sight.

  Jacob crept up to the horse, slowly, in case Corker was watching from some unseen location.

  “Whoa there, buddy,” Jacob said under his breath, one hand outstretched to touch the horse. “You all alone? You okay?” The palm of his hand flat against the horse’s neck, Jacob soothed the animal, which had been spooked by his approach.

  He looked around, certain he’d find another clue as to the outlaw’s whereabouts.

  Just a few yards past where the horse stood, the ravine narrowed farther, and huge boulders filled the width of the canyon. The first stood as high as Jacob’s chest, and offered no clear path over or around. Jacob could barely picture a man climbing up through the canyon over those rocks, let alone a horse.

  When he turned back to Corker’s ride, he noticed another reason that the animal had been abandoned here. The tiniest trickle of water dripped down from the crack in the wall of the canyon. There was enough output from this spring to puddle down near Jacob’s feet, and he recognized the heel of a boot in the mud leading away, farther up the canyon toward the boulders.

  Another clue that Corker had been here.

  Jacob grinned to himself. He was closing in. He made a quick plan: He would add some water to his canteen and then continue his hunt. He could leave the horse waiting for when he brought Corker back through the canyon. It wouldn’t be long before he found the outlaw’s camp. He couldn’t go far without his horse, nor could he go away from the only source of water for miles.

  After visually searching the canyon again, Jacob reluctantly returned his Bowie knife to the sheathe in his boot and used both hands to maneuver the canteen into place. His left hand was needed to support his weakened right arm.

  Once he helped himself to the first few gulps of water, Jacob settled in to fill the canteen for the rest of his hunt. In only a few short minutes, though, he realized he had to change his plan. With such a small output, it would take far too long for Jacob to fill his gallon leather canteen. He elected to fill it halfway now, then again on his way out of the canyon once he had captured Corker. He’d be stopping to claim the horse, and could spend the night in this spot.

  He paused for a moment, letting the fresh water course through his system. Even just this small amount was helping. His lightheadedness was clearing and he was feeling more stable on his feet. He could keep moving toward the outlaw.

  Once his new water supply was stored away and again strapped over his shoulder, Jacob took a deep breath and assessed the rocks in front of him. This must be where Corker continued up into the canyon, scrambling over boulders, or maybe even squeezing into hiding places between them like the snake he was.

  With as much gear as he could carry strapped to his back, Jacob had a slight struggle to climb on top of the first boulder. He almost lost his hat when he had to bend so far forward to get a solid grip on the rock. His right arm around the snakebite twinged, but he didn’t let that stop him.

  The sole of his boot skidded only once on the smooth surface of stone. When Jacob reached the top of the first boulder, he stood upright and surveyed the path before him. Ahead were more boulders to climb over, but there seemed to be another stretch of clear ground in about ten yards. If he could keep his feet under him, he’d be up the canyon in just a couple minutes.

  He felt something cool fall on his hand and immediately looked up for a bird or plant on the cliff above. No movement caught his eye. There was no signal as to what had dropped on him, until Jacob noticed the blue sky above was gone. He had gotten used to the lack of sun, being deep in the canyon for so long, but when he looked up he realized that a thick gray cloud covered the sky at the top of the ravine.

  The storm he had been warned about had arrived. Raindrops fell slowly at first, peppering his sleeves with wet spots here and there.

  Jacob laughed out loud, his chuckle echoing against the walls.

  Water. It was water. For as many days as he had been looking for water, for as careful as he had been to not run out of it early and not put himself in danger, now it was raining.

  And right after he had found a spring.

  Rain in the desert.

  Jacob lifted his face to the sky. Cool drops of water the size of silver dollars dropped gently on his face. He closed his eyes and opened his mouth, letting the water fall over him. He leaned so far back, his hat fell completely off this time. He caught it but let the cool rain stream down over his head and his hair and down to his collar.

  The rain started to fall heavily.

  Then, Jacob heard the bone-shaking crack of thunder.

  Chapter Nine

  Thunder rolled through the canyon. Jacob felt it in his bones. Lightning flashed, another crack of thunder following only two seconds later. The storm had closed in on him before he’d realized it was coming. How had he missed it? Wind whipped around him, racing though the canyon. He slammed his hand to his head, holding his hat in place. Being this deep in the canyon, surrounded by stone walls on all sides, Jacob hadn’t even noticed the drop in temperature or the increased humidity.

  All thought of capturing Corker was forgotten while Jacob prioritized what he needed to do to prepare for the coming downpour. He holstered his revolver, protecting it from the wet as much as he could.

  Lightning flashed again, the thunder rumble immediately following. This storm—monsoon, they called it here—was right on top of him. He had no chance to find shelter and would have to ride out the rain as best he could.

  The boulder under his feet was beginning to get slick with water. The sole of his boot slipped again and Jacob stumbled a little to keep his balance. Where could he move? If he climbed down again, he’d be stuck in the mud as more rain fell. But could he climb up to the next higher boulder with all the slickness? Should he even attempt it?

  The rain came faster now, thicker, obscuring his sight. Jacob used the back of his hand to wipe the water from his eyes, blinking rapidly. The brim of his hat couldn’t stop the sheet of water falling from the sky. The rope coiled around his shoulder began to feel heavier as it soaked through.

  His foot glided over the surface of the boulder, and this time he wasn’t able to regain his balance under the weight and strength of the relentless rain. The boot slid forward and out from under him, and as Jacob fell his lower back smashed against the boulder he had just been standing on.

  “Argh!” he cried, the pain surprising him. Jacob arched his back, landing hard on the pack of supplies and just keeping his head from also cracking on the rock. As he tumbled, he felt the muscle on his back bruise almost immediately. He crumpled to the now-muddy ground at the foot of the boulder, water rising around him.

  In what had been the simple pursuit of an outlaw, Jacob had been battered from all sides and now ached all over. The water rushed down over the boulders, pouring over him where he lay on the ground. While his hat kept the water off his face for the moment, every other inch of Jacob was soaked. The ground beneath him softened into mud quickly, his weight sinking deeper every second. He braced himself against the side of the boulder, struggling to pull himself to standing under the sheer strength of the water now pouring onto him from the flow over the rocks.

  He had never seen a flash flood. The mellow hills of Virginia spread out any influx of rain, the many rivers and creeks quickly draining into the Atlantic Ocean. Even the strongest storms weren’t enough to fill a Virginian valley this quickly. But the focused narrowness of this canyon, the hard rock that denied any absorption, directed the full downpour straight toward Jacob.

  Somewhere farther upstream, Jed Corker must have been barely hanging on himself.

  Jacob couldn’t keep his feet under him in this current. He couldn’t afford to lose any ground or time. He needed to anchor himself and find a way to hold his own so he could cross this flood and get farther up the canyon to nab his target.

  He looked up the canyon, blinking into the sheet of water, past the boulder he had just fallen from, and spied the nearly petrified stump of a tree. It was at least twenty feet up the canyon, across the quickly forming river rushing down toward him. That was it. His anchor. A tree that size should have deep, strong roots, and if Jacob could get a solid grip, he could wait out the storm holding tight to that.

  He pulled his hat down farther on his head, tight, praying it wouldn’t blow off while his hands were otherwise busy. The rope was soaked through, its weight digging into his shoulder. He hadn’t yet had much practice tying slip knots and lassoing, but he would have to make it work.

  The first knot fell apart completely. Jacob’s fingers must have slipped in the rain; he hadn’t made the loops correctly, or he didn’t pull the rope tight enough. He wasn’t sure where he went wrong, so he shook it apart and started over. He bent forward a little more to keep the rain out of his face, but the water pouring off the brim of his hat formed a veritable curtain around him.

  “Drat,” he muttered under his breath, and started again.

  He tied the loose knot, pulled the end through, paused to shake more rain out of his face, tightened it, and finished up his lasso.

  He took a deep breath and looked for the tree again, almost falling under the pour of rain. The thick clouds rolling in had completely obscured the sun, and the heavy shadows made it difficult to see too far in front of him.

  Jacob could almost laugh. All them Tucson locals had been right to warn him.

  A flash of lightning brightened the ravine for a split second and Jacob spied his target. Swinging the rope above his head, Jacob winced at the pain in his arm. He needed to put more effort and power behind it to counter the downpour.

  His first throw was short, so he hurried to pull the rope back toward him.

  He tried again, fighting through the pain and the rain to swing the rope above his head and propel it toward the tree. He held his breath for the two seconds before the loop landed over the top of the stump.

  Jacob grasped the rope with both hands and pulled hard. The rope tightened around the stump.

  He had his anchor. Now he just had to pull himself to it.

  Jacob could barely hang on to the rope in this torrent. The coarse, wet fiber cut into his hands. How would he keep moving up the canyon? The longer he struggled, the longer Corker had to get away.

  Chapter Ten

  No sooner had Jacob secured his rope around the tree stump than lightning flashed, thunder rolled, and the storm intensified yet again. The current of water filling the canyon continued to rise at an alarming rate.

  This was the flash flood he had been warned about.

  Just as he took his first step back up onto the wet boulder, he lost his footing. Holding on to the rope, he found himself being swung this way and that in the flow, his body slamming into the boulder. After a few hard crashes against the rock, Jacob got his body pointing the right direction and, both hands on the rope, planted the soles of his boots against the side of the boulder.

  Hand over hand, Jacob clung tightly to his rope, step by step up the side of the boulder. The water, combined with the thread of the rope, began wearing down the skin of his hands. His palms burned, and as the water below him pulled his body in every direction, the tugging and rubbing on his hands wore through. He couldn’t tell if water or blood was dripping down his wrist, or both. But still he held on.

  With the help of the rope, Jacob climbed back up the boulder. His boots slipped over and over again, unable to get purchase under the rushing water, but he managed to pull himself up.

  Strength. Willpower. Adrenaline.

  He needed to keep moving, to keep pursuing his target. His right forearm still ached, but still he held on.

  Once he reached the top of the boulder again, he didn’t linger. Jacob wrapped the rope more securely around his wrist and stepped off the high point and into the water on the other side.

  The current crushed his body against the rock, but he was determined. He couldn’t even feel the ground under his feet, but he used his arms to pull himself forward, farther up the rope, closer to the tree stump that would be his safe haven.

  Jacob risked a look up the canyon to see how far he still had to go, but almost immediately he had to lower his head again. He let go of the rope with one hand to clamp his hat to his head. If he lost that, he’d have a long, hot travel back to Tucson with no shade from the sun.

  There were three more sizable boulders between Jacob and his end goal. Three more places he could be smashed and bounced around in the current. He kept moving. Hand over hand, palm slick with water and blood, his fingers cramping in their death grip.

  Another man might have given up long ago, but not Jacob Payne. Every foot closer to the outlaw was progress, and he would not let himself rest. Forward along his drenched rope he went, until he finally climbed up to the petrified tree stump sitting above the waterline on the side of the canyon.

  Jacob closed his eyes and wrapped the rope around his arm, and his arm around the tree, to secure himself. Water gushed toward him from all directions. Rain still burst from the sky, while more streams spilled off the canyon wall next to him, splashing onto his hat brim and shoulders. The floodwaters rushing over the boulders were as high as his knees now.

  Under the roar of the storm, Jacob started laughing. He couldn’t even hear himself, but he couldn’t help but laugh, a full-throated laugh up into the storm-drenched sky. After three days of struggling and rationing, when every thought was of making his water supply last as long as possible, now the water was his biggest threat. Now all he wanted was for the water to stop.

  As he laughed, Jacob thought he heard another laugh from elsewhere in the canyon, before he realized it was his own laughter’s echo.

  He could hear it. He could hear himself again.

  He looked up to the sky, blinking against the falling rain, and realized the clouds were moving on. The storm was abating. There was no telling when the floodwaters would fully subside, but at least Jacob knew there wouldn’t be more water.

 

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