At midnight, distant lights appeared.
Hundreds.
Soldiers.
Men carrying torches.
Silas Crowe had come personally.
Elias watched from the ridge.
Crowe was older now.
White beard.
Expensive black coat.
Silver revolver.
He looked like a respectable businessman.
Not a murderer.
That was how evil often survived.
It learned how to dress properly.
Crowe rode into the canyon.
He stopped beneath the cliffs.
“Elias Boone!”
Elias stepped forward.
“You killed my father.”
Crowe smiled.
“Your father was a fool.”
“You killed two hundred people.”
“They were in the way.”
Aranda moved beside Elias.
Crowe looked at him.
“You should have stayed in the mountains.”
Aranda answered:
“You should have stayed afraid.”
Crowe laughed.
Then he raised his hand.
Torches appeared.
Men began pouring oil across the canyon.
Elias understood.
Crowe intended to burn the evidence.
Not just the documents.
The graves.
Everything.
Crowe shouted:
“Burn it!”
The first torch fell.
Flames raced across the dry grass.
The canyon filled with smoke.
Aranda shouted orders.
The Apache warriors moved.
Elias grabbed Tomas.
“Get the records out!”
Tomas ran toward the chamber.
Elias fired toward the men carrying torches.
The battle erupted.
Gunshots echoed between the canyon walls.
Horses screamed.
Smoke covered the stars.
Elias fought his way toward Crowe.
They met near the canyon entrance.
Crowe fired.
Elias ducked.
The bullet struck stone.
“You're your father's son,” Crowe said.
Elias fired.
Crowe's gun flew from his hand.
He stumbled.
“You don't understand,” Crowe said.
“You'll never know how much power is behind me.”
Elias stepped closer.
“I don't need to.”
Crowe looked around.
His men were falling back.
The Apache had taken the high ground.
The fire was being extinguished.
And the evidence was being carried away.
For the first time, Silas Crowe looked afraid.
“You can't defeat me.”
Elias shook his head.
“No.”
He pointed toward the graves.
“They already did.”
By sunrise, the canyon was quiet.
Crowe had been captured.
His men had surrendered.
The documents survived.
So did the graves.
For the first time in twenty years, the names of the dead were recorded correctly.
The truth spread quickly.
Newspapers arrived.
Federal investigators arrived.
Army officials arrived.
Politicians who had spent years praising Crowe suddenly claimed they had always suspected him.
Elias found that part almost amusing.
Everyone wanted to stand beside the truth once it became safe.
But Aranda did not care about newspapers.
He cared about names.
For three days, the Apache elders worked beside Elias and Tomas.
They identified the dead.
They restored the crosses.
They recorded every family.
Every child.
Every mother.
Every father.
No one was forgotten.
On the fourth morning, Aranda approached Elias.
“We are leaving.”
Elias looked surprised.
“Already?”
“We have stayed long enough.”
Elias nodded.
“What happens now?”
The chief looked toward the canyon.
“Now we remember.”
Elias smiled.
“You said remembering wasn't enough.”
“It isn't.”
Aranda placed a hand on Elias's shoulder.