Solly's camp was well-sheltered from view, partially hidden inside a canyon. But on the outside of the entrance that narrowed before it widened, there were two wagons—one was obviously military and the other had the bed filled with crates of fine-grade whiskey. Adam decided they had stolen it from a hired transport who was delivering to saloons or merchants. The two Apaches slid from their horses and herded all the horses further into the canyon where all the animals they had stolen were kept. Solly stood and watched while things were set to rights for the coming night that was quickly falling; within 15 minutes, it would be dark.

"Sit down, Adam. Whiskey?" Solly went to the wagon and from an opened crate pulled out a bottle of amber liquid. He held it out.

"Thanks," Adam said, taking the bottle, looking at the label boasting smooth rye whiskey and pulling the cork with his teeth. He leaned his head back and swallowed a few times; the warmth filled his body; it coursed through his veins. He sighed and looked at the bottle. "My head's pounding—this might help."

"Or make it worse," Solly said grinning.

Adam smiled back. It had been so long since he had seen Solly, almost 20 years. He wondered if Solly had an ulterior motive for saving him. Had it been for old friendship's sake or was there something else? Adam wondered how much Solly knew about him and his "crime". But he couldn't see Solly reading a paper or sitting in a saloon and hearing gossip and as far as Adam knew, only his family and the Carson City sheriff along with the judge knew about the circumstances of his release. And it had only been a few days ago. Nevertheless, Adam was cautious—he wanted to give away nothing.

On the ride, a brave shot a jackrabbit and now he sat and skinned it and cleaned it, tossing the guts into the fire where they sizzled and gave off a savory smell; the skin they would lay on a rock to dry. It was a large animal as far as jackrabbits go but unlike rabbits raised for food, jackrabbits were muscular-stringy with little fat. But it smelled good as it roasted and while he unsaddled his horse for the night, Adam's stomach churned with hunger and with the whiskey that sat and now burned.

With little talk, the four men ate the rabbit after ripping it into four parts. Adam shared the bread left and the brave who had won the saddle, emptied Braddock's saddlebags, dumping out cans of beans, peaches, hardtack and a bag of coffee. Adam had yet to reveal that in his saddlebags he had more hardtack, venison jerky, cured bacon, dried apples and more canned beans; he considered he would need the food for his return with his prisoner-Solly. Adam had no set plan how he was going to accomplish it but he was—he had made a bargain with Braddock and owed the man; he would follow through.

Then the Apache's drank. They drank a bottle of whiskey each and laughed and played a gambling game of sorts with carved bones. Adam, leaning back on his saddle for support, lazily watched. He had drunk more of the whiskey and Solly hadn't started a conversation. He was drinking as well but neither of them as much as the two Apaches.

"I need some sleep," Adam said. "If I do, you promise neither of those two will sneak up and cut my throat?"

"They won't. They're not interested in you. But I'd think you'd worry about me," Solly said with a half-smile.

"Not so much. Besides, it might even be a relief if someone would take me out-there are worse ways to die—like a noose." Adam picked up his saddle and moved a few yards away. He would miss the warmth of the fire but at least the gamblers' laughter and cursing would fade. And soon he was sleeping. Inexplicably, it wasn't a disturbed sleep and in the morning, Adam said he had slept like the dead.

What he hadn't revealed was that as the sun slowly rose and he heard the birds, he thought he was home and expected to open his eyes and see Kat. He could even smell the sheets where they slept, feel the warmth of her body next to him. And all he had to do was turn over and he would see her, would be able to reach out for her and pull her to him, her hair like strands of silk between his fingers, touching the softness of her skin, the smoothness of her thigh as he ran his hands under her gown which by now would be around her hips. And then it came to Adam where he was, what had happened and Kat disappeared in a puff of smoke like a magician's trick.

Adam made coffee. There was a fast-moving stream a few yards from the camp, maybe the water Braddock had mentioned, and before he scooped some in the dented coffee pot, he put his face in the stream, splashing water on the back of his neck. The rushing water seemed to purge his soul somewhat like Kat's ceramic font of holy water that hung on the wall by the front door purged hers. Adam always noticed the ceramic font hanging by the front door. Water was water as far as he was concerned and he once teased Kat about believing in "magic." But he quickly apologized; he realized that he had teased her because he so wanted to believe in magic, in miracles, in something beyond himself. But of course, there wasn't.

The two Apaches snored drunkenly but Solly woke with the smell of the coffee.

"I haven't had coffee in years," Solly said as Adam poured him a cup.

"Think they want any?" Adam asked gesturing toward the sleeping Indians.

"Not unless you replace the coffee with whiskey."

The two men sat and Adam offered jerky and hard tack. Solly took it and smiled. "This isn't my usual fare." They ate in quiet.

"What are your plans, Adam?" Solly broke the silence.

"Not sure. I can't go back—I'm a wanted man."

"You said you killed a man. That's not like you. Who?"

"Some drifter. Never knew him."

"Why'd you kill him? Just for fun?"

"He killed my wife—after he…he deserved to be killed—or worse."

"Oh," Solly understood what Adam couldn't bring himself to say. He himself had satisfied his lust on many a woman before he slit her throat or felt magnanimous and released her to go running off, perhaps later to take her own life as his mother had—or not; Solly had heard the rumors as well having them thrown in his face by a few cruel town children. And yet, he could feel empathy for Adam. "Don't blame you. He deserved it then. Should've taken a lesson from the Apache and made his death slower-painful. They learned how to torture from the Spanish who're the masters. Remember studying 'bout the Spanish Inquisition. Only part of history that really interested me."

Adam was a bit surprised to hear Solly talk about history. But then Solly wasn't stupid; he just resented having to learn anything, resented being forced to sit inside when he hated the whole situation. He and Solly sat side by side all through school until Solly left at 14. The other boys would act as if Solly smelled bad or claim he cheated off them and finally, the teacher, for the sake of peace, let Solly sit by Adam who didn't complain. "I thought I'd get some sense of satisfaction from killing him—some sort of peace seeing him dead—you know, the old eye for an eye-but I didn't. Maybe if I'd beat him to death with my fists, maybe then I'd feel something akin to vengeance and gratification but…nothing; there was still the loss and killing him made no difference, none at all."

"You could join us."

"Why would I do that?"

"Why not?"

"I've heard about Black Cloud, about his killing soldiers, murdering homesteaders, slaughtering Paiutes. You're supposedly planning to gather the Indians in an uprising to reclaim Arizona and all the other southwestern territories, to run off the soldiers and free the Indians on the reservations."

Solly laughed but it was a jaded laugh. "Yes, Black Cloud is one murderous son-of-a-bitch. But you're talking to Solly. Besides, those two drunks are my only followers at the moment. We're going to take this whiskey shipment to the Apaches on the border. My hope is that they'll go on a drunken rampage and slaughter every white man they can find."

"Why? Why all this?"

"Because I hate them all—white man—Indian, particularly the Paiutes. You know what they did, using my mother as if she was some two-bit whore. Her life didn't matter to them so their lives meant nothing to me. What they did caused her to kill herself. And no one, no one ever let me forget I was a bastard half-breed…except you. If I could, I'd kill them all…hunt down everyone in my whole life who ever looked at me with contempt and disgust and kill them. But since I can't, I'll make them fear me. Maybe at night the homesteaders say to each other, "Hope Black Cloud isn't on the move tonight."

"I thought you identified as an Indian—a Paiute-but now I understand why you slaughtered them. Can't say I agree though."

"It was so easy, Adam. The Paiutes were all asleep. Since they were on a reservation, they became soft, lost that edge that made them wary. So one night, I just crept from lodge to lodge and slit throat after throat until I was tired of it—actually bored. So I left a few alive, not 'cause I'm merciful but because I was tired of it. Besides, I wanted them to know who'd done it—who had destroyed their people—as they did my family."

"You think of yourself as white or Indian then?"

"Neither. I know what I am, Adam. How couldn't I? My grandfather, may he rot in hell, told me every day of my life what I was—not white, not Indian. He told me I belonged nowhere and he was right. He even told me there was a white people's heaven and an Indian heaven and I wouldn't go to either of them. You do know—or guessed—that I'm the one who set the house on fire?"

"I considered it. But you'd been gone for on to 6 months. Why couldn't you just leave it?"

"Why should I? I snuck in and watched him sleeping. I hated him more with every breath he took so I suffocated him. Pulled the pillow out from under his head and pressed it over his face. On, he fought, struggled and he was powerful—but he was old so I pressed all my weight on it until he was dead. And then I set the house on fire, went a distance and watched. It was glorious."

Adam said nothing.

"I considered burning down the Ponderosa that same night—almost did after all that passed between us but changed my mind."

"I'm grateful for that," Adam said. "Why'd you change your mind?"

"You were the only friend I had. Sad, isn't it? But that was Solly—not Black Cloud who can control full-grown braves with a sharp word or a bottle of whiskey. Did you notice how I ended the argument between them over the horse? "

Adam nodded.

"That's because Black Cloud is the hero they've waited for—might even be mythological—their savior. Black Cloud is the one who has killed soldiers, staked them out for all to see his power and who has slaughtered the Paiutes who offended him. I have a reputation among the Apache as I can disappear for weeks and then show up with new scalps—white men, women and children—and alcohol. That alone raises me practically to a deity." Solly laughed and Adam drank his coffee.