It didn't take long for Brett to find visual indications that they were indeed tracking humans who had been through the area within the last day. They'd been careful. Whenever possible, they had ridden over pine needles or gravel that wouldn't hold a print. However, with this being monsoon season, hiding the trail wasn't always possible. After examining the prints, Brett decided they were tracking four to six horses going no more than two abreast, often single file.

The riders were careful to keep to cover. When he saw the greyish white sandstone upthrust ahead, he knew that must be their destination. Chewing thoughtfully on his lower lip, he considered his options. He couldn't just ride up. These people were on edge. If they thought they'd been found, but only by a single man, they'd probably shoot-and surely someone would be good enough with a bow to hit if not him, then Timpani. He wasn't going to put the horse at risk.

With this in mind, he dismounted in a sheltered clearing, loosening Timpani's girth so she'd be more comfortable. The mare was content to nibble on stray bits of grass. Xenophon, of course, promptly went to sleep. Leaving behind his bow and arrows as both too cumbersome and too provocative, Brett crept forward until he could see his quarry's camp.

The chunk of sandstone was larger than he'd realized at first-but then Leo had always been better at estimating size and distance. It also was two pieces, not one. The refugees had picketed their horses between the two sections, where there was a little grass, then dragged a deadfall to close off the far end. In front of this rough corral, they'd pitched several small tents. The space was sheltered and somewhat defensible, but those very qualities also made it a potential trap. Something in the bearing of the people gathered within told Brett they knew this.

There were four adults-two black, two Spanish-four small children, all black, and a baby on the Spanish woman's hip. The black man and several of the children were napping. The older girl Nathan had mentioned wasn't visible. Brett guessed she was keeping watch from atop one of the chunks of sandstone. She was probably doing her best, but after Xenophon had found the spoor the trail had led through cover. Then, too, the girl was probably alert for a group of riders. One man could easily be missed.

Brett belly-crawled as close as he could, then took shelter behind a boulder that had probably once belonged to the larger chunk.

Trying not to sound threatening, he called, "Emilio, it's Brett Hawke. I've come to help you."

Emilio Gallardo dropped the branch he'd been breaking into firewood, his expression shifting from surprise to suspicion so quickly that Brett could almost read his thoughts. Emilio was a broad-shouldered man with the heavy torso of the classic blacksmith and sturdy legs. He was clean-shaven and wore his hair cut short. Suspicion still coloring his features, he rose, as if by doing so he could protect the entire group. Then, holding his branch firmly, he made a gesture that invited Brett to come forward.

Brett rose from behind his rock, stood so they could see he held no weapon, and stepped lightly forward. The black woman, broad-hipped, with heavy breasts, had her arms around her two older children. The littler ones-one hardly more than a toddler-clung to her voluminous ankle-length skirts. The Spanish woman-Felicita Gallardo, Brett guessed-hushed the baby. Only the last adult, a wiry man with skin the color of coffee with two splashes of cream, didn't move, but continued slumbering.

"Brett Hawke," Emilio said, a smile breaking through his suspicion, "by damn and all, it is you." He indicated the rest. "That's my wife, Felicita. Our friends, the Murchinsons: Winna, Jerome, and their kids."

Emilio might have said more, but Winna Murchinson interrupted. "You've come to help us? How do you know we need help? You sure you aren't coming from La Padrona?"

"I'm here because Nathan Tso of Acoma mentioned that La Padrona was hunting some folks," Brett replied. "He told me that one of them was Emilio here. I got to thinking about how I wouldn't have horses with sound hooves if it weren't for what Emilio taught me, and so I came. What's the problem? Why are you holed up, rather than moving along?"

"It's my husband," Winna said. "He was riding point. Jerome has a good eye for the land."

"He does," Brett agreed. "He did a fine job of hiding your trail. Not easy to do with so many horses."

Winna flashed him a smile. "Jerome was being so careful about making sure we rode where we wouldn't leave too much sign that he missed a big old rattlesnake sleeping in the sun across our trail. The snake missed us, too, I guess, because Jerome's horse was right on top of it before it set to rattling. Horse spooked. Jerome went off, busted a leg. I've got it set, but he's in a right large amount of hurt."

This must be the nurse and curandera Nathan had mentioned. Brett could see that all three adults had questions, but he held up a hand to forestall them.

"Ma'am, can your husband ride?"

A rusty voice, thick with sleep, cut in. "I can. It'll hurt, but if someone will lift me up, I'll hang on. The worst of the pain let up after Winna got it set, just that the setting hurt like . . ."

He stopped, obviously swallowing a profanity in deference to his wide-eyed children.

"Where were you heading?" Brett asked.

"San Rafael," Felicita Gallardo replied. Like Emilio, she spoke English perfectly, but with the accent of the New Mexico Hispanic who is bilingual from childhood on. "Can't hope Jerome can make it that far now."

"No," Brett agreed before Jerome could insist otherwise. "Am I right that you folks were going to lie low until the hunt died down, give Jerome a chance to rest, then move on?"

Nods.

"What if I offered you a safer place to do just that? There's a risk, because once we start moving, it's possible that La Padrona's posse will see us, but this is big country and it's possible they're visiting the other ranches, seeing if you're hiding out there."

The adults exchanged glances. Winna, perhaps because she had the most to risk, spoke first. "That would be kind of you, but where can we hide that they won't find us as easily as they would here?"

"In the malpais," Brett said. He glanced up. Thunderheads were gathering. "If we're lucky, it's going to rain this afternoon. That will give us cover and wash out our trail. Even if La Padrona is offering a bonus, her riders aren't going to figure they'll see much in the rain. They'll find cover. I suggest we pack you up and get moving. That way we can take advantage of the rain when we get to the point where we need to cross open ground."

Emilio forced a smile. "Ah, the summer monsoons. You can set your watch by them."

"It rained yesterday," said a little girl of about four. Something about her big dark eyes and soft wooly hair made her look like a lamb. "We got wet, even in the tents."

"And we'll get wetter today," Brett promised.

He tried to sound cheerful, but he knew it was going to be a miserable trip. The monsoon rains were usually what the Navajo called "male rain"-hard, driving wetness that soaked you to the skin in minutes. Its blessing and curse both was that the actual rainfall didn't usually last long but, by the time it stopped, drying out took hours.

"Rosamaria!" Emilio called softly. "Come down now. We're leaving."

Brett shook his head. "If that's your scout, have her stay up there until we're packed. I'd feel better knowing someone was keeping watch."

"Rosamaria didn't see you," said the oldest little boy. "Are you an Indian?"

"Not quite," Brett said, "but I try. Now, scamper and help your mama."

The refugees didn't have all that much. Felicita and Winna took charge of breaking camp while Emilio and Brett tacked up the horses and consulted on how best to distribute the weight.

"My Rosamaria can ride with Jerome," Emilio said. "She's not full-grown and he's not a bruiser like me. He can hold on to her, and she'll let us know if he's slipping. Yolanda"-this was the little lamb-"can ride with her mama. Carl and Oscar can ride together. I'll take Nancy."

Felicita nodded. "I'll carry Ignacio with me. That leaves Puff-the horse that threw Jerome-to carry the gear. He's still jumpy. I don't trust him with a rider."

Brett agreed. He left them to finish their arrangements while he collected Timpani and Xenophon, calculating their route back as he did so.

If Brett had still believed in any sort of beneficent deity, he might have thought the Creator was watching over them that day. The skies grew heavier and darker-reminding Brett that New Mexico had been notorious for deaths and injuries caused by lightning, back when people had the leisure to keep track of such things. Maybe the posse remembered this, too, because they saw neither hide nor hair of any other humans. When the rain came down, it fell in sheets. If it hadn't been for Xenophon's absolute certainty as to their trail, even Brett might have gotten lost. But the hound kept on point, his upright stick of a tail guiding them right up to the hidden entry into the kipuka.

The rain was letting up as Brett emerged from the tube that led to what had been his sanctuary from the world. He whistled to Fida and Rover, reassuring them that all was well.

"It's like a dollhouse!" exclaimed Rosamaria, looking with wonder around the still-dripping meadow. "I mean, not a dollhouse, but those little landscapes they make in boxes. It's so cute!"

Brett had not yet exchanged more than four words with this girl, since she had stayed on watch until they were ready to depart. Rosamaria Gallardo wasn't pretty, caught between coltish gawkiness and a young woman's figure she didn't know how to handle. Like her parents, she had brown hair and dark eyes, though her hair showed reddish highlights that time had dimmed in theirs.

However, he'd had ample opportunity to observe Rosamaria as she tenaciously kept her chestnut gelding in line. The chestnut-unimaginatively named Star, for the large white splash on his forehead-seemed offended by having to carry two riders. Maybe, as horses will, he realized that Jerome's seat was anything but sound and wanted him off. Rosamaria was having none of this. Star gave her trouble for the first mile, but by the second he was behaving, and by the third he had resigned himself to the fact that this featherweight was in charge. Better, Rosamaria had managed this feat without a crop or thudding of her heels into the horse's flanks. She'd simply met stubbornness with stubbornness.

Brett was irresistibly reminded of his and Leo's reaction to the hidden meadow what seemed like lifetimes ago. Swinging down from Timpani's saddle, he set about getting everyone-human and equine alike-settled. Despite ample and willing help, this wasn't a fast job. Twilight had turned to full dark by the time everyone had been fed, watered, and bedded down. The stable-not used this time of year except for its connection to the back thirty acres-was swept out and enlisted as a dormitory. Brett's bunk was given to Winna. A raised bed was constructed for Jerome by placing planks between chairs and padding the lot with the tents and one of Brett's rugs.

Overwhelmed by so much company-more than he'd had for over three years, for even on his visits to Acoma, Brett had tended to camp on the fringes of the lower village-Brett stepped outside. He was scratching the nanny goat between her horns when Felicita Gallardo came out, baby Ignacio gently fussing in her arms.

"Thank you, Brett," she said, "for everything you have done for us today. You haven't asked, but do you wish to know why we were running from La Padrona's ranch?"

"I did wonder," Brett admitted. "You'd lived there a long while, even, well . . . before."

Felicita nodded, rummaged in the pockets of her skirt, and came up with a bottle, which she gave to Ignacio. "Yes, we had-since Rosamaria was little. Emilio started as a rider, became a wrangler, then was assistant to the farrier. He was interested in smithing, and Drew encouraged him to learn, even set up a proper forge. When the first farrier got tired of living nowhere, Emilio was given the job."

"And you?"

Felicita flashed a warm smile. "I liked living there. Before we went to the Double A, I had a little business making alterations to garments and making custom dresses. After we moved, I continued doing the fancy work. With that, with Emilio, with our children, I was very happy.

"Even after the Change, we did very well. Emilio's skills were in great demand. He trained others to do much of the shoeing, because suddenly there were no stores where you could order hinges or latches or a hundred and one other things you never think about until they are gone. My skills as a seamstress were much in demand. Annabella Andersen was not going to stop looking good, even after-maybe especially after-Drew died."

Felicita's expression grew somber. "It was not all good. There was a sickness-maybe a flu-in the second year. Most of the adults who caught it lived, but Rosamaria's little brother and sister both died."

"I . . . I'm very sorry."

In the moonlight, Brett saw the fierce shake of her head. "We have all had losses. I am not asking for your pity. I tell you to explain why we left. Rosamaria is our only remaining child. I do not seem to be able to have any more. Ignacio is an orphan we took. Winna tried, but she could not save his mother. Valerie was too young and he was a large baby. Many things we took for granted-like mothers surviving childbirth-are gone now. Emilio and I took the child. But having Ignacio does not mean that we no longer cared for our Rosamaria. When . . ."

Her voice trailed off. Brett waited, uneasy but knowing he wanted to hear. Yet, when Felicita began to speak again, he wondered if she'd forgotten what she'd been talking about.

"Annabella took Drew's death hard. She had her children-the boy, Andrew, and two younger girls-but she has always been a woman who lives for the admiration and control of men. Now she had lost her man-and in losing her man, she had lost all men. Do you understand?"

"Not really."

"Annabella wanted to keep the Double A, for her, for her Andy when he was man enough to hold it. To do this, she must play the men off each other."

"Like Queen Elizabeth," Brett said, "the first one, I mean. Everyone wanted her to marry, but she wouldn't give control over to a man."

"Like that," Felicita agreed. "Maybe Elizabeth really was a virgin queen. Maybe she was sterile. Maybe she was just lucky. But Annabella knew she was not sterile. For a woman who had access to reliable birth control all her life, to suddenly be so vulnerable was agony. I know this, because she consulted Winna and Winna told me. So Annabella Andersen, who liked men very much, and who probably had lovers even when her husband was alive, was suddenly forced to celibacy. I think this is why, when Andy grew old enough to be, as they joke, 'randy' she did not discourage him."

"She was living through him?" Brett asked. "Like that. For sex?"

He was glad there was only moonlight, because he knew he was blushing.

"That is so," Felicita agreed coolly. "But for both of them, sex is bound up with power. Within the last year, Andy has developed a taste not so much for virgins, but for 'deflowering.'"

Brett saw where this was heading and cut in to spare Felicita the pain of explaining. "Rosamaria."

"Yes. He was waiting until she turned fifteen because, in Spanish culture, fifteen is when a girl is considered a woman."

"There's a celebration for that, isn't there?" Brett said. "I remember some of the girls in my school talking about it. Fancy dresses, like prom dresses, and a big party. But I thought that just meant they were allowed to start dating?"

"That's how many families interpreted the custom. A fifteen-year-old girl is often not strong enough to bear a child and live." She bounced the baby in her arms. "Ignacio's mother was fifteen when she became pregnant."

"Oh . . ."

"Emilio and I decided we must get Rosamaria away from there. Emilio worked closely with Jerome. Before the Change, Jerome was a mechanic. Although internal combustion engines have stopped working, there is still a demand for his skills."

"For mills," Brett thought aloud. "Clockwork of any sort. Even simple things like lifts would work better if someone who understood bracings and such was involved."

"More," Felicita said. "There has been talk about things like crossbows and catapults. I often worked in the big house, and overheard a great deal."

"And Jerome wanted nothing to do with that?"

"Nothing. What tipped the balance was when Winna overheard some jokes about 'darkies,' including a reference to her as an 'Aunt Jemima' and another very cruel routine that ended with 'But I don't know nothing about birthin' no babies.' Given that this was soon after she lost Ignacio's mother . . ."

Brett's fists tightened. "Grandfather Nathan hinted that La Padrona was beginning to think of people as her property. No easier place to start than with black folk. Move to darker Spanish and Indians, then . . . After a while, there wouldn't be a need to make excuses."

"Slavery has been reborn elsewhere," Felicita said, "or so we hear, without the excuse of race, only with power. Jerome realized that his scruples would mean nothing with Winna and the children as hostages. He asked Emilio for advice and Emilio-with my full enthusiasm-suggested they run away with us."

"Ah . . ."

There was a long silence, then Felicita said softly, "And you? How did you come to help us? You said something about Nathan Tso of Acoma. This is the same as the Grandfather Nathan you mentioned? Are you also of Acoma? Tso is a Navajo name, but you do not look Navajo, either."

"My best friend, Leo, was Nathan Tso's grandson. Nathan had a Navajo father, Acoma mother. His daughter married an Acoma man, and eventually Nathan settled with his Acoma family. That's how I met Nathan. He taught me-and Leo-a lot. Anyhow, by chance, I was in Acoma trading for supplies soon after riders from Double A had been through asking after you. Grandfather Nathan told me and he mentioned Emilio."

"Good chance for us," Felicita said. "Without you, we probably would have been found."

"Almost certainly," Brett said. "Once they learned you folks hadn't shown up anywhere, they'd have figured like I did and started looking closer in. Even if you got Jerome up on a horse, he wouldn't have been able to ride point and find you a good route like he'd been."

"Then God was looking out for us," Felicita said.

Long buried anger surged up, anger Brett hadn't admitted to for years. His hands wrapped around the top rail of the goat enclosure so tightly that he felt the wood creak.

"God looking out for you! How can you say that? You lost two children to an illness that would have kept them in bed a few days before. If they caught something really bad, they could have gone to the hospital, been put on fluids. You'd still have them . . ."

"Maybe," Felicita said, carefully, as if she were trying to convince herself. "Maybe not. We cannot read the future. Maybe humanity needed to learn a lesson."

Brett heard her pain, but his bottled-up anger had a life of its own. "What about all the nonhumans who died? I worked part-time in a pet shop, before. Do you know what happens to tropical fish when the power fails and the back-up generators don't come on? Even goldfish can't live once the pumps are off too long. March gets damn cold here, especially at night. Do you know what happens to little animals that don't have heat? Do you know what happens to animals that need a special diet? They start dying, slowly and painfully. Do you know what we had to do when we realized that the power wasn't coming back?"

Even in the moonlight, he could see Felicita's eyes widen and knew that she did. He didn't spare her-or maybe he wasn't sparing himself.

"We killed them. All those little creatures who trusted us, who looked up with big eyes when we came over because we were the ones who fed them and fussed over them. We killed them. And what did they ever do to deserve that?"

"You gave them mercy."

"I killed them. Me, because I knew how to do it cleanly. I sang the songs Grandfather Nathan had taught us, but still, I killed them. Birds, chinchillas, hedgehogs, guinea pigs, sugar gliders, exotic reptiles, all the creatures who couldn't hope to live because it was cold and the food they needed would never arrive. We waited a week, a week too long. They were already beginning to suffer."

"Oh, Brett . . ." The pity was real. So was the wisdom in her dark eyes. "But that wasn't all, was it?"

"I'd worked part-time at the pet store. My other job was at my family's business: the Cloverleaf, a restaurant and Irish tavern."

He laughed, a hard, barking sound. "It actually did pretty well. Lots of tourists get sick of everything with green chili and tortillas. My parents didn't believe that things wouldn't get 'right' again. I tried to tell them, tried to get them away, but they kept talking about this blackout or that storm. Never mind that planes didn't fall out of the sky during those. Never mind that every engine didn't stop working.

"My parents weren't dumb. They knew that any place with liquor would attract looters. So they brought people in to help hold the building. They used their supplies-they had extra because this all happened on Saint Patrick's Day-to set up a sort of soup kitchen, feeding people in return for wood or additional food. They fed a lot of people who didn't bring anything.

"The day after the pet store . . . closed, I left to go pick up some donations. Sacks of beans, I think. I got back after dark. The place was still-and it was never that way. Even at night, someone was up cooking or keeping watch. I went in the back way, lit a candle . . . They'd all been murdered: Mom and Dad, my younger brother and sister, my older sister and her kids, who had come back to be 'safe.' Her husband. Old man Seamus, who'd bartended for as long as anyone could remember, was behind the bar. Someone had slashed his throat. They'd walked on his body to break down the door to the liquor cellar.

"As I went through, looking for anyone who might still be alive, I realized that some of the neighbors who'd been given a refuge weren't there. I think they did it. At the very least, they ran, didn't do anything to stop the people who did.

"I found the Pomeranian puppy I'd given my mother for her birthday hiding under a table, too scared to even whimper. He was the only thing alive. I grabbed him and walked out of there. I had Little Warrior and Pintada with me. I went back to the house and started getting what I needed to make it on my own. I packed the family cats into carriers and strapped them onto Pintada. Left the damn beans. Whistled up Xenophon and another of the dogs-she's dead now. We got out of there while it was still dark. Headed for the malpais. Here. I didn't come out until September. Realized I'd need supplies for winter. Figured Acoma would have held out and I was right."

"How old were you?"

"Twenty-two. I'd graduated from college the year before and had been trying to figure out what to do with a B.S. in Biology and a minor in Anthropology."

"And now? Have you been alone all this time?"

"Mostly. I go to Acoma a few times a year to trade. Once I got the chickens and goats, I was pretty self-sufficient. I'd grabbed seed packets when I left Grants. My mom and I were going to start plants from seed that next weekend. I knew how to save seed, to tan leather, dry meat and vegetables. Lately, I've been making boots and sandals soled with old tires. The shopkeeper in Acoma saves me tire tread if I give him first shot at what I've made. Works."