Naya's hands shook.
“Stay away from me.”
Bell glanced at the weapon.
“You won't shoot.”
“You killed my brother.”
“I did what was necessary.”
“You murdered him.”
Bell sighed.
“Your brother made a mistake. He thought he could bargain with men who had more power than he did.”
Naya raised the revolver.
Bell took one step forward.
Daniel appeared behind him.
“Don't.”
Bell turned.
Daniel struck him across the back of the head with the butt of his rifle.
The deputy marshal fell to the floor.
For a moment, Daniel stood over him, breathing hard.
Then he looked at Naya.
“You all right?”
She nodded.
Her eyes were fixed on Bell.
“Is he dead?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
Daniel lowered the rifle.
“Because I don't want to become the kind of man he is.”
He tied Bell's hands and dragged him into the yard.
Outside, the shooting had begun to slow.
The Apache warriors had taken the rocks overlooking the valley. Bell's men were trapped behind the wagon, and several had thrown down their weapons.
Chato approached, holding his injured arm.
“Is he alive?”
“Yes.”
“Good.”
The chief looked at Bell with an expression that made Daniel's skin crawl.
“Then he will answer for what he has done.”
Bell opened his eyes.
He saw the warriors surrounding him.
And for the first time, he looked genuinely afraid.
But the danger was not over.
As Daniel searched Bell's coat, he discovered a second document.
It was a letter bearing the seal of a territorial official.
The letter contained orders to establish a military station on the land, remove the Apache families from the eastern valley, and secure the underground springs before the next dry season.
At the bottom was a list of names.
Among them was Daniel Mercer.
His land was to be confiscated.
His cattle were to be sold.
And if he resisted, he was to be eliminated.
Daniel read the final line twice.
Then he folded the letter and put it in his pocket.
Chato watched him.
“What does it say?”
Daniel looked toward the mountains.
“It says they weren't planning to leave any of us alive.”
By noon, the shooting had stopped.
The valley lay beneath a veil of smoke. Several horses had been killed, and the porch of Daniel's house was riddled with bullet holes. The barn had caught fire, but the Apache warriors had managed to extinguish it before the flames reached the hayloft.
Three soldiers were dead. Five more were wounded.
Among the Apache, two warriors had fallen, and several others had been injured.
Daniel sat on the porch with a bloodstained cloth wrapped around his forearm. He had been grazed by a bullet while pulling a wounded soldier away from the wagon.
Naya sat beside him, her face pale but her eyes alert.
“You should be resting,” she said.
“So should you.”
“I am resting.”
“You're sitting on a porch surrounded by armed warriors.”
“That is better than lying in a bed.”
Daniel smiled despite himself.
Across the yard, Chato stood over Bell.
The deputy marshal's hands were tied behind his back. His expensive coat was torn, and blood ran from a cut above his eye.
“You will tell us everything,” Chato said.
Bell spat into the dirt.
“I have nothing to say.”
Chato turned toward Daniel.
“Bring the letter.”
Daniel handed it over.
The chief read it slowly.
His face grew darker with every line.
When he finished, he folded the paper carefully and placed it inside his vest.
“They intend to destroy our homes.”
“Yes,” Daniel replied.
“And yours.”
Daniel looked at the burned barn.
“Seems that way.”
Chato stared toward the eastern mountains.
“For many years, we have tried to live in peace. We moved when soldiers demanded it. We signed papers we could not read. We accepted boundaries drawn by men who had never seen our land.”
He turned back to Bell.
“And still they come.”
Bell lifted his head.
“You don't understand how the world works.”
Chato's expression did not change.
“Then explain it.”
“The territory needs water. The Army needs a supply station. Settlers need land. Your people cannot occupy every acre of this country forever.”
Naya stepped forward.
“Our people have lived here longer than your government has existed.”
Bell laughed bitterly.
“History doesn't matter. Power does.”
Daniel looked at him.
“Is that what you told Elias before you killed him?”
Bell said nothing.
Naya's hands clenched.
Chato raised one hand to stop her.
Then he turned to Daniel.
“We cannot keep him here.”
Daniel frowned.
“Why not?”
“More soldiers will come. If we kill him, they will send an army. If we release him, he will return with more men.”
“So what do we do?”
Chato looked at the letter.
“We take the truth to the people who can stop him.”
Daniel laughed without humor.
“Washington?”
“Perhaps.”
“That's two thousand miles away.”
“Then we ride two thousand miles.”
Naya shook her head.
“Father, the map.”
Chato looked at her.
She touched the leather pouch.
“Bell knows what the map contains. If he has already sent word, the Army could reach the springs before we do.”
Daniel stood.
“Then we get there first.”
Chato studied him.
“You would ride with us?”
Daniel looked toward the ranch.
The house had been damaged. The barn was half burned. His cattle were scattered across the pasture.
Three years of rebuilding his life lay in ruins.
He could stay.
He could spend the next few weeks repairing the roof, replacing the fence, and pretending that the men who had tried to kill him would eventually forget his name.
But he knew better.
If Bell's men reached the springs, they would take the water. They would drive the Apache families from the valley, and every rancher in the region would become dependent on the same men who had tried to steal his land.
Daniel looked at Naya.
“When can you ride?”
She smiled faintly.
“Tomorrow.”
Chato nodded.
“Then tomorrow we leave.”
That evening, the Apache warriors buried their dead beneath the cottonwood trees near the riverbed.
Daniel helped them dig.
No one spoke much. The desert wind carried the sound of shovels striking dry earth, and the sun sank behind the mountains in a blaze of red and purple.
When the graves were filled, Chato stood beside Daniel.
“You have done more than save my daughter's life.”
Daniel wiped the dirt from his hands.
“I didn't do it for a reward.”
“I know.”
The chief looked toward the darkening hills.
“Many white men speak of honor. Few understand what it costs.”
Daniel looked at the fresh graves.
“I've buried enough friends to know.”
Chato studied him.
“You were a soldier.”
Daniel nodded.
“Union Army. Third year of the war.”
“Why did you leave?”
Daniel stared at the horizon.
For a long time, he said nothing.
Then he answered.
“Because I watched good men die for reasons they didn't understand. Because I watched officers send boys into gunfire while they stood safely behind the lines. Because I came home and couldn't stand the sound of a train whistle without thinking of men screaming.”
He swallowed.
“I wanted a place where nobody could tell me to kill another man.”
Chato nodded slowly.
“And now you must fight again.”
Daniel looked toward the house.
“No,” he said. “Now I have to make sure we don't.”
The next morning, they departed before sunrise.
Chato selected twelve riders to accompany them. The remaining warriors stayed behind to guard the ranch and care for the wounded.
Daniel saddled his horse, a bay gelding named Copper, and packed food, ammunition, blankets, and medical supplies.
Naya rode a chestnut mare.
She was still weak, and Daniel had insisted that she travel slowly. She protested, but eventually agreed when Chato threatened to tie her to the saddle himself.
Their destination was a hidden canyon east of the Chiricahua Mountains, where the seven springs were believed to originate.