He spoke.
Anpetu translated.
"My father says you will answer three questions."
Thomas nodded.
"What are they?"
"Why did you help her?"
Thomas looked at Anpetu.
"Because she was dying."
The chief waited.
Anpetu translated.
The second question came.
"Would you have helped her if you knew who she was?"
Thomas thought about it.
Then answered honestly.
"I don't know."
Anpetu looked surprised.
Thomas continued.
"I might have been afraid. I might have walked away. But once I saw her face, I couldn't."
The chief listened.
The third question was longer.
Anpetu hesitated before translating.
"If soldiers come, will you tell them where we are?"
Thomas looked toward the hills.
He could already imagine the scene.
Cavalry arriving.
Officers demanding information.
Men with rifles.
Orders.
Gunfire.
He thought about the woman in his barn.
Then he answered.
"No."
The chief's expression did not change.
"Why?"
Thomas looked at him.
"Because you didn't hurt me."
Anpetu translated.
The chief remained silent.
Then he raised one hand.
Every warrior on the surrounding hills lowered his weapon.
Thomas's heart pounded.
The chief spoke once more.
Anpetu looked at Thomas.
"My father says you have until sunset tomorrow."
"For what?"
"To decide whether you are afraid of us."
Thomas frowned.
"I already know I'm afraid."
Anpetu almost smiled.
"He says fear is not the question."
"What is?"
"Whether fear will make your decisions for you."
Then she turned.
The warriors began riding away.
Not all of them.
Hundreds remained on the hills.
Watching.
Thomas stood beside his farmhouse as the sun disappeared.
He had never felt so alone.
And yet, strangely, he no longer believed he was in danger.
Not yet.
The danger was coming.
He simply did not know from which direction.
Thomas spent the next morning repairing the north fence.
He had no idea why.
Perhaps because work was easier than thinking.
Every few minutes, he looked toward the ridge.
The warriors were still there.
Silent.
Patient.
Anpetu sat among them.
She did not approach.
Thomas wondered what kind of life produced someone who could sit calmly beneath hundreds of armed men while waiting to see whether a stranger would betray her.
His wife had once told him that courage was not the absence of fear.
It was the ability to keep your hands steady while fear screamed at you.
Thomas understood that now.
Around noon, he heard horses.
He turned.
Anpetu was riding toward him.
She stopped beside the fence.
"You work when afraid."
Thomas drove a nail into the post.
"Work needs doing."
"You could leave."
"Where?"
"East."
"To the soldiers?"
She said nothing.
Thomas looked at her.
"I thought you were supposed to be watching me."
"I am."
"Then why are you here?"
"I want to understand you."
Thomas laughed softly.
"That's unfortunate."
"Why?"
"Most days I don't understand myself."
She studied him.
Then looked toward the farmhouse.
"Your wife?"
Thomas froze.
"What?"
"The grave."
She had seen the small stone beneath the cottonwood.
Thomas nodded.
"Anna."
"She died?"
"Fever."
Anpetu lowered her eyes.
"My mother died when I was young."
Thomas rested both hands on the fence rail.
"What happened?"
"Winter."
"Cold?"
"No."
She looked at him.
"Hunger."
Thomas said nothing.
Anpetu continued.
"Our people were pushed from one place to another. Every time we settled, someone told us to move again. When food became scarce, my mother gave me her share."
Thomas swallowed.
"She starved."
"Yes."
He looked away.
"That's why you came to the creek?"
"I had been traveling alone."
"Why?"
She hesitated.
"I was proving myself."
"To your father?"
"To myself."
Thomas nodded.
He understood that better than he wanted to.
Anpetu dismounted.
She walked toward the fence.
"You fear my people."
"Yes."
"You fear soldiers."
"Yes."
"You fear losing your farm."
Thomas looked at the wheat.
"Yes."
"What do you not fear?"
He thought about it.
Then answered.
"Being hungry."