Road rights.
Anything that might become valuable once the railroad reached the territory.
“Why haven't they taken the spring?”
Tomas looked toward the surrounding hills.
“Because they have not yet understood what they are fighting.”
Caleb followed his gaze.
The Apache defenders were outnumbered.
But they knew the terrain.
Every ridge.
Every canyon.
Every hidden trail.
That knowledge was worth more than numbers.
“What happens now?” Caleb asked.
“They return tomorrow.”
Caleb stared at him.
“You expect another attack?”
“Yes.”
“And you're going to stay?”
Tomas looked almost amused.
“This is our home.”
Caleb glanced at the families gathered beneath the cottonwoods.
Then he noticed three young women standing together near a wagon.
They were watching him.
The first had a rifle across her shoulder.
The second was holding a medicine bag.
The third was tightening the saddle on a gray horse.
They were sisters.
Caleb knew immediately.
Not because they looked alike.
They did not.
The eldest had dark hair braided tightly down her back and carried herself with the calm authority of someone who had spent years making decisions.
The second was smaller, with a warm expression and observant eyes.
The youngest was perhaps twenty, lean and restless, with a scar above one eyebrow and the unmistakable posture of someone who had learned to ride before she had learned to walk.
Tomas followed Caleb's gaze.
“My daughters.”
Caleb nodded.
“They're brave.”
“They have had reason to be.”
The eldest stepped forward.
“Father.”
Tomas turned.
“What is it?”
“Two riders on the southern ridge.”
Everyone became alert.
Caleb looked toward the ridge.
Two tiny figures appeared against the setting sun.
Scouts.
Tomas gave a signal.
The camp moved immediately.
Within seconds, children disappeared behind rocks.
Women moved into sheltered positions.
Riders mounted their horses.
Caleb watched in silence.
These people were not helpless.
They were organized.
Disciplined.
Prepared.
Then the scouts returned.
“Company men,” one reported.
“How many?”
“Seven.”
Tomas looked at Caleb.
“You should leave.”
Caleb looked toward the ridge.
Then toward the three daughters.
Then at the families preparing for another night under threat.
“I probably should.”
Tomas nodded.
“But?”
Caleb sighed.
“But I won't.”
A faint smile appeared on Tomas's face.
“I thought so.”
That night, Caleb slept beneath a cottonwood tree with Ranger tied nearby.
He did not sleep much.
The desert was too quiet.
Just before dawn, someone sat beside him.
It was the eldest daughter.
She carried two cups of coffee.
“You look terrible,” she said.
Caleb accepted the cup.
“Thank you.”
“I wasn't complimenting you.”
“I know.”
She smiled.
“My name is Elena.”
“Caleb.”
“I know.”
He looked at her.
“You've been watching me.”
“We have to watch everyone.”
“That makes sense.”
She studied him.
“Why did you stay?”
Caleb looked toward the spring.
“I don't know.”
“Yes, you do.”
He considered the question.
Finally, he answered.
“My father once told me that a man is responsible for what he sees.”
Elena's expression softened.
“That sounds like a good man.”
“He was.”
“What happened to him?”
“Mining accident.”
She looked away.
“I am sorry.”
“So am I.”
For several seconds, neither spoke.
Then Elena stood.