At that moment Reno was reminded of Willow, who once had stood with her back to him and a shotgun in her hands, waiting to see if the next person coming out of the forest would be Caleb or a member of Jed Slater’s savage gang.

It had been Caleb who came out of the forest, but Reno had no doubt that Willow would have shot anyone else.

He didn’t doubt Eve’s courage, either. Not in that way. She had spent too many years defending herself to flinch from what must be done.

They learned to leave me alone.

Reno’s eyes moved ceaselessly, probing shadows and the random turnings of the stream bed. The blue roan mustang he rode liked the narrowing wash no better than he did. Her ears swiveled and pricked at the least sound. Despite the long trail behind, she carried herself lightly, muscles coiled, ready to leap in any direction at the first appearance of danger.

The lineback dun was equally edgy. Eve could feel the mare’s wariness in her quick movements and nervously lashing tail. Even the two Shaggies were skittish. They crowded up on the dun’s heels as though taking no chance on being left behind.

Dry watercourses came in from the right and the left, yet still the main channel narrowed, eating deeper and deeper into the land. The bluffs on either side became cliffs that rose high enough to cut off the sun.

Abruptly Reno reined the mare into one of the side channels. The other horses followed. When Eve would have spoken, he gestured curtly for silence.

Long minutes later, a small band of wild horses trotted past the mouth of the narrow side canyon. The sound of their passage was all but smothered by the sandy ground. The horses were heading back the way Eve and Reno had come.

Eve felt the dun’s barrel swell as the horse drew breath to whinny. Immediately she leaned forward in the saddle and clamped her fingers around the mustang’s nostrils.

The motion caught Reno’s eye. He saw what Eve had done, nodded approvingly, and went back to watching. Long after the last wild mustang had gone by, he waited.

Nothing else moved.

Reno considered the tiredness of the horses, the time of the day, and the map in his mind.

It didn’t take long to decide.

«We’ll camp here.»

THE spring was marked only by the shocking green of growing things. Where water overflowed, there was a narrow ribbon of fern and moss that gave way almost immediately to plants better suited for surviving the relentless sun. Yet even those plants didn’t last long, for the air drank water more quickly than any growing thing. Fifty feet from the spring, the trickle of water vanished into sand and pebbles.

Reno sat on his heels, studying the tracks leading to and from the water hole. Deer had been to drink. So had coyotes, rabbits, ravens, and horses. None of the horses showed clear signs of being shod, but something about the tracks disturbed Reno just the same.

He had used various herds of wild horses to hide the tracks left by his own horses. There was no reason to think that Slater was any less clever at disguising his own tracks. But Reno couldn’t prove that it had happened here.

Reluctantly he stood, mounted Darlin’, and rode back up the wash to the place where Eve and the packhorses waited. After a hundred feet he turned to look at his own back trail. Darlin’s shod hooves left clear marks in the damp, churned earth at the fringes of the spring.

«Has Slater been here?» Eve asked with outward calm as Reno rode up.

He had been expecting the question. The hours and days on the trail had taught him that Eve was accustomed to using her eyes and her brain. Even though there was no trail marked in the journals that Slater could have taken to get in front of them, that possibility still remained.

The Spanish hadn’t found all the ways through the wild land. Nor had the U. S. Army. The Indians had; some of the men who rode with Slater might easily know things that no white men did.

«Couldn’t prove it by the tracks,» Reno said.

She let out a silent breath of relief.

«Couldn’t disprove it, either,» he continued. «Not all of Slater’s men are riding shod horses.»

«They were in Canyon City.» Then, before Reno could say it, she added dryly, «But we’re not in Canyon City anymore.»

The corner of his mustache lifted in a smile.

«Comancheros aren’t welcome in Canyon City,» Reno pointed out.

«Couldn’t the tracks you saw have been made by mustangs?»

«Some of them were. And some of them were cut deep into the ground.»

«Like a horse carrying a man?» Eve asked.

«Or a horse digging in to shy away from an irritable neighbor. A lot of nipping and squealing goes on at a water hole this small.»

Eve made a sound of exasperation and licked her dry lips.

«Don’t worry, gata,» Reno said. «I’m not planning on making you go without your bath.»

She smiled with delight. As she did, she realized that somewhere along the hot, hard trail to Spanish gold, she had lost her displeasure over Reno’s nickname for her.

Or maybe it was simply that his voice had lost its cutting edge when he called hergata. Now his tone was darkly caressing, as though she were indeed a wary cat being coaxed closer and closer to his hand for a thorough petting.

The thought brought a flush to Eve’s cheeks that had nothing to do with the heat radiating from the canyon’s stone walls.

«Cover me from here while I fill the canteens,» Reno said. «When I’m finished, I’ll water the horses one by one.»

By the time the canteens, the humans, and the horses had drunk their fill and returned to the small side canyon, the sun no longer touched even the highest edges of the rock walls. The air was hushed, for no breeze disturbed the hidden canyon. Shadows flowed out from every crevice, pooled, and rose in a soundless tide. Overhead the sky flushed darkly with the passionate hues of sunset.

While Reno took care of the horses, Eve built a small fire against a boulder. By the time the smoke rose to the boulder’s top, nothing remained to give away the camp’s presence but a faint fragrance of pinon fire and coffee. With the meager light of the flames to aid her, Eve ate quickly and gathered up what she would need for a «bath.»

Silently Reno watched Eve walk out into the darkness with a canteen, a small metal pan, a soft rag, and a piece of soap. The faded dress made of old flour sacks was draped over her shoulder. He couldn’t decide if she was going to wear it back to camp or use it as a towel.

«Don’t go far,» Reno said.

Though he had spoken quite softly, Eve froze.

«And take the shotgun with you.»

Reno followed the small sounds Eve made as she picked up her shotgun and walked once more into the darkness. She didn’t go far. Just enough to be well beyond the reach of light from the fire.

Reno heard the muted splash of water and told himself he could not possibly hear the subtle whisper of cloth against skin as Eve undressed. Nor could he hear her sigh of pleasure as the cool water caressed her. He most certainly couldn’t hear her breath shiver when her nipples peaked in response to the wet cloth. But he could imagine it.

And he did.